


Nag Kath

by Gelansor



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 13:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 76
Words: 809,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21458827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gelansor/pseuds/Gelansor
Summary: This is a novel set as a sequel to The Lord of the Rings starting a year after Morannon.  It follows a created character navigating the post-war landscape through most of Middle-earth.  At over 800k words, it is longer than The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion combined so pace yourself :)  There are 24 maps to go with the text.  These are referenced in the relevant chapters or you can go here: https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8 for more detail.  Thanks for looking and I hope  you enjoy it.  sh
Comments: 17
Kudos: 16





	1. Author's Forward

**Chapter 1**

**Author’s Forward**

Thank you for reading my novel _Nag Kath_. This is my first attempt at fiction. I had an idea spinning in my head that wanted out. I am imagining Middle-earth as it may have developed at the dawn of the Fourth Age. This is purely for my enjoyment and I have made it public for anyone else interested without any intention of personal financial gain. 

The yarn follows a created (literally) character as Middle-earth rebuilds from the devastation of the War of the Ring and the plagues and brush wars before and after. What follows in this forward is some of my methodology (or lack thereof).

Even writing this for myself, I always kept the possibility of other readers in mind. A modest grounding in either the books (_**The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion**) _or the movies will help. This is a long novel at 18% more than all three of those works combined. 

** **

** Economics **

My day job is in finance and I used a smattering of that to create several economies for this world. They include; currency, inflation, money-supply, values and incentive. One of the problems I have with a great deal of fantasy writing is that a great lord will decree a great project shall be built. Unless you are using slave labor, the guys with the shovels expect to be paid and fed. Someone has to move rocks from here to there. There will be people in-between who collect and dole the money. Some of them have sticky fingers.

More importantly; access to resources defines social strata and always has. The ability to build and use wealth for war, peace and lordly projects determines the flow of men and materiel. I have tried not to make money intrusive. It is just to give readers the price of dinner.

There is a modest discussion of currency in the Chapter 6 "Past Is Not Prologue." In that, the silver tenth, arguably the castar or silver penny from _**The Hobbit,**_ is the most valuable coin carried by everyday folk. The closest to that in recent memory is the silver shilling. 

I am not using gold and gem levels from **_The Hobbit_** movies. I read somewhere that all the gold ever mined would only fill four Olympic-sized swimming pools. As much as is shown on the screen is a worthy dragon hoard, but would have virtually no value as currency. It looks cool, though. 

** Differences in the books and the movies **

I am old enough to have read the LOTR and Hobbit several times before the excellent Peter Jackson films. They vary quite a bit. For example; in **_The Return of the King_** volume, Saruman is killed in the Shire. In the extended movie he is impaled in Orthanc. My solution is to say he came to a bad end so readers can fill in their own narrative.

That said; the movies have completely replaced my original mental images of key characters. I’m guessing that except for purists, those actors own the roles. In the unlikely event any of them read this, you were great. I apologize for graying your hair and adding pounds as your characters are unfrozen in time.

Erkenbrand and Glorfindel didn’t make it into my story either.

** With respect to fanfic and games **

My novel is really a human interest story and does not borrow characters from role-playing games or created military history after Morannon. If I have ignored pieces that are considered near-canon among loyal fans, it isn’t because I dispute your lore.

** Maps **

Despite what I said about other fanfic and games, I have borrowed heavily from the maps of these cartographers and acknowledge them with references and thanks for their fine work. If a horseman can average 22 miles a day on a certain kind of terrain, that defines how long it takes to get somewhere, not including weather, combat and demons. Getting there is half the fun.

Internet maps from games and fanfiction are referenced with footnotes or chapter introductions. If you are reading this on a computer, it may help to visit <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8> as you follow along.

** European Equivalency **

My book is set centuries after the presumed Dark Ages Europe in most of Middle-earth. It is more-or-less a late medieval, quasi-feudal period in the lands of free-peoples. That has to square with the Hobbits who were portrayed as nearly Georgian with glass windows and mail delivery. Gunpowder has already been introduced by Saruman but I only use it for distractions and not as an armament.

The main reason for the extra centuries is that I need people. Characters along the road need towns and farms and reasons to travel two hundred miles. In the Tolkien appendices, Boromir took almost four months to reach Rivendell from Gondor in good part because he lost his horse at Tharbad and had to walk for lack of finding another mount. In my book, he would have been able to commandeer a horse. Populations are well below the glory of the middle Third-Age and some places are still desolate.

More-or-less in keeping with popular images, western Middle-earth ranges from lower Scandinavia to the Celts with a central European influence in Dale, merry old England for the Shire, central Asia for Rhûn and Persia for Khand. Harad is most similar to the Middle-East.

** Magic **

In my world, magic is on the decline. That is mostly because in my modest fantasy reading, great lords can flick a finger and cause massive destruction. I often find that dampens the human-interest lines. There are remnants of old powers and newer ones emerging, but they are rare and weak, nothing like the Valar or Maiar could conjure in previous ages. As ever, people still fight over what is left.

** Language **

This is really hard for me on several levels. One is that I wrote a lot of this like a script rather than as a book. It is just how it comes to me so I apologize for the poor syntax and punctuation. I hope it is easy to follow.

Another issue is that I am following a story by a master linguist. An attempt at California Ye Olde Englishe would fail miserably. I have tried to keep language courtly. Like any BBC drama, high-born persons don’t use many contractions or spit before answering questions, salt of the Earth types; less so. Dialog is more Edwardian than narrative.

There are no swear-words in keeping with JRRT’s sensibilities. I had to create a couple epithets to replace ones we will all recognize. I have also reclaimed the words ‘gay’ and ‘queer’ from the 1930’s meaning no disrespect to more modern applications. There are quite a few of other words, towns, rivers and descriptions I invented from whole-cloth for context in the appendices. Some Elvish names are pulled from online translators. Black speech; I was going for the sound.

** Characters **

In the main, canon-characters are extended from the originals. Mortals age and die on schedule if it was written. If not, I guess. Then there are hundreds of new characters I’ve created. Quite a few are in an appendix with some detail on their introduction, origin, country and lifelines. In the books, Aragorn II is crowned King Elessar Telcontar (the Elf Stone and his family name). I use them interchangeably and don't use his birth name (Estel).

** Reproduction **

Sex is implied but not observed or gratuitous. I have kept this PG-13. This is not a children’s book. Orc reproduction remains a mystery.

** Commercial **

This was written purely for my own entertainment. I don’t expect to publish it, get paid or sign a three-picture deal. It is not intended to interfere with legal copyrights, privilege, distribution contracts or anything else in place to protect intellectual property. That said; if anyone figures out how to make a buck legally, cut me in.

None of this is copyrighted either. Use whatever you want with my blessing. Mention me or not. If this helps in your enjoyment, cheers!

Thanks again and I hope you enjoy reading this. sh


	2. The Changeling

** _Chapter 2_ **

** _The Changeling_ **

The meeting went smoothly. That happened more often. Aragorn, King Elessar Telcontar, slowly rubbed his beard between thumb and forefingers looking at the assembled public works officials.

They met most Thursday afternoons to update his Lordship on the state of rebuilding the realm generally and Minas Tirith specifically. Work like this was always slow and frustrating. They had been more fortunate than first thought. The city had taken massive damage in Sauron's frontal assault but the sides were relatively unscathed. The orcs planned, and nearly succeeded, in a headlong charge towards the upper levels to cripple the siege defenses. The army of the dead put paid to that, but it was close. Too close. 

Less fortunate then but useful now was that the money stingy old Denethor should have spent on defense was still in the strong room. Anthram Bathralas saw to the count. The Steward's long-time Minister of the Purse had survived the war. He forgot nothing. Bathralas was a round, soft man with a ring of white hair surrounding his brilliant mind. King Elessar was pleased to find him reasonably honest. Most of the officials around the table had also fought at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. Their offices and often their homes were above the orc advance.

The King pulled out of his brief reverie and asked if there was anything else before tea. From across the table, Minister Farkass gently cleared his throat. Tallonier Farkass was the chief engineer for public works. He was a tired-looking man of about 50 with a hint of humor in his eyes.

"My Lord, something has just come up in the gaols. I confess; I'm ill prepared to explain, but it's the sort of thing you've asked us to mind."

The King nodded slightly. Farkass continued, "Two small military dungeons on the second level were just detailed to the main prison office. Everyone thought them empty and the officer in charge was killed in the war. The new gaoler, a fellow named Randanold, sent a man to assess their condition. No one could find the keys so the fellow opened the viewing door of one and saw two eyes staring back at him."

Aragorn interrupted, "I didn't know we had any dungeons on the second level."

"I didn't either Sire. They are small natural caves tucked in the rock not far from the junior officers' stables.” The man paused and added, "I wouldn't have bothered you Sire, but according to the records, this prisoner has been there for 15 months … and he's a captured orc."

"Heavens! Are you sure?"

"Not at all, sir. The Sarn't told Randanold that he didn't seem like an orc, but the light was poor through the peep door. The news arrived as I was walking up here. The gaoler's lads are trying to find the keys now. I'm off to Osgiliath as soon as we adjourn to help Lendellor set the pilings for the new quay. I can give you a better report when I'm back two days hence. An equipage has been created for the surviving Mûmikil to hoist the pile driver." That had been a useful discovery. They weren't vicious after their blood had shed the shalakiel weed and their groin spikes were removed. 

The King’s eyes narrowed as he instructed, "Help with the pier. Have gaoler Randanold bring the creature here tomorrow. I'd like a look at him."

A glance at his secretary/scribe had the little man peering through his half-spectacles at a schedule book. He raised his head and said, "Ten thirty is the nearest you have to a break in the morning, Sire. Hopefully the delegation from Harad will be brief."

King Elessar doubted that but continued, "Very good Farkass. Have the gaoler bring the orc here then with stout guards."

"Yes Sire, I'll see to it before I leave."

"That is all gentlemen. Thank you for your hard work."

All but one of the men rose, bowed and left through the corridor door chatting. The last of them remained seated and watched the others close the door behind them. Minister Altides Levantos had not been with Denethor's working council. He was a soldier through-and-through. Small stature, undistinguished parents and a bad habit of being smarter than his betters kept him from rising higher than Captain in the old order.

King Elessar had little use for the hierarchy that produced Levantos’ superior officers. The soldiers, like most soldiers, were the salt of the earth. But the higher one rose in rank, the less they seemed to know their business. Many ran to the battlements when their marshals failed to command and many of those died. Both the living and dead were held in high honor. Officers who dithered were allowed to resign at full rank after a month of burial detail.

Levantos handled overall security for the kingdom but spent most of his time watching the top two levels of the white city. When the engineers were gone he said without preamble, "Wouldn't it be safer to just run the creature through?"

The King had already considered that, "Yes, but I'd like to see what we're dealing with here. For all we know, he's a drunken trooper someone forgot. If he is as Farkass says, he's the only survivor of the dark lord's orcish forces. I thought them all dead, but we still haven't had reliable reports from Moria or Gundabad. Keep the devil alive, at least until we learn what we may."

"Very well, sir. I hope you don't mind if I drop by."

"I'm counting on it."

His scheduled business done for the day, the king rose and strolled to his private quarters. After a year, he hadn't quite gotten used to the guards always being wherever he turned. He could thank Levantos for that. In the new order, his good health mattered to all. Lady Arwen was already back from the houses of healing. Like her father and the King himself, she was a natural healer and Gondor's need was great. There were still hundreds of wounded who would either need lifetime care or more rehabilitation before returning to as normal a life as they could.

Many of those were Rohirrim. Aragorn could never thank them enough. They came to Gondor's aid and were now more than a year from home trying to mend mind and body. With luck, the final caravan of those who could ever return to the horse-lands would leave before the first snow. Arwen asked, "How was your day, My King?" using the teasing formality he enjoyed. 

"I can see some of the hard work taking hold my Lady. The Osgiliath pier is finally underway.” After a moment he added, "I like the weekly builders meeting. They do things. There was one curious report; the works minister said an orc captured before the war was still imprisoned … still alive, evidently. 

Without batting an eye, the queen asked softly, "Are there others?"

"Not that we know. If the records are wrong, he might be a soldier thrown in gaol for not saluting. They're asking questions now. I'll learn more tomorrow.

"Please keep me informed my love. This may fall to my experience."

_____________-------_____________

Rubbing his temples didn't help. For uncounted times, King Elessar regretted taking the council's suggestion to demand reparations from Harad. The Haradrim were penniless, always had been. Under Mordor's dominion for ages, their fierce warriors were mostly men who couldn't desert. Many of them were now buried under the Pelennor leaving their famously large families scratching meals from the dry dirt. Full corps of surviving soldiers kept fighting after Sauron's demise, expecting no mercy. They were being brought to heel. But several small satrapies along the Harondor border saw the way of things and sued for peace independently. The King was treating with them now.

Please Yavanna, forgive their unwilling allegiance to Sauron and make their lands as fertile as their women. Pressing them for cash only increased refugee troubles in Gondor. Those were finally stabilizing, but tensions simmered in the poorer districts. 

By the time the Harad delegation and half a dozen other supplicants had cleared the receiving hall it was quarter of the three-bell and Aragorn was hungry. He rose from his working throne and walked under watchful eyes through the great hall. Harad's problems still spinning in his head, he looked at the waiting bench and saw a large Elf sitting patiently against the wall. Blonde and tall, he stood-out among the swarthy, bearded men. Leaning against him was a grizzled fellow gently snoring. Three city guardi were standing nearby. Two held standard seven-foot Klaus staffs and one was armed with a long sword. 

Always glad to see unexpected Elves, the King turned towards him with a smile. The Elf responded with an uncharacteristically large grin of his own. Aragorn then said in Sindarin, "What a pleasant surprise!"

The Elf's smile waned slightly and he roughly shook the sleeping man's shoulder. It was then the King heard the clank of iron manacles bolted to the Elf's wrists. The grizzled man startled awake, saw his liege fifteen feet away and jumped to attention, somehow managing a curt bow in the motion. A six-foot leather lead buckled to his left wrist was woven into the Elf's restraints. The Elf stood as well, but not with the same military precision. All three guards kept their eyes on the man with short, blonde, dandelion hair.

"Gaoler Randanold reporting with the prisoner, My Lord!"

The King stated flatly, "I didn't know we had any Elves in custody."

Randanold looked at the six and a half foot-tall Elf for a moment and turned back to his King, "This is the orc Minister Farkass instructed me to present, My Lord."

Moving closer he asked the stout man, "Are you sure?"

Randanold had prepared. Nobody would believe this. "Sire, we're not sure of anything. All we know is the last record of that cell being used was for an orc captured before the war and this is what walked out this morning. I brought some of his kit."

The gaoler dragged a burlap bag off the waiting-bench. Reaching in, he produced an Uruk-hai helmet bearing the white hand of Saruman. The King had slain dozens wearing the same. As Randanold was handing the helmet to the King, the prisoner snatched it away and considered it intently saying, "_**Lok nossh durhamm ghool.**_" 

Aragorn didn't understand the phrase but he instantly knew the sound of the black speech and stepped back with his right foot into a fighting pose. The Elf offered the King his helmet with a bashful smile. Aragorn pointed to Randanold's open sack and the Elf dropped it in.

"Does he speak our language?"

The gaoler shook his head, "He's only said that and something like it earlier, Sire. He doesn't understand us. Hand-gestures is how we got him here.”

"Have you and your men eaten, gaoler?

Randanold was about say they were fine when his stomach growled.

The King signaled two attendants waiting quietly in the wing. Both approached to within the prescribed eight feet and bowed. To the older man he said, "Go to the fifth level archives and ask Scholar Mendies to join us in the small conference room in half an hour. Tell him to bring an associate familiar with the black speech or orcish tongues. Then tell Minister Levantos to return." The King quietly added to himself, "He's going to love this." The man nodded, took two steps backwards and turned towards the staircase.

To the younger page he instructed, "Please tell the kitchen to bring a light supper for eight men to the small room. Off you go." The lad scampered away, forgetting to bow again. He was new. Finally, King Elessar pulled his head slightly to a pair of palace guards. They approached with minimal bows. Their job was to watch everyone but their Lord. "Take these men to the small conference room. This is the one to watch." nodding to the towering blonde.

Gaoler, prisoner and guardi walked to the council rooms under watchful eyes. Elessar continued on to his quarters where a private lunch was always ready. He usually took his mid-day meal alone, and never with orcs.

The small conference room was a relative term. It was a rectangle of twenty by thirty paces with long oaken tables set in a square close to the window wall. Gaps on opposite corners let liveried attendants bring platters of cold meats, fruits, vegetables and bread. A silent gesture from the King’s guards had the men array themselves. Randanold sat near the center of one table with the Elf necessarily to his left. The two younger guardi leaned their staves against a window nook and sat at the table to their superior's left.

The guardi with the sword neither sat nor spoke. He was twice the age of the other two with an old scar running from his brow to one cheek that by some miracle missed his eye. The palace guards watched him as well. Long-swords were uncommon on the upper levels and prohibited on the seventh without special leave. He should know to step back three more paces when the King arrived.

This light supper was a feast for the seated guardi with no standing on ceremony, though they wished there was more than cold tea to wash it down with. The Elf devoured everything but the meat. Within five minutes the food was gone. The guardi closest to the prisoner stared at the untouched cutlet like a hungry puppy until the blonde creature slid the plate his way.

A few minutes later, the King arrived with Minister Levantos. He sat at the center of the table side to the gaoler’s right and the security chief took the chair of the far guardi as they both fetched their Klaus staves and took positions near the windows. The swordsman properly moved further from the King. Aragorn scanned the faces at the table and said to Randanold, “I’d like to hear the full story. Please start from the beginning and leave nothing out. Take as much time as you need.”

Randanold had thought of nothing else all day. This was an opportunity. He pulled a small notepad from his vest pocket and thumbed to yesterday’s entries. He didn’t need to review the scant information but it helped him marshal his thoughts. It wouldn’t hurt that all present knew he could read and write.

“Thank you, Sire. I’m recently promoted to head gaoler and that newly includes auxiliary cells on the second level. Two of those were near the officers’ stables, occasionally used for military prisoners awaiting review for serious offenses. I sent my sergeant to inspect them for future use. The main gaol has plenty of room but it pays to take stock.” When no one praised his efficiency he returned to his notebook. “Sergeant Hawrentii said the cells are natural caves hidden at the back of a longer tunnel behind the farrier’s paddock. They use the tunnel to store hay but unless there is a prisoner, there is no reason to go further. Both have stout iron doors. Hawrentii couldn’t find the keys so he opened the peep-hole while holding a torch. What he found was a pair of eyes looking back. I’ll spare you his reaction, Sire. He shut the latch and came to me straightaway”

Aragorn finally showed a trace of a smile. Randanold was relieved. His presentation was going smoothly and might offset being caught sleeping by his liege. He would dine on improving versions of this tale for years. The portly gaoler continued, “By chance, Minister Farkess was in my office when the sergeant returned and he saw you within the hour, My Lord.”

Just then, a page approached the King and waited for permission to speak. Once given, the lad said, “Excuse me Sire. Mr. Taal asked me to tell you the scholar knew no colleagues schooled in the old languages but he knows a man of the commercial sector on level three who might serve. Mr. Taal will fetch them here directly.”

This lad did bow correctly and the King kindly nodded his appreciation. They were learning.

Levantos finally spoke, “Did you look at the records, gaoler?”

The stout turnkey replied, “Yes sir. They were filed at the guard station in the tunnel and quite complete. It seems a company of cavalry on patrol along the Mering Stream came across a like-sized party of these creatures. The orcs were armed only with swords. Our men picked them off with arrows and finished the job with their spears. This one was wounded with an arrow in the chest and knocked cold in the melee. Before a trooper could settle him, his Lieutenant told him to stay his hand. These were a new and more vicious breed than they had seen, able to stand in full sun. He was to be kept alive and returned for Lord Denethor’s inspection. Evidently the horses wouldn’t let the creature near enough to tie him in a saddle so the main company returned here leaving two troopers to lead him roped between their mounts. They arrived five days after the troop on February 4th of last year. He was locked in the far cell awaiting their Lord’s pleasure. There is no record of the Steward ever visiting or it being transported for the Lord’s viewing – and there would have been. There was no record of the prisoner being executed or transferred either. The patrol returned to the frontier. Two months later, the orcs crossed the river and he was forgotten.”

Levantos asked, “How did he survive fifteen months without sustenance?”

Gaoler Randanold was expecting this. “I did some digging, sir. The gaol sergeant had an understanding with the officers' mess that prisoners for these two cells be fed scraps. Kitchen helpers slid leftovers under the door until told not to, and they were never told not to. They had no other commerce with detainees. The caves have small rivulets of water seeping through the walls that make their way to the drains in the courtyard. It isn’t much, but enough to survive.”

Levantos probed, “When did you fetch him out?” The gaoler noticed Levantos was neither smiling nor angry; detached was the word for it. Randanold knew of the soldier but hadn’t met him till now, a man to be cultivated. Levantos was a more likely overlord for the prison system than Farkess once the peace was settled. As he said; it pays to take stock.

“Early this morning sir. I went in with four armed men. The smell was overpowering. That cell wasn’t meant for long confinement. The creature hadn’t a stitch on and was covered in filth. Still, he rose without incident and walked with us into the courtyard. He wasn’t presentable to royal persons so we took him to the farrier’s station. There is a water pipe from the cistern for washing horses and equipment. The beast didn’t understand our words to get under the flow but we made dumb-show for him to wash himself. The orc stayed under that freezing water quite a while and emerged his new color.”

All eyes were on the orc who was intently studying the large, reproduction tapestries of old Numenor on the far wall. He would drift back to the conversation without expression or understanding but didn’t seem ill at ease.

The King asked, “And he cooperated through all this?”

“Not at first, Sire. The prisoner stopped to stare at his reflection in a puddle from the cleansing with a look of astonishment. He stayed long enough that one of my men prodded him in the ribs with his staff to move along. The creature paid him no mind and kept staring until he looked up and asked me something in the same tongue you heard. I waved him to hurry but he looked back at his face. The guard came to give him another reminder. Without looking up from the pool, the prisoner snatched the staff from his hands like it was a willow stalk and smacked the man alongside the head. It happened in the blink of an eye. Then he dropped the stick, made a big, silly grin at his image and hurried along, gentle as a lamb.”

Aragorn asked, “Was the man badly hurt?”

The gaoler replied, “He was kneeling and cursing as we left. Maedroth had a better look.” Randanold turned to the armed guardi.

In a clear, commanding voice the man said, “He’ll have a good scar to remember it, My Lord, but he’ll be fine. The prisoner pulled his blow.”

King Elessar asked, “How do you mean?”

“It happened fast, Sire, but this fellow stopped his arm just before impact, like a switching a mule. Had he followed through at speed, he’d have taken Tomag’s head off.”

Levantos thought to himself that Maedroth might have better uses than herding miscreants through prison. He didn't share the gaoler's ambition of adding dungeons to his portfolio. The manager of those dungeons said, “I apologize for his raiment, Sire. Surplus army blouses and trousers were all we could find to fit.” 

The King looked down and saw the creature had no shoes. Those feet would be hard to fit too.

Aragorn asked the gaoler, “You saw him unclothed. Was there any manner of orc about him?”

One of the two young guardi stifled a snort. The King kept his eyes on Randanold and raised an eyebrow.

“He seemed to be a man in all respects, Sire.” When the King made no motion he added, “Begging your pardon My Lord, we thought he might be popular with the ladies.”

The King’s wan smile returned and left just as quickly when he thought breeding more of these creatures was not in the national interest. “And there were no further problems coming up?”

Ah, coming up. At 41 years old, Randanold was long past fit condition. It would have been unthinkable to hire one of the two-wheeled man-carts to carry him up the switchbacks bringing this dark servant to the King’s justice. No, they trudged the path and used the stair short-cuts like young goats all the way to the seventh level.

Those elevations made Minas Tirith a poor trading hub. It was a fortress -– a good one if properly defended. And it was the seat of government. As Sauron's ring gained strength, the city had to serve commercial interests too. Threat ended; men of business would make their fortunes in Osgiliath again. Randanold’s family came from traders but no one objected when he chose public service. It was an honorable or lucrative career, depending on your approach.

“No Sire. We did attract some attention though. Most people have never seen an Elf, or, at least, what I think one would look like. They watched and some waved. He waved back as far as his chains allowed and seemed rather pleased all the while.”

Just then, the double doors opened and attendants showed two men into the room. One was a large, florid fellow with the red cap of a tenured academic. Scholars had the job of cataloging the piles of documents in the catacombs. Language skills were a must. Some were rumored to be searching for the Nuralth, an Elvish document said to include tales from the Ainur themselves. Publicly they would say it was a fantasy. Privately they would dearly like to be the one who found it. The other man was smaller and darker with more than a drop of Harad or possibly Khandian blood. He wore no cap to cover his shining head.

The King smiled, “Scholar Mendies! It has been too long. May I ask after Mrs. Mendies?”

“She is finally on the mend.” he huffed and bowed. The outsized scholar had climbed two levels himself. “Sire, this is Amiedes Tallazh. He is familiar with several forms of old Elvish and has practical experience with orcish from southern lands.”

“Thank you both for joining us. Please sit down.”

The men sat as they were presented with Tallazh to the King’s right and Scholar Mendies the next chair over.

Aragorn said gravely, “Gentlemen, this is a matter of state security. Let nothing said here today leave this room.” There was no need to outline consequences. King Elessar could be disarming, but there was never a doubt he was born to rule. Leaning over he asked, “Scholar Mendies, would you take notes?”

Mendies quickly produced a bound volume of blank pages and several sharpened pencils from his satchel. The King’s own secretary was arranging tonight’s events.

“I’ve asked you here because of extraordinary tidings. None of this is yet proven, but we believe this tall, blonde fellow was one of Saruman’s Uruk-hai fighters before the war. He was imprisoned in solitude for fifteen months and released today as you see.

“This could be a case of mistaken identity, but the creature only speaks what I know to be the black speech of Mordor. He also recognized his former Uruk helmet which Gaoler Randanold brought with him. I purpose to ask him what happened and I hope Mr. Tallazh can interpret my questions and his responses. Can you do that, Mr. Tallazh?”

If anyone at the table was expecting the high, staccato voice of desert lands, they were mistaken. Tallazh had a deep, soothing tone that belied his wiry frame. His common Westron tongue had no trace of an accent. “I will do my best, My Lord.”

“Then let us begin by learning its name.”

Tallazh turned to the Uruk and asked the question in pigeon orcish. 

At once, the prisoner gave his full attention but did not respond. Tallazh tried again in a simple form of black speech.

The creature looked at him intently and finally uttered, “_**Nag Kath, Templagk. Saruman noosch drok.**_”

Tallazh did not preface his responses and repeated the prisoner’s words as closely as he could. As with the best interpreters, he wasn’t there. “His name is Nag Kath. He gave me a rank or title I didn’t recognize. Then he said he was with Saruman’s second legion.”

Realization swept over the table like a wave. It was true. The King looked at the orc and asked in the common tongue, “What happened to you?”

Tallazh converted that to Nag Kath’s language. The creature thought for a moment and began, “Attacked by horse warriors. All killed, not me. Brought here to cave.”

His parsed responses were short enough for Tallazh to keep up. This was going better than expected. After another moment of thought, the orc offered, “Two months. No sun. Count by food. Then … great light. Terrible pain. Woke up later. Eat, sleep, great pain. Two, three days apart. Lost count of time. Maybe ten times ten waking, eat, sleep, pain. All changed. Bone, skin, teeth, hair.” 

The creature looked at a trickle of blood coming from his wrist where the manacles were too tight. “Red blood?” he muttered in a combination of irritation and curiosity.

They let him talk.

“Two months ago, less pain. Small change.”

Ever an excellent listener, the King was about to probe more closely when the prisoner continued, “Think change too. Not Uruk. Can know what I learned. Not why. I should hate you. Not hate. Not fear. Not Uruk think.” Then he fell into silence.

Aragorn saw his opening, “What were you doing at the river?”

This took Tallazh longer to piece-out. Verbs were the problem.

Nag Kath slowly grinned. “I am in trouble! I do not tell, you kill. I tell; Saruman kill. Bad for Nag Kath!” He ended the last phrase with a hearty, un-Elvish laugh.

Levantos had no stomach for humorous orcs. “You don’t seem to mind dying!”

Tallazh made of that what he could. The orc sat back in his chair and rubbed his beardless chin the same way Aragorn did.

“I was slave. Locked in cave of pain. How bad is death?”

That brought everyone up short.

Aragorn leaned forward and played his cards, “Saruman is dead. Sauron is dead. All orcs and trolls are dead.” pausing to give Tallazh time to emphasize each sentence.

“_**Uruk-hai?**_”

The King didn’t wait for the translation. “All dead.”

The Uruk repeated the King’s words perfectly. "All dead." 

He counted on his fingers and continued, “I tell. 200 Uruk sent to find little men.” He leveled his hand to the height of a Halfling. “Main troop to Rauros. Fast 25, me, fast Uruks go to Gondor – if little men turn, come here.”

Tallazh took several tries refining the last sentence giving the rest of the room time to realize these were the monsters sent to murder their Lord. This would not last long.

Without prodding, Nag Kath added, “Warags faster but kill all. Saruman say bring alive.” He blinked as he remembered and kept going, “Stay until catch or go Isengard one moon. Must wait and hunt food.”

Aragorn had warmed to the chase, “Did you catch them?”

“No, there two days, killed by horse warriors.” He brightened cheerfully and said in the common tongue, “All dead.”

The men around the table all had a thousand questions. This creature had sorcerously changed from the worst form of life to the highest when all the rest of his kind died with the One Ring. Tallazh turned to the King, “With your leave, Sire, this creature is not speaking orcish. It’s a purer version of the black speech. And he can count. Might asking him about his army position tell us more of his purpose?”

Still looking at the Uruk, Aragorn nodded. Tallazh glanced at the Scholar's notes and asked, “What is a Templagk?”

“Take orders … messages to commanders. Must be as they say. Crebains (trained crows) can not remember. We are fast Uruks. Only 19. Other Uruks, spawned ten by tens. We taller, thinner, fast running. Commanders do not trust each other. We remember what they say. We have toglakz!”

“Toglakz?”

“Medal. Says to do. Proves we are Templagk.”

Tallazh hadn’t interpreted this verbatim as it came too quickly. He summarized, “It seems Nag Kath is a staff messenger. He delivers orders or messages from company commanders who can’t trust each other to stand by what they’ve said. There were only 19 of them while the other Uruks were made in their hundreds.”

While Tallazh crafted his version, Nag Kath reached down for the burlap sack and set it on the table with a dull clank. First he pulled out his helmet and set it aside. The next item nearly got him killed. It was an Uruk sword, a hideous, straight bladed weapon tipped with a horse-gutting barb. He noisily dropped that on the table as well.

Levantos had already pulled his throwing knife. He was sure his lord was gripping the same dagger that helped send this orc’s captain to hell. The palace guard directly behind the orc couldn’t see his hands and the other was too far away for an instant sword stroke. Only Randanold did anything above table level. He pulled the slack from his leather lead to the orc’s chains to keep him from lunging at the King or throwing the weapon. That wouldn’t save the Gaoler though. When Levantos thought about it later, he was much more impressed by that than the fat man's literacy.

The sword wasn’t what he wanted. Nag Kath rummaged in the sack and produced a copper medallion about two inches in diameter with rough runes stamped on one side and a lanyard hole at the top. He made a low, guttural growl of satisfaction and tossed it to Tallazh. “_**Templagk!**_”

As the first moment of panic faded, the orc caused a new horror when it picked up the sword and sighted along the blade. Then he placed it back on the table and straightened a pronounced bow by pressing down with the flat of his hand before putting it back in the sack. Randanold ended the crisis by handing the bag to the guard behind him. 

Letting out his breath, the King said, “I think that’s as much as we can do for now. Mr. Randanold, please release the prisoner to my custody. You and your men may return to your posts with my thanks.” 

The portly gaoler took the orc to a small service table and wrenched the bolts off the manacles. Then he and his guards bowed to their lord and made peace with not getting free ale with their early supper.

Aragorn turned to his own guards and instructed, “Take him to the guest quarters on the sixth and put a sentry on the door. Feed him, but no contact with anyone but Minister Levantos’ men. Bring him back at the eleven-bell tomorrow. The guards nodded and pointed the way for the strange creature. Mr. Tallazh, I’d like you back here at 11 too. Scholar Mendies please make me one copy of your report and burn your notes. This fellow doesn’t look like he’s from the pits of Isengard, but let us keep that to ourselves for now.” 

The academics rose, bowed and left the King with his security chief just as yesterday.

“What do you think Altides?”

“I am deeply sorry for the sword, your Highness. I …”

“We are soldiers. It was nothing. Now; what of the creature?”

Levantos lost a brother at Morannon. He had no reason to be kindly, “I don’t know what to make of him. There is probably great potential for evil, but doesn’t seem very orcish now."

The King mused, “I’m of two minds. What he knows about the military operations of our worst enemy could be priceless if more of them survived elsewhere. Whatever we must do, this creature is to all eyes an Elf. I want their counsel before I make any decisions.”

“Then I will see you tomorrow at eleven, Sire.”

Aragorn leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. One could never be entirely rid of sorcery but was this for good or ill? It would have to wait. He rang a small bell placed nearer the center of the table and a page instantly appeared.

“Ask Ambassador Elendrie if he could please meet me here tomorrow at the eleven-bell. Say it’s a sensitive matter concerning his people.”

The page repeated it back word-for-word and excused himself correctly.

___________-----___________

The King and Queen had reserved the entire evening for the Catanard, a performance of traditional Gondoran song and acting, sung in most taverns in Belfalas. This was the height of the craft by acclaimed players of Dol Amroth. Southern Gondorans revered them as national treasures. Northern citizens were less impressed. Dwarves came for the ale. Lady Arwen would be the only Elf present as the others still in the city attended pressing duties. A less cultured audience would have sung along and leered at them to join the fun. Catanard was an acquired taste. Aragorn liked the rustic opera and felt it was good for his people to take their minds away from lifetime horrors. More importantly, this was the first post-war celebration of scale. Gondor needed to look forward.

The performance was well received and attended. The throne room doubled as the theater. A low stage was erected in front of the actual throne which was hidden by the painted backdrop for the performance. The Steward's chair was removed. The King and Queen sat in ordinary chairs in the front just off the wide center aisle. They would leave first as the rows emptied from front to back.

The closing song received a heartening round of applause. Players scurried to the receiving line thanking guests and arranging private concerts in prominent homes. Ever radiant, Queen Arwen smiled and nodded to her growing number of acquaintances as they made their way down the aisle. King Elessar held her hand in courtly fashion and did the same. Nearing their private apartments, the King stopped in his tracks. Nag Kath was standing in the throng, a head taller than native Gondorans. Aragorn thought he saw a tear in the monster’s eye. When he felt the King’s gaze, the orc turned slightly and did a creditable bow copied from the gaoler. He also broke into his decidedly un-Elvish grin.

Aragorn caught the attention of Levantos’ third in command standing by a column. Evard Londigal was a tall, handsome fellow -- perfect for looking over a crowd. The man married well above his station for love and rose through his wife’s connections. Somewhat unusually, he was excellent at his job. His last promotion was on merit. Londigal covered the ground in no time. The King said quietly while maintaining his public smile, “This Elf is supposed to be under lock and key in the guest quarters downstairs. Would you take him back and make sure he stays there?” As Londigal nodded and turned to the offender, his Liege added, “Nag Kath speaks none of our tongue.”

The tall Guardi assessed the situation. The Elf was taller by at least two inches, with broader shoulders, although it is hard to tell what Elves actually weigh. The King relieved any tension by smiling broadly with outsized hand gestures and saying in soothing tones that the Elf was to follow this man. Londigal took his cue, grinned as his Lord had done and pointed towards a cove leading to the nearest staircase. By the time they were gone, the King and Queen had resumed thanking citizens for a lovely evening. Nearing the end of the gauntlet, Arwen asked without betraying her public face, “And who was that?”

The King nodded to another dignitary and replied softly, “That is the orc.”

His lady smiled slightly, “Pale for an orc. You must tell me more.” Attendants opened the doors to their private quarters and they passed in as elegantly as their progress through the subjects. Arwen had thousands of years of patience. She saw her beloved husband had the situation under control and gently asked, “Was that why you were so quiet tonight?”

“Yes. I would have told you sooner but you’d only just arrived from the house of healing. It was an interesting afternoon – to put it mildly.”

Arwen knew the conversation would flow of its own accord so she poured two goblets of wine and gave him one. He took the drink and said, “The short story is; he was one of Saruman’s Uruk-hai imprisoned in a cave on the second level, fed but forgotten. When he was accidentally remembered, that’s what walked out the door this morning. He speaks only the black-tongue, has a charming sense of humor and I have no idea what to do with him. Tomorrow morning I’ve asked Lord Elendrie for his counsel. Like it or not, he’s more Elf than anything else so I want his advice on the creature's fate."

“I didn’t know you spoke black speech.”

“Mendies knew an interpreter who did an excellent job getting him to answer my questions and those of Levantos.”

Arwen was glad of Levantos. Her Lord was safer with him close. Aragorn was unequalled as a man of valor but he would not get a straight fight here. He would also have to learn to say no and let his ministers carry more of the load. The King knew that too and had gotten through this first terrible year well positioned for the next.

“May I come too?”

Not really a request, but she was quite correct. Her family’s experience with the dark lord’s servants was vast. Was he a Dark Elf of yore? If there was evil in the creature, she would find it.

“Thank you, my dear. I will escort you there at eleven.”

___________-----___________

Evard Londigal’s evening was just starting. He babbled a friendly stream of nonsense to the big detainee and gently steered him down the stairs to the sixth level. They were still some distance from the guest quarters so he kept the initiative. Nag Kath slowed and pointed to a tapestry between doors in a hallway asking, “_**Doosh findamgul nockte fiel**_?” Londigal knew the harsh sounds of the enemy. This was a dangerous fellow. 

Hoping his common banter would serve; the officer offered a thumbnail summary of the doomed lovers Lúthien and Beren. It was not the scene portrayed at all, but it was one of the few stories he knew. Nag Kath was rapt. He looked at Evard, back to the weaving, back to Evard and offered a long, “Ohhhh”. 

Did he understand? The Elf (the king hadn’t mentioned he was an orc) looked content and followed the rest of the way without missing a step. They arrived at the block of guest quarters reserved for ranking state visitors. King Aragorn chose it because it was mostly empty. Business travelers stayed nearer the trading and permit offices these days.

At the door of one apartment, a palace sentry stood fully alert. When he saw the commander of his own company walking with the man he was supposed to be guarding, he straightened and saluted sharply. Londigal’s demeanor never changed from hale-fellow-well-met, thinking that roasting the guard might upset his charge. Using the same friendly tone as the King he soothed, “At ease soldier. Should this fellow be in that room?”

The guard croaked in the affirmative.

“Why don’t we make sure it’s comfortable?”

The guard pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked the door. All three wandered inside. It was a nice place … too nice. Most of the apartments had a single entry door but this one also had servant’s quarters that led to a supply corridor out of view from the main hall. No reason to make guests use the same door as the groceries. His wife had explained such things. He nodded to the guard who checked the delivery door and it swung wide open, key still in the lock. Londigal locked it and handed the key to the guard. Then he pointed at the floor to Nag Kath as if training a retriever to stay. It worked and the two security men walked out, locking the main door behind them.

The guard started a profuse apology but Londigal cut him short. He kindly asked if the man was assigned to not let anyone leave through that door. The guard nodded. “Well then, please continue to do so and have the relief man do the same.”

Realizing he had dodged a reprimand, the guard started breathing again. Londigal walked around to the service door and followed it to the catering kitchen. Hours before, this had been a madhouse preparing viands for the concert patrons. Regardless of their social position, Gondorans will strip a banquet table like locusts. He entered the kitchen and found three scullery maids cleaning and preparing for tomorrow. “Good evening, ladies. Perhaps you can help me. I’m looking for a queer Elf who might have come this way; tall, no shoes, easy on the eyes.”

The largest and least romantically impressed of the three said, “He was here around the five-bell ... charmed Denelle out of a potato and headed for the Provin Gallery. 

“You must be Denelle” addressed to a rather pretty girl ready to swoon before her second handsome man this night. Such men were rare in the service kitchen.

“Yes, if it please your lordship.”

“Oh, I’m no lord … but I hope you can help me. Did my friend say anything of his plans?”

“No sir. He didn’t say nothing at all. He just wandered over to the potato bin and took one off the top. I didn’t say nothing, him so big and all."

“I’m sure you’re in no trouble” – this as much a warning to the matron as comfort for the maid. “If he should wander through again, I hope you’ll tell one of the palace guards so we can let him know he’s wanted.”

With a wave, Londigal made his way to the gallery. This was the largest room on the sixth level. Cut lower into the rock than the surrounding buildings, it featured a magnificent ceiling with real glass windows along the north face.

The Provin housed the historical art of Gondor. Truly fine and expensive pieces were kept secure in smaller quarters on the seventh level but this series of rooms displayed the large paintings, tapestries and sculptures of past glories. Denelle’s cooking would have come here as the higher classes of the White City socialized before the Catanard. This was the perfect place to see and be seen before walking upstairs.

_____________-------_____________

Minas Tirith’s throne room had but one entrance at the short ends but there were several smaller chambers along one of the long edges that each led into the vast hall. Londigal’s ears pricked at a soft sound to his left. Quiet for a tall man, he crept close until he saw an elderly fellow snoozing in an oversized chair. The officer would have let him doze but he still needed to trace the Elf’s route so he gently touched the man’s hand. 

The old boy woke without alarm. This had happened before. In the dim light Londigal recognized him as Tyras Borothar. He was somehow connected to his wife Sophiel’s father’s business. 

“Why Mr. Borothar, I’m sorry to disturb you. It’s Evard Londigal, Sophiel’s husband." Mr. Borothar couldn’t place him in that light but he was a friendly old cove and always nice to well-mannered gentlemen.

Shaking off the sleep, the codger said, “Please don’t hold yourself to blame young man. I punished the wine a little much at the gallery and missed the Catanard. That is my loss.”

“Ah, then you may have seen my charge. Afraid I’ve lost the fellow; tall, barefoot Elf.”

“Oh yes. He was in the gallery the whole time I was there. Eating a turnip, I think. Everyone noticed him. He stared at every exhibit on display like he was memorizing it. Some of our recent widows tried to distract him but got nothing for their pains. Tarts, I say!”

“That must be the one.”

“He followed us up to the performance. That’s the last I saw of him.”

Evard said as if it was of little consequence, “Well, I’m sure he’ll turn-up. Let us find you a proper bed, sir.”

“My proper bed is at my daughter’s apartment on the fifth level. I’m afraid my wife will rake me over the coals for my inattention.”

“I expect you’ve survived that before.” Londigal added with a genuine chuckle, “We’ll say you’ve been assisting me in my inquiries for the King. It’s true, and it should buy you a little grace from your females!”

“Quite right! What did you say your name was again?”

___________-----___________

With Mr. Borothar reinstalled in the bosom of his family, Londigal made for the royal suite. The guards posted outside turned an urn by the door to one side when the couple had retired and were not to be disturbed. The urn was in its daytime position. Londigal was a high superior to these men and could have insisted they wake their Highnesses but this was not important or necessary.

“Evening, Bestimus.”

“Sir.”

“His Lordship is expecting me.”

The senior guard knocked and opened the door without going in. Londigal entered and found both royals reading by a pair of oil lamps.

Aragorn looked up to say, “Ah, Londigal, have you solved the puzzle?”

“Yes Sire. At least, I have an interesting tale.”

Her Ladyship joined, “Would you like wine?”

“No thank you, My Lady. It’s been a long day.” They knew that. Usually in charge of the day shift, he had pulled double duty to cover the first exposed event since their marriage.

“Have a seat.”

“Thank you, Sire. It begins with our guest wandering out the servant’s entrance. When he was locked in the room they must not have checked the back door. The guard in the hall was wide awake making sure nobody left an empty room.” This escape was on Londigal’s watch, even if indirectly. When the King shrugged, it was water over the dam. 

“From there he borrowed a potato from a scullery maid and made his way to the Provin, stayed there two hours, carefully examining every work in the place. I found old Borothar sleeping in a waiting room, avoiding his wife. He gave me all the details.

“Then the fellow followed the crowd up to the Catanard for a taste of Southern Gondor’s culture." Turning to the Queen he added, "I hope My Lady enjoyed the players.”

“I believe it is similar to some of my peoples’ historical pageants.”

Ouuu! That could be construed a thousand ways. Londigal chose not to construe it at all. His two little girls slept safe in their beds because this man and woman freed Gondor from much worse horrors than provincial theater.

“If your Highnesses will excuse me, I should say goodnight.”

“Thank you Evard.”

“My pleasure, Sire.”

___________-----___________

The second interrogation of the orc/Elf was to be in one of the justice rooms off the main hall. Palaces and huts alike kept daytime business near windows. This room had two which could not be accessed from outside. The table for judges and Magisters sat on a dais looking towards the long end of the room. A longer, lower table abutted it in the center to seat defendants or those settling disputes. Opposing parties sat to either side. Men experienced in these matters built that table wider than a punch could reach.

By quarter to eleven, Minister Levantos was already sitting at the long table near the judges’ bench where he could watch the only door. It was open with one of his men to either side. The minister heard his guards click to attention and looked up to see Ambassador Elendrie gaze around the room as he walked in. Levantos marveled at how Elvish eyes instantly adjusted to different light.

“Good morning Ambassador.”

“Ah, good morning Minister. Another pleasant day.”

Elendrie was as artists of old drew Elvish nobles, tall, chiseled, immaculately dressed in clothes that repelled the stains mortal men could not avoid. Levantos had never seen an Elf before he was a man-grown and this one did not disappoint. The Minister thought he might have a better sense of humor than the few other Elves in his acquaintance; a strength in diplomacy.

The ambassador turned to the guardi and observed, “I’ve never been in this room before. It is used for judgment?”

“Yes, and for resolving disputes. It is a court of law for those accused of transgressions but it also serves for men claiming harm in common practice or business.”

That the Ambassador asked and listened was another plus. Elves had long ago learned to settle differences more elegantly. But men with some learning knew Elves had been foolish, proud and bloody in their formative years. When Elvish peoples withdrew from Middle-Earth, both of them thought men would make the same mistakes.

Elendrie asked, “Minister, do you know how many people will join us? This is something of a mystery to me.”

“I think only half a dozen, sir. This will not be an official proceeding.”

“Then I shall make myself at home.” He sat across from the minister further towards the end of the long table.

Neither of them saw the need to say anything in the few minutes before the King and Queen entered. The Minister and Ambassador stood and bowed. Their Highnesses returned the honor. After they found their places at the judges’ bench the King said, “Thank you for coming, Ambassador. I know you are busy.”

Elendrie continued his part of the formal greeting, “I am at your service, My Lord and Lady. It seems this question has a little of everything.”

Liveried servants brought pitchers of cool tea, pouring mugs for the four and placing the pitchers and more cups on the table. They were out as quickly, leaving a senior attendant by the door.

King Elessar began, “I agree, and thank you again for your long walk. A most extraordinary thing has happened. In brief; our cavalry captured one of Saruman’s orcs near Rohan just before the war. He was brought here for Lord Denethor’s inspection. That never happened and he was forgotten in a cell until yesterday morning. He only speaks the black tongue.

“By craft unknown to us, he survived the destruction of the One Ring. And not only that, he transformed into something unique. Last night he wandered away from his lodgings to visit the gallery and attend the Catanard.”

The ambassador smiled. “Not normal orcish entertainments, Lord Elessar. I hope no one was injured.” Affairs of state kept him from an evening of Gondoran culture. Ambassador was an honorary title. As the ranking Elf in Minas Tirith not married to the King, he best represented their interests. A quick glance at the Queen said everything to be known about her devotion to the customs of her new people.

The King continued, “A perfect gentleman, thankfully, but I don’t know what to make of him and felt need of your counsel.”

Elendrie arched an eyebrow – a sweeping gesture in Elvish expressions. “I am glad to do whatever I can. My Lady, is this new to you as well?”

“It is, my Lord, new to all of us.”

Asking that of a human woman would have been unthinkable – as unthinkable as one attending kingly councils in the first place. But Arwen was a high Elf of considerable experience and wisdom, older than Elendrie. She would ally herself with her husband but she was there for a reason and the Quendu (male Elf) would watch for hints closely.

Aragorn turned to the attendant and said, “Please bring in Mr. Tallazh and the prisoner.”

Soundlessly, the man opened the door and gestured to a brace of guards in the corridor. Then he stood back as two guards positioned themselves in front of the royal couple. Next in was an olive-skinned merchant holding a folio. He was followed by a tall, pale man crowned with a confusion of short, thick blonde hair. Two more guards trailed behind and closed the door.

The blonde and dark men were positioned about the middle of the long table just past Levantos who had chosen his seat deliberately. The first guards stepped back to the wall. None of the four palace men had shown a glint of steel but there was no doubt they would use it. Before sitting, the prisoner leaned over the table and looked intently at Elendrie. Cracking a toothy grin he said, "**_Nel pusht de meh!"_** in delight.

The King let that pass long enough to introduce Nag Kath and Mr. Tallazh the interpreter. Tallazh was asked to take notes as well. The dark man nodded to the Ambassador and Levantos with deference before helping himself to tea.

Aragorn asked, “What did he say?”

Tallazh interpreted, “He said to Ambassador Elendrie; ‘You are like me!’”

Curious, the ambassador mused, “Tell him I have been like this for many years.” And to the King; “I see your concern.” Tallazh did as asked.

Nag Kath ran his long fingers through the tousled hair past his Elvish ears as he considered the news. Elendrie own ears were already showing thanks to a modest silver circlet around his long, light brown hair, in keeping with a royal summons.

From nowhere the blonde said, “_**Douel kan ishte.**_” Then I may live.

The others considered this for a moment in silence. To get the conversation moving, the King asked through Tallazh, “We understand you went to see our paintings and sculpture.”

This took Tallazh some time. In the abridged black speech of dark minions there was no art. He had to describe them in orcish terms with hand gestures. For his part, Nag Kath listened intently. When he understood he offered, “Uruk do not have this.”

The diplomat asked, “What did you think?”

That took less time to translate but the orc/Elf needed longer to form a response, “Pressure here” lightly thumping his chest. “No Uruk feel. We know fear and strength. No feel ...” looking at a nearby painting, "that."

Tallazh offered, “If I may, I make that to say it found an emotion they do not know or are not permitted to express.”

While the interpreter parsed through his response, Nag Kath kept his gaze on a large painting of Turambar, ninth king of Gondor, greeting notables in the formalized style of the era. Next to him was his queen, Nepthat. She was exquisite, probably more on canvas than in life. That the artist capturing her so favorably while commemorating a forgotten conference was what made art immortal. Nag Kath was rapt, drinking in every nuance of her face.

Elendrie wanted to stay on this line and asked, "Do your people have art?" knowing full-well they did not.

Tallazh's translation brought the creature back to the present and he frowned, "No. Uruk only do what must. Only as well as must. Who make this … " pointing to the painting, "… does as well as can for no reason. Must feel here." He thumped at his chest again.

The Queen said levelly, “And you heard music, too." Levantos bit his lip and, like Londigal, wondered how many ways that could be interpreted.

Tallazh tried that with more success. Nag Kath opened his mouth with a low singing tone that surprised everyone by its volume and clarity – more or less on pitch with the male villain’s solo in the pageant. The men present were more impressed than the Elves who found orcish opera as grating as the original.

“Mu … sic?” he aped the queen’s word in passable common speech. Possibly a question? Perhaps only mimicry.

“Music, yes. Tales of great deeds.” Tallazh answered in the black speech.

Aragorn remembered him fixed on the stage and crying.

Nag Kath did not understand he was there to answer to the lords’ inquest. Why would he? None of them had a whip. As those seated were still digesting his artistic turn, he said with a hint of bitterness, "Can mu-sic. Can not speak Uruk. New mouth. New teeth. Not Uruk!”

The King alone among them had seen, and been bitten by, Uruk teeth. Whatever this creature was now, his perfect white smile was an improvement. The changeling was actually quite a specimen, but the pretty face didn’t fit his huge body. He seemed only in his teens as Elves age.

Nag Kath asked more loudly of the room, “What am I?”

The mood shifted back to their purpose. This was a trial for the creature’s life. Levantos listened to Tallazh's rendering and finally spoke, “That is what we are here to discover.” 

The King’s minister was here for a reason too. A hundred thousand of Sauron’s servants were destroyed within hours of their master. Orcs, trolls, fell beasts – all but the smaller wolves and the poor Mûmikil Farkess' men were retraining to pull the pile driver. Any creatures modified by darkness died. Sauron's human allies were unaffected but on the run. And this one! Was he here for a reason or by accident? And how had he survived the Army of the Dead? He was no pretty Elf then. They should have slain him just as surely as the rest, weeks before the Black Gate. The Dead Army followed the orcs to the third level, one above where this monster was stored. They must have seen him.

More to the judges than the prisoner, King Elessar said, “That is the question … and what to do with him. For my part, I suspect some sorcery preserved him. If the legends are true, the orcs were wrought from tortured Elves at the time of the two trees. With Morgoth and Sauron finally destroyed, could he have reverted to his older form?”

Arwen was long familiar with the ways of orcs and not charitably disposed. Her own mother had been captured and tortured by them five hundred years before. Brothers Elladan and Elrohir rescued her before death but could not save her spirit. In despondency and confusion she sailed to Valinor, the Elvish paradise, the next year. The Queen guided the conversation, “My Lord Elendrie, the King told me that in his first interrogation of this creature (she had not warmed to orcs with names) was discussed its manner of transformation. It claimed there was fell light and sound at the time we know Sauron’s ring was unmade. The change took over a year in darkness, unseen by our eyes.”

Leaning back and moving her eyes across the faces, “Let us not forget that Sauron took form as a beautiful Elf while sowing lies and deceit to the destruction of Numenor and many Elvish kingdoms. Might the dark lord have escaped his doom again ere Mordor fell? His craft has long been to put us at ease, spinning false webs as he regains strength.” Aragorn hadn’t considered that. At bottom, he was a trusting man. The wicked stood out plainly in his world. 

Ever the ambassador, Elendrie asked Nag Kath in soft tones, “What would you like to do?”

Tallazh had to reframe that one. Uruks don’t like anything and what they wanted didn’t matter. When he got the message across, Nag Kath brightened and said,

“I music. I art. If I live, I music my own tale!” That brought out his brightest and least Elvish grin yet.

Arwen was not charmed, “You said before you may live. Why?” Did the monster finally know it was here for the justice of eight thousand years?

Tallazh followed the answer as best he could, “Uruk made full, big.” The orc/Elf used his arms to emphasize his size which was taller than all but the tallest Elves and slightly wider across. “But only live six years. Little orcs live long. Uruks no. Yet he lives long," nodding towards the unnamed ambassador.

Arwen’s tone was relentless, “How old are you?”

Nag Kath asked Tallazh what month it was and was told the Black version of May. The creature did the arithmetic on his fingers, “In cave for … fifteen moons. I am two cycles old next month.”

The Lady's expression became a combination of surprise and understanding, “By Eru Ilúvatar, he is an infant among our peoples.”

Elendrie offered in Sindarin (common Elvish), “That would explain his wonder at new things before him.”

Nag Kath snapped his head to the ambassador. There was something in the cadence or sound that was closer to his tongue than they had considered. He said softly to no one in particular with Tallazh translating, “I do not think you will kill me.”

So he did know. Levantos took the bait, “Why not?”

“Who can make art, music …” turning towards Queen Nepthat’s lasting beauty, “… would not let me suffer so long just to kill.”

Everyone sitting at the table asked themselves if he was right. King Elessar Telcontar called the vote. “Ambassador Elendrie, I asked you here because this creature is closer to an Elf in appearance than man or orc. Your judgment informs us all.”

Elendrie leaned forward and put his elbows on the table, “I agree this raises more questions than answers. This being has no place among my people. We are leaving these shores and Valinor is not ready for him. That said; I can have no objection if he learns how to paint.”

There was the humor Levantos suspected. Now it was his turn. “My Lords and Lady, when heard an orc survived our dungeon, I’d have his head on a spear. It would put paid to the last known enemy of our age. I am less sure now and will abide with any decision you make, Sire"

The King glanced next to him. Lady Arwen said in a flat, merciless tone, “It will have to be watched.” She already knew her husband would spare the monster if it did not fail being put to the question today. His compassion was why she loved him. And he’d made a good point the night before that this creature seemed ready to describe the military and organizational ken of dark armies; things that would have helped them greatly last year and for a hundred generations of men before. This vile changeling could disappear any time after cooperating.

King Elessar Telcontar concluded, “Ambassador Elendrie, thank you for your care. I will let you know my decision. Altides, thank you as well.” The royal couple rose together and all stood and bowed. “Thank you, my dear. I am always in hope when you are near.”

She walked out with Elendrie, an old friend. Aragorn was right that he represent the Elves in what, dare she admit it, looked like an Elvish matter. Still at the pinnacle of her grace, her lot was now cast with the younger races. Better to make a clean break and let her people be served by one unquestionably of them. Elendrie also had some talent in her grandmother Galadriel’s ósanwe or far-speaking, the ability to enter another's mind. He was not as pure or strong as her, but he could convey basic messages to both Galadriel and Arwen’s father, Elrond. Yes, the Elves were leaving Middle-Earth. They would shepherd men until the last.

The King said to the guards, “Take the prisoner back to his quarters and keep watch as before."

Tallazh planned to follow the guards surrounding the remarkable creature until his liege asked, "Mr. Tallazh, would you stay a moment?"

___________-----___________

Tallazh was tempted to sit back down but one did not just make himself at home with his liege. Aragorn turned over his shoulder and asked the door attendant, “Please send in Mr. Gantellus.”

Amarr Gantellus must have been just outside and appeared instantly with a bow and a smile. He had been the personal handman (valet) of Steward Denethor for eight years and was enjoying the change of scenery. Unlike many on the seventh level, the servant was not cut from military cloth. Short, round, bald as an onion, he knew everything about serving the man in charge, the perfect gentleman's gentleman. He could assess moods precisely. And he could find anything – for a modest honorarium.

The King had reservations about retaining someone so close to the unlamented Steward, but many of the people he was learning to respect liked Gantellus, whose role in most courts accumulated enemies. There wasn't a political bone in his body. Lady Arwen tipped the scale by noting, quite rightly, that the King's Arnoran rangers might be a little rough for protocol.

“Yes, Sire?”

“I have a queer errand. Do you know of someone who teaches art; painting, sculpture and such craft?” Noticing Tallazh standing tentatively by his chair, the King motioned for him to sit.

“I do, my Lord, several. Or I did. I’ve heard naught since the war.”

“I’m looking for someone who might have a school where those wishing to learn would have room and board.”

“That narrows the list, Sire. Mr. Quastille has, or had, such an establishment on the second level. He would be elderly now and was assisted by a spinster daughter. I can inquire if he is still in such employ.”

“Quastille? Didn’t he paint the little mural outside the foyer?

"Some years back, My Lord."

"Yes, please do.”

With a wink, Gantellus added, “Cook has made cobbler with the first Lebennin cherries. It’s still warm.” He would bring a second piece for his Lord's guest.

The King rounded the dais and sat next to said guest. He poured a fresh mug of tea from the pitcher and refilled Tallazh's mug. "I've taken a gamble. You can help me level the odds. But first, tell me how came you to know ancient tongues?"

"It is the story of my life, Sire," Tallazh answered with a smile. Both men understood the question was why he knew so much about the evil ones. Most that had were buried in pits as far as they could be dragged from the city.

Tallazh decided the long story wouldn't leave suspicious gaps so he started with, "My father was in business with his two older brothers trading goods with foreign lands. Like every boy in the family, I was taught to read and write and was later put to work learning everything there was to know about our trade. After a few years, my duties included transporting wares to, from or across Elvish lands. Languages came easily to me and I learned enough Sindarin to be useful. The Elves all spoke the common tongue, of course, but understanding what they said among themselves never hurt in setting the right price."

Tallazh paused long enough to give the King a chance to react. The ranger/warrior might not be a businessman. A smile or frown would shape the narrative. Aragorn's face betrayed nothing so the merchant continued. "I was the third son of a third son and the business was getting crowded with ambitious cousins. Knowing my gift of tongues, my father, a dear man, offered to send me to the House of Scholars, as it was called in those days. I was accepted and assigned to Scholar Vorondies, a terrible old pedant but the authority on languages no one spoke anymore. Most were Elvish in origin, including the Black Speech which was of keen interest to him. I studied them for three years and learned how they formed the languages used today. When I was twenty, the Denald fever reduced the count of cousins considerably and my father asked me to rejoin the firm in a senior position."

King Elessar interrupted, "That must have been a terrible blow after all your hard work."

"To tell the truth, My Lord, I was bored with scholarship and Scholars. Please don't tell Mendies." he added conspiratorially, "Our times there overlapped and we've been friends since. I'd been back about a year when one of our suppliers on the border of neutral Harondor offered to sell us his business. It was a splendid opportunity but nobody volunteered to go -- the middle of nowhere and too close to Harad. The Southrons were fairly accommodative at the time. My father’s people came from Khand and I spoke a little of that too. Being unmarried was the short straw and I was sent to Transagri to bring our new enterprise into the fold.

"I was there three years. Most of the goods were destined for Gondor but there was local trade too. Not long after I arrived we started seeing small caravans of half-orcs taking selected items east. It seems some of the higher villains had a taste for nice things. A vile and vulgar lot, but they paid cash, generally behaved themselves and the city fathers made them check their weapons at the gate. None of them expected us to speak any of their language either. Like in the Elvish towns, feigning ignorance was often helpful. They spoke Plainstongue to us but frequently broke into vicious arguments among themselves in orcish over prices and quality. I also wanted to know if they meant violence.

"My Lord, that was when I learned how the simpler creatures of the dark lands adapted the ancient Elvish to their purpose. They use less than half the words in the wrong order. That's why this Kath fellow was so interesting. His tongue was closer to Vorondies’ understanding than the rough lads of the south. I made bold to ask about his rank thinking he might be an officer. I'm sorry about the sword."

His Liege smiled, "Not as sorry as Levantos." 

"About then, Hûk Boulu conquered the Chelkar and it was time to come home in a hurry. I married well, had a son and two daughters and count myself fortunate. Now that the threat of Mordor is gone, the family is moving most of our trade to Osgiliath. I chose to stay here to handle our business with the crown and gradually retire. My wife and son are both gone, weak hearts, I grieve. My daughters have families of their own. I spend more time entertaining my grandchildren than I do at work.

"And that, Sire, is my tale, other than to thank you for bringing lordship to these lands."

"Thank you, Mr. Tallazh. Would you be interested in some discreet side-work?"

"What manner of work, may I ask?" A cautious man. 

"Nothing strenuous. This creature may be the only one of his kind. There may also be legions of original orcs in the dark places beneath the mountains ... the northern wastes too. We have never had a look into how they make war; logistics, supply, where they come from and how fast. This fellow seems glad to help. 

"I would like you to tutor him in our speech and such things. Extract from him everything he knows about how evil forces prepare to fight: positions, formations, communications, everything."

"Gladly, my lord."

Aragorn nodded before saying, "What would you want in exchange for this important service?"

"Nothing Sire. As I said, I count myself fortunate."

"Thank you. Lieutenant Koos will be in touch."


	3. Of Use

** _Chapter 3_ **

** _Of Use_ **

Quastille had a second helping of the morning porridge. He didn’t much care for oats but these were not times to waste food. His daughter kept it warm just in case. Sylveth was now just over forty, a sweet girl but not comely. Such suitors who had considered a match were long gone. She seemed to take it well but her da pained for her true heart. 

A dowry would have helped. Edem Quastille had never been good with money. His wife managed the books better, but the Denald fever after the floods had taken her along with so many others. Sylveth was only nine. Their income depended on people of means sending pupils to learn at his feet, a fickle business; that. Some young men were actually talented. Some worked hard. Some were there because his tuition was cheaper than letting them ruin the family business. 

He did own the rooms outright – an inheritance from his wife’s side of the family. Their apartment was on the third floor. The studio was on the second. If times had gotten slightly worse he would have converted it to a paying apartment by installing a door. Students were housed on the first floor. There had been as many as a half-dozen in halcyon days. There were two now. One lad showed promise. The other had some natural talent too but his lack of ambition was the reason his family chose his further education away from their granary on the Anduin.

No sooner had Quastille finished than they heard a knock on the door. Peeping through the hole revealed a tall fellow in palace livery. Quastille’s first instinct was that a creditor had lost patience. No, he was current, but it had happened enough that his mind ran back to leaner times. And besides, this fellow was too well turned-out to be a bill collector.

He opened the door, “How may I help you, sir?”

“I am Fidelar Koos, sir. I’ve come to ask about your teaching program.”

“We’ve never had a member of the palace staff as a student. Please come in.” Sylveth went to see if there was enough of the fire left to heat tea.

“Have a seat, Mr. Koos.”

“Thank you. I’m not here for myself, Mr. Quastille. I’m making inquiries for a gentleman who would like to encourage an aspiring artist.”

The artist chuckled to himself. Wonder what the poor fellow did? Families from the fifth level often sent third-parties to negotiate. Aspiring? He would see. Not that it mattered. He would teach them to finger-paint as long as their coin was bright. Quastille himself was a fine artist and sculptor, taught by Lentillar himself! Did he not have a mural on the seventh level? “What can I tell you of my humble office?” The game had begun.

Koos said earnestly, “Well, sir, I am told the student is a visitor from northern lands in the uniting of Gondor and Arnor. He is young and speaks little of the common tongue. His family wishes him to learn the art and culture of the capital at a school with room and board. He is inexperienced in the ways of the world. Virtuous living is imperative.”

Not that it mattered, young man, but good luck keeping rich art students from tasting the varied fruits of Minas Tirith. Students had their own keys if they came home after curfew. Given the messenger’s dress and speech, the aspiring artist must be from nobility somewhere. Very well! We’ll tend him for you. Quastille warmed to his pitch, “Young man, you have described our school admirably. I confess; we are not familiar with the customs and faiths of foreign lands. Must they be part of his education?”

“I don’t believe so, Mr. Quastille. A strict and respectful home should serve well. I do not know if this matters, but the person of whom I speak does not eat meat.”

Even better. Meat is expensive – even horse meat. Those Mûmikil were tasty for the first week.

Koos said gravely, “If this meets your standards, my employer would like a word privately. Would you be available to meet him after tea today?”

That was not really a question. This fellow was no errand boy. “Yes, I think I can rearrange my schedule. Sylveth, can you take the afternoon painting lesson?” There was no afternoon painting lesson. Both students were free after lunch but this man didn’t need to know that.

“Of course, father.”

“Very well, Mr. Koos. Where should I go?”

"I'll have a man-cart here for you at the three-bell."

_____________--------____________

Oh, please, let this be real!

It had taken Quastille a year to get two paying students. Bloody orcs! With two he could just keep the wolf from the door. With three, one a foreign lordling with local patrons, he could get on the waiting list for spectacles. His vision was robust as a young blade but things were blending together now. Before the war a pair of spectacles would have cost a duke's ransom. Melting glass that pure was difficult. One in twenty lenses survived being pressed into the mold.

That had changed in a flash -- literally. The molten rock of Mt. Doom flowed over small patches of white sand on its eastern edge. Chipping off the slag revealed fine glass large enough for windows. Pieces the size for spectacles could be had by the hundreds. Of course, the guild still jealously guarded their grinding and polishing secrets, but raw materials had always been the barrier. Frames were only limited by imagination and cash. 

One had to go to Mordor for this bounty. He would leave that to men willing to sneak past fouled water to that smoldering heap. Yes, he would get on the waiting list. Quastille kept all this to himself as the man-carter had nothing to say. This puller was a bit less ragged than his ilk but had the tell-tale knotted calves of men who had pulled their betters up that miserable hill since their naming-days. The cart was cleaner than usual.

The artist made himself comfortable and looked out at the scenery. It had been a while since he’d been to the fifth level that defined upper society. The cart kept going. And it kept going. After passing expectant guards at the seventh level, the cart stopped in a shaded turn-out. Young Mr. Koos walked up and said, “This way Mr. Quastille.”

He was shown to a small ante-room that was actually in the palace proper. One could tell by the checkered wall trim bordering most of the halls. Or so he’d been told. His mural was an exterior work. Koos gestured, “Please take a seat. We’ll be with you shortly.” Shortly turned out to be more like half a bell but a servant brought cooled tea and a cherry tart to wile the time.

The door opened and the King of Gondor walked in alone. As was his habit on non-state occasions, Aragorn wore a simple tunic embroidered with a silver tree on the chest, no crown, no hat. In the confusion of deciding to finish chewing, wipe his chin or stand and bow, Quastille did none. His King sat to his left at the small table. “Thank you for coming Mr. Quastille. I’m glad to meet you.”

By now Quastille had swallowed and managed to croak, “I am honored, my Lord.”

Aragorn said, “We have enjoyed your painting since arriving.”

Was that the royal “we” or did it include the Lady Arwen? “Thank you, Sire. I hope it has fared well with the seasons.”

“You may need to touch it up, but I was thinking of other art this day. I have taken responsibility for a young fellow who wants to be an artist with all his heart. He’s had no artistic training at all in his secluded circumstance and precious little else in the way of learning or social skills. There has been hardship, I fear. I understand your school might be able to help him pursue this ambition.”

“Yes, sire. That is the work we do. Some students live in the city. Others are from elsewhere and stay with us.”

“Do you currently have room for another to stay?

The questioned showed the Lord's breeding but was certainly not necessary. For a King’s ward, Sylveth could sleep in the kitchen. “Yes, Sire. Since the war, families have seen to more immediate needs.” A little honesty is always a nice touch.

Aragorn said gravely, “Before I go any further, this conversation must stay between us whether you take the labor or not.”

“Of course, Sire. “

“This fellow is not a man. He is mostly Elf. He is come from enslavement in the lands of the dark lords and suffered greatly. I don’t know if he has any artistic talent at all. You will be starting with a clean slate. His education must include such things as men of the west take for granted – with a strong sense of moral rightness”

It wouldn’t have mattered if the King said he was an orc. Quastille’s face was a picture of concern. His Liege continued, “May I ask you are able to provide such education and your charge for a year in your care?”

Quastille had debated this since passing the fifth level in the man-cart. He could do it for free to be hailed as artistic consultant to royalty. He could charge an outrageous sum since money meant nothing to these people. In the end, he decided to charge what he got when there were six students clamoring for his wisdom. “Sire, the fee for room, board and education is half a Florin per six months. Twice that would be a full Florin.”

Without a word, the king produced a small purse and pressed it into the artist’s hand, maintaining eye contact all the while. “A fair price indeed. There are two gold Florins in there for your service and another Florin in smaller coins for the student’s incidentals. He has no money of his own and will need clothes, supplies and other things to present himself in our city.

"There are other conditions.”

Of course. It couldn’t be this easy. “You have but to name them, Sire.”

“Given his inexperience, it would be best if he was kept from drinking establishments until he is more familiar with city life." A pause for emphasis, "A man will visit regularly to help him learn the common tongue. He can also interpret for you as part of his duties. If you can make room for tutoring in your lodgings, you can schedule that between you.” 

Aragorn became graver, “The last thing is that this student knows things of importance to the crown – things he need only share with his tutor. Let Mr. Koos know if unseemly persons take an interest in him. I would like you to keep me informed of his progress every two months or if there is anything noteworthy, all in the strictest confidence. Is that agreeable?”

“Yes, Sire.” And he meant it. As conditions go, those were no worse than having Sylveth confiscate wine bottles hidden under the cots.

“Very well, Mr. Quastille. Mr. Koos will take you back to the cart. He will tell you how to reach him.”

Quastille stood surprisingly straight and bowed gratefully. Two Florin in tuition and another for the clothes past students had left in the trunk! A good day indeed! 

_____________--------____________

Three knocks on the door; not timid, not aggressive. Sylveth dried her hands on her apron and looked through the peephole. Two men; one so tall she couldn't see his head. They were expected so she opened up.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Please come in."

One man was of normal height with somewhat eastern coloring and features, dressed modestly but well. He seemed small next to the blonde man but was the same height as her Tata. The tall one commanded her eyes. She thought herself over dreams of romance. This one probably had that effect wherever he went.

The shorter of the two said, "You must be Sylveth. I am Amiedes Tallazh. This is Nag Kath. He is to learn art from Master Quastille."

Master Quastille! Yes, yes indeed! Father was an acknowledged Master, but that title wasn't used as often in fine arts as it was in the guilds to define an artisan's standing. Among painters and sculptors, 'Master' was honorific, usually self-applied. She smiled, "You are expected, sirs. If you'll have a seat, I'll let the Master know you're here."

Sylveth walked downstairs as the visitors sat on the well-worn couch. Nag Kath's eyes immediately went to some of the small paintings hung around what served as the main room. The night before, Gantellus managed to find some clothes in the giant's size along with a pair of shoes. The military trousers were inappropriate given whose side he had been on. Longer trousers and shoes also made him look less like a huge hobbit. His blouse had blood on one sleeve from the chafing of the manacles. Those wounds would have taken weeks to heal on a man. No one noticed Nag Kath's wrist was already smooth. 

Quastille was on the second floor demonstrating how to mix the brown shades of paint. Artists who painted or decorated sculpture in color had to be chemists as well. Some components were always available like pitch and powdered stone. Others were from plants and needed to be acquired in season. Quastille had a good supply of most, but always kept his eye to the markets for bargains or when dead flowers could be had for the taking.

The Master came upstairs and bowed to the mismatched pair. "Welcome to my studio, gentlemen. May I offer you tea?" Sylveth kept the kettle warm so she could reheat it quickly. After all, these were paying customers.

"Thank you, yes, for both of us." After a pause to acknowledge Sylveth's effort, Tallazh spoke again, "Master Quastille, I am Amiedes Tallazh. I have been retained by our benefactor to introduce Nag Kath. It is Nag Kath's hope to learn all manner of artistry. He has no formal training whatsoever and does not speak our language so this may be challenging. His benefactor thought I should visit here twice a week to tutor his language skills and interpret for you should you find barriers in communication."

Well, Quastille thought to himself, this was manageable. The King hadn't made any demands on the speed of his learning, or that he learn anything at all. Look at the size of this fellow! He would have to duck under most of the doorways in the home. "Thank you Mr. Tallazh. That will certainly help. Showing visual arts is easier than explaining so we should make progress. Did you have any particular days in mind?"

"I had thought to ask after Tuesday and Thursday mornings for two hours each."

"Could we possibly make Thursday after lunch?"

"Yes, I think that will be fine."

Quastille asked, "Mr. Koos said that Mr. Kath had unusual dietary needs?"

Mr. Koos, not Lieutenant? Tallazh would keep it that way. "I think just Nag Kath will be fine, and not that I know of. Serve whatever you are having and he can make those decisions himself."

Quastille asked, "As a foreigner, does he have any religious or cultural observations we should know? We wouldn't want to cause offense."

"Again; not that I know. Alas, Nag Kath's people were under the thumb of dark powers for some time. Assume that he is, in your terms, a blank canvas for the higher ideals of Gondoran culture."

The two men had met before. Tallazh remembered Quastille from a gallery exhibit ten years ago. His work was quite good. The Master did not recall Tallazh, but there were so many easterners about these days. The businessman continued, "Mr. Koos has already told you how to contact him. Here is where I can be reached." He handed Quastille his business card. "If anything happens you feel is important, I am available at all hours."

For his part, Nag Kath had sat quietly watching the men speak and drifting back to the paintings around the room. Tallazh then spoke to him in a harsh, guttural tongue. The Master thought he would speak some form of Elvish. Maybe this was a form of Elvish. The big man nodded as if new to nodding.

Tallazh said "Then I will take my leave." Both visitors stood. Tallazh and Quastille bowed in the manner of equal citizens and the darker man saw himself out the door.

Quastille decided if the giant couldn't speak the common-tongue now, there was no time like the present. He thumped his chest with two fingers and said, "Master Quastille" slowly three times. 

Nag Kath pointed at himself and said, "Nag Kath" with the same raw tone Tallazh used. He pointed at Quastille and said, "Mashte Kaastul", leaving out the elegant "i" that harkened back to a fine, old family.

He will manage it soon enough. "Sylveth, this is Nag Kath. Nag Kath, this is Sylveth." who had only just brought tea. 

Nag Kath did not do as well with her name but neither Quastille corrected him. Sylveth handed him the tea. The big lad immediately took a swig, dropped the mug and turned beet red. "_**Doosht!**_"

Quastille spoke quietly to Sylveth, "Hot tea must be new as well." Sylveth looked at the broken mug on the floor. For an instant she was distressed because it was one of the few matching pieces they owned. Then she recalled that this handsome Elf-breed came with enough geld for a new set.

The Elf resumed his normal pallor and seemed to realize he had offended. "**_Taraldshe._**" That was not a word used much in the pits of Isengard. Uruks did not apologize. It showed weakness. It would only be said to a superior to mitigate punishment, not that it did much good.

Then he gracefully stooped and started picking up pieces. Sylveth joined him. Much of the steaming tea had evaporated or dripped through to the studio. Sylveth cupped her hands and Nag Kath gently poured his chips on top of hers with a sheepish grin.

"This way, Nag Kath." The stranger picked-up a small carpetbag next to the sofa and followed Quastille downstairs past the two students to the lowest floor. There were six cots, none of which was long enough. The Master dragged a spare up against the foot of another for extra length. His feet would have to stick out under the sheets. Then he made a show with his hand of putting the bag on the cot and the Elf did so.

Up a flight the lads were grinding and mixing the paint they would use the next day for their landscape study. The greens were already done. Both looked up at the teacher and new student. Quastille told them the night before a boy was joining them but no more.

Timalen Brushta was not yet 17. His lank brown hair would soon thin. He seemed grim but that was more because of his long sallow face than lack of humor. Tim was a clever lad and was here because his family recognized his talent and pooled their modest resources so one of them could succeed. He managed a rare smile at the towering Elfling.

Lentaraes Maedegon was a little older with a handsome face and jet black hair, black enough to have some eastern blood, except everything else about him could have been carved from a Numenorean statue. He had also demonstrated artistic potential but his main reason for attending was that he had not dedicated himself as much to his family's business as to carousing with idle friends and visiting unsuitable females after decent people had retired. They paid for the semester in advance. Lentaraes produced an easier smile and walked over to Nag Kath to shake hands. 

No one had explained handshakes to Nag Kath. This didn't seem a threat. The prison guard with the stick wasn't so lucky. He reached out and encircled the student's normal hand with careful pressure. A complete success! He could have broken every bone by misinterpreting the gesture. Timalen walked around the work table and did the same.

Quastille spoke in his lecturer's tone, "Gentlemen, this is Nag Kath. He is come to us from northern lands and speaks none of our tongue so anything you can do to further his understanding will help. He is also new to our craft and will be further behind you as we progress. Fear not, this will not impede your own studies. Nag Kath’s family are pious people and his benefactor made it clear that his education is to be in keeping with our southern virtues" with a nod to Lentaraes. Lentaraes would have to ask privately if that meant southern virtues like the pious Valarans modest living or like his own. There was quite a range.

Quastille instantly saw the look and made the same conclusion. The Master had known plenty of lads like Lentaraes; playboy sons of successful families. Unlike most of them, Lentaraes wasn't a hard drinker. He liked his fun and company but never came back to school in his cups. No doubt there were husbands he should avoid. That was his business. The Master walked over to the mixing table. They had done good work. "You might add a little more of the ocher to this batch", he offered. “It will dry lighter than it shows now."

The students got back to their craft and Quastille to the visitor. He wasn't quite sure what to make of him. Definitely a man, if man was the word, to have behind you in a scrap. No scars, straight teeth, the King and Tallazh both said he had seen hard times but you couldn't tell that from the pretty face. Well, let's see what he could do! The master showed him to a tall stool behind a small angled desk. A large piece of paper was already pinned to the surface and there were several pencils and charcoals resting against a lip protruding from the bottom. Leaning over the desk, Quastille took one of the pencils and started a rough sketch of the far corner of the room with the large window. It only took him a minute to get the essence of the subject. The Master handed the pencil to Nag Kath and dragged his finger further to the right where the sketch could be continued.

At that moment, Nag Kath realized that this was one whose chest must pound from making art. That was a feeling. Feelings were bad except anger and hatred. Fear was a feeling too. Fear was how the training sergeants enforced their orders but it must not be shown among ranker Uruk warriors. Quastille wondered how such a large hand could grip the pencil but then realized that this man's fingers were quite elegant, much like the Dunedain men of Dol Amroth who played the large Delannes harp in traditional story-song. 

Nag Kath started extending the Master's lines along the floor and rafters to the right until they reached the hill-side of the studio. To Quastille's amazement, he copied the ticked wood grain of the beam as drawn but used more as the shadows deepened away from the window. Maybe this fellow had done some drawing before. 

His new student was already intent on his sketch so Quastille let him doodle and would check later. He needed to inspect the canvasses Timalen and Lentaraes had stretched for receiving fresh paint in the morning session. Then he would slip out to the fourth level for a visit to a spectacle maker's shop. The guild Master had produced spectacles for two artists he knew and came recommended. Bribing his way up the waiting list was part of the purchase but he now worked for the King, even if he couldn't tell anyone.

_____________--------____________

Another lucky day! The spectacle guildsman had no customers in his shop and could study Quastille's eyes in proper light. The problem with his vision was simply age rather than misshapen eyes from birth. Evidently that was common and only called for a simple grinding process. He could even get narrow lenses to see over the top edge for distance. It would take several more fittings and cost more than he'd originally thought, but what was money was for?!

When the Master arrived back at the studio, both of his older students were in their quarters. Timalen was reading. He was almost always reading. A cousin or nephew was an adept at the College of Scholars and could borrow books quietly as long as they were returned in the same condition. Lentaraes was sitting up on his cot with a small sketch board. For all of his affected indolence, he actually liked creating things. A thought would enter his mind and must be committed to paper else it would not leave.

The master asked, "Where is the new man?"

Timalen looked up, "Still downstairs working on the sketch. He seemed very intent." Quastille walked down the stairs and saw Nag Kath exactly as he had left him three hours before. There was still light enough to see the drawing so he quietly worked his way behind the aspiring artist.

This was something to be seen! Every object, every shadow, even a cobweb was drawn from one end of the room to the other. The lines weren't as straight as would have been drawn with a rule but good enough. Nag Kath had drawn no perspective so the cabinet furthest from the window was the same size as the near, but this was still an astonishing scribble from someone who purportedly never drew a stick-man in his life.

Something was wrong. The shadows! They were drawn exactly as they were when Quastille left. Somehow the Elf had memorized the light at that moment and never adapted. The master complimented, "This is nice! Tomorrow we'll work on distance." They both climbed the stairs to the top floor, collecting Timalen and Lentaraes along the way for dinner.

_____________--------____________

Twice a week for two hours at a stretch, Tallazh and Nag Kath sat together privately in Quastille's kitchen nook at work on the latter's common tongue. In the process, Nag Kath spent much of the time describing his life as a fighting Uruk-hai. Tallazh took notes in Quenya for security.

After a few sessions, Tallazh wasn't sure the King would get much more than he already knew. It seemed the Elf's beginnings were as humble as a stable fly. The Uruks were grown rather than born. Unusually, he came from a pod (he called it) of only 19 individuals. Most Uruk-hai were created in lots of hundreds according to their special purpose in the war.

Nag Kath's pod members were taller, thinner and faster runners than the average Uruk so they became staff messengers. Part of their training was remembering orders and responses verbatim. Field commanders were notoriously unwilling to obey or even acknowledge competing line officers so using unaffiliated runners offered some small neutrality. There was job security too. If a messenger met with an accident reporting to your command, there were repercussions. Crows were much faster but could not remember more than a single phrase. They were also tasty. Sometimes small orcs riding wargs (warags, he called them) would be used. They were faster too, but owed their allegiance to Mordor. Saruman wanted independence in planning.

Uruk-hai were strictly line soldiers. The vast majority of them carried swords or pikes. One in ten of the best were trained as archers. Uruks didn't make anything, cook anything or do anything other than train to fight men. Orcs manufactured all weapons and armor. Sometimes the Uruks would help orcs fell trees but the two breeds hated each other even more than they hated themselves. 

More to the King's interests; battle formations were in units of ten. That was helpful because Elvish counting was in twelves. Nag Kath could do arithmetic fairly quickly by using his hands. Even if he didn't know the names of the sums, ten fingers twice was either twenty or a hundred, depending on how they were placed. He was completely illiterate. Units of ten were headed by a senior fighter or corporal in western parlance. Sergeants could manage from two to five units of ten depending on the application. Junior officers might handle more units or have sergeants report to them. Higher rank was more convoluted or unshared with Nag Kath. Who was in a good odor mattered more than seniority so ambitious Uruks spent a lot of time currying favor. Essential provisioning and discipline was left to their underlings with varying degrees of success.

The reason Tallazh began to doubt the military usefulness of the Elf/orc's information was that Saruman's troops were isolated from Sauron's with a different mandate. He had said that they also used units of ten but didn't know anything about the command structure. Merchant Tallazh saw the King after four such meetings with Nag Kath but kept his concerns about the intelligence to himself.

Starting with the fifth meeting, things changed. No one ever thought to consider the brains of these creatures. They could be cunning and clever, brave even, but their motivations were never discussed. How could such low beings have interesting thoughts? Perhaps more relevant; how did Nag Kath’s memories translate to his new brain? Had they been selected as messengers because they could remember things so precisely?

When Tallazh asked why the Uruks would charge into certain death compared to death for deserting or disobeying, Nag Kath became stone silent for several minutes. Tallazh didn't push because he would see the creature's mind at work. Finally, it said that each level of superior was capable of dealing terrible pain and death for the slightest infraction. Death happened seldom, but enough that no one doubted it. Officers, in turn, faced the same horror until finally reaching the point where the evil wizard could inflict unimaginable suffering with a flick of his finger. Death in battle was the best possible outcome. Preparing for death in battle was less painful than objecting. They would not live long anyway. There was camaraderie, of a sort. Anyone suspected of less than enthusiastic cooperation was fed to the warags. 

Nag Kath finally opened-up about his torment in the dungeon. Tallezh hadn't quite understood that in the first interrogation. When the ring was destroyed, the world felt a burst of lightning as the power was released. That knocked the Uruk stone cold. Each time he woke, he would eat and then undergo up to three hours of excruciating pain as different parts of his body remade themselves from orc to Elf. Then he would lose consciousness again and wake two or three days later to repeat the cycle.

This went on for about eleven months. Then, rather suddenly, the pain of transforming was greatly reduced. He still felt changes and localized aches, but nothing like the conversion. He had become what he is now.

To escape the pain, Nag Kath developed a technique that let him decouple his mind from his body. In the worst of the cycle it would only last a few seconds. As he got better and the cycles lost intensity, those intervals grew longer. Now, he could leave his body for hours at a time. Tallazh first thought of the mystics in Harad who could train themselves to ignore all the flies landing on them. With contemplation, this seemed more like how Elves rested. Perhaps in becoming an Elf he had learned their natural restoration the hard way.

In his second meeting with the King a month later, the two men talked much longer. Maybe this was something useful after all. No matter how many orcs survived, they didn't have a reigning dark lord. Fear flowed from the top. Sowing doubt into the foot soldiers as they deployed might be possible now. They were also poorly fed so they might be easily motivated by meager meals. The merchant wasn't sure how that could be done, but the King was so deep in thought he hardly noticed Tallazh leave. 

Along with his art studies, Nag Kath was learning some common speech. He never seemed to forget a noun. Descriptors were confusing and tenses were worse. Still, he forged on. Quastille and his students helped too. They reported that the northern student did not seem frustrated and would keep trying as many times as it took to succeed. 

Two months into Nag Kath's artistic training and three days after Mr. Tallazh's last visit, Quastille contacted Mr. Koos to brief the King. The same man-cart and puller arrived at his door right on time and he went to the same room in the palace. King Elessar was late, something to do with the Haradrim. 

"Good day, Mr. Quastille. I hope you are well."

"Indeed I am, Sire. I thought it time to update you on your charge."

"Mr. Tallazh tells me he can manage a little of our tongue."

"He is not yet understandable, but he can say a word or two of his meaning to narrow the field. His fellow students have been helping him on the side. They've taken a shine to him."

"How are his mood and demeanor?"

"Cheerful, for the most part, my Lord. There are times when he sets his face with great purpose, but it is in concentration rather than upset. If ill-use in his old lands worries him, it does not show."

"Good. Let us not forget his artistic side."

"That is another story, My Lord."

Was this good or bad? The King said nothing and the Master pulled a sketch out of a leather tube, handing it to his liege. It was a picture of two beautifully drawn hands. They were not in the traditional style of monarchs holding scepters in long, joint-less fingers. These were just plain hands, but as exact as life itself.

"He drew his right hand with his left and the left hand with his right." Quastille flushed, "Without false modesty, Sire, I am a skilled and celebrated artist. I have never drawn a hand so well using either of mine. To add further injury, he did this in about a quarter-bell to pass the time.

King Elessar kept his eyes moving between the drawing and the master.

"He seems to burn an image into his mind and recall it exactly later. I've never seen anything like it. So far he has only done line sketches. Next week he will start painting in color. I'm both fascinated and frightened at that prospect, My Lord."

Whatever else the King expected of this experiment, producing a genuine artist was not high on the list. "How much of your influence do you see in his work?"

"Quite a bit, sir, and something of my first instructor. Perhaps that is because I couldn't explain things so I would begin a subject and he would complete it. Now, I give him paper and pencil or quill and leave him be. If I have a concern, it is that he draws things so precisely that he lacks imagination. But then he draws subjects that no one else would care about like house-cats or spoons in the wash basin. Frankly Sire, I'm both proud and embarrassed. He will know everything I do ere our year is up."

"Be not worried, Master Quastille." Master? That was encouraging. "I am quite pleased with your efforts. Let us speak again in a month or two."

_____________--------____________

Quastille had done a good job of keeping Nag Kath from temptation. Timalen had no vices and Lentaraes was taking his studies fairly seriously. It helped that the latter's father cut his allowance for transgressions that could not possibly have been Lentaraes' fault.

Somehow Timalen produced a deck of cards. They were the kind with the rank, family and powers of each shown only on one side. Timalen knew little of the games men could play with these. Lentaraes knew a lot. Nag Kath looked at the pictures. For betting games they used straw for markers.

After dinner, the young men would retire to their quarters and Lentaraes explained the value of different combinations. Nag Kath grasped little of that and none of why men would wager on those outcomes. Of course, he had no concept of money either. Master Quastille controlled his purse at the direction of unmet pious northern relatives. His clothes were poor and ill-fitting, some of them almost like breeches. Lentaraes wondered why anyone would send him all the way here without a groat in his pocket. 

Nag Kath had been largely confined to the studio with occasional strolls to the grocers with Sylveth for provisions. They were an odd couple. She; aged beyond her years and of matronly proportions. He; a tall, handsome teenager wearing pants that showed his calves. His hair had grown enough that it didn't resemble a dandelion. It covered his ears.

Still, Nag Kath's full immersion into artistic life was inevitable. The Feast of Tellarian was only days away. For scholars and ascetics that meant study and meditation. For everyone else it meant three days off. Only the stingiest employers stayed open for business. Exceptions were taverns, hostelries and the gaol, all for the same reason.

Lentaraes had fallen into a little extra coin from his mother who was sure he was but one epiphany from righteous living. Timalen was still as poor as a temple rat. Nag Kath had no notion of goods and services. Such as they were, Tim and Nag were as close as he had to friends north of Pelargir so Lentaraes planned to take them out for a modest night on the town. Hopefully the Elf would wear the one pair of trousers that reached his shoes. The Wayfarer Tavern on the third level had pretty maids ...

They arrived before the crush. Taking a large table near the back, the three friends ordered ale and started playing Dukks. Straw markers were upgraded to tooth-twigs for the occasion. Nag Kath had never tasted ale. As an Uruk, he had to eat moldy sawdust bread many times but this was, well, interesting. Timalen had drunk it before, once and too much. He approached his mug cautiously. Good-natured drinkers at nearby tables chuckled at the toothpick stakes but it kept professional gamblers from inviting themselves into the game. 

Timalen's luck was in. He kept receiving royal cards in combinations of power. Tooth-twigs mounted and he guarded them as closely as his ale. Lentaraes chose his chair so he could watch for women. They would start arriving after four. War widows leaving offerings at the shrine near the main gate would come a little later. These were women with much to offer and few to share it with. As two ladies walked into the tavern, Lentaraes leaned towards Nag Kath, "How about that one?" He nodded towards a tall creature in her best dress. "She's your size."

Nag Kath looked with a blank smile of incomprehension. Mildly horrified, Lentaraes realized that for all Nag's impossible good looks, he really was an innocent. Oh my stars! How ... well, too late for that now. If one of these ladies took a fancy to him, his education would begin soon enough.

Lentaraes raised a mug to a group of four women who had just entered. One he recognized from somewhere and that was reason enough to share their table as the room filled. The ladies coyly took the remaining chairs. For a few minutes, confusion reigned. Tim was struck as dumb as Nag Kath. Lentaraes took control, "I am Lentaraes Maedegon and these are my friends Timalen Brushta and Nag Kath. We are students at Master Quastille's college of art, learning to make best use of ..." drawing the last words out for effect, "… life and form.

"You will have to excuse Nag Kath. He is from the north and speaks very little of our tongue. Tim knows it well.” That last bit came with a stare for Timalen to contribute before these females got bored.

A pitcher and new mugs arrived, giving Tim time to compose himself. He did them proud, "Yes, art lets us savor loveliness as few mortals can."

Good lad, Tim! Where had that come from? Lentaraes did his best to encourage a few nouns and vowels from Nag Kath but it scarcely mattered. The prettiest, if not the youngest, of the women had not taken her eyes off him. Other than to introduce herself as Kataleese, she said nothing. Her friends noticed too, hoping she wouldn't drool. Kataleese was not a war widow. She lost her husband during the West Osgiliath fever season a few years back and now earned a fair living doing piece-work embroidery for tailors who had completed the basic clothing. 

After an hour of enchantment, Lentaraes knew his cash would run short. The tavern was too close to the art school for an anonymous exit so he announced, "If you ladies will excuse us, we really should prepare for the morning lesson." There was no morning lesson but it saved face.

Marletta, the woman he recognized and apparent leader of the group, drawled, "Ah, but we will lose your pleasant company!" She dropped a silver tenth Florin on the table in view of the maid, more than enough to cover all their ale until closing time, even at these prices. 

That said several things: one; these ladies were not for hire. They were good citizens, come for the blessings and forgiveness of Tellarian, two; if these impoverished but attractive young men could tear themselves away from duty, good conversation could be had from at least two of them. Three; they had to get poor Kataleese and Nag Kath to open their mouths because this might get very interesting.

Lentaraes gratefully said, "Tellarian's feast comes but once a year. I'm sure Master Quastille will understand."

He wouldn't know either. 

After another twenty minutes of mooning, Kataleese drained her mug, stood up and took Nag Kath by the elbow through the front door. Knowing smiles followed them out. The night was young.

_____________--------____________

After the evening at the Wayfarer tavern, Nag Kath changed, grew really. In his free time he wandered the city with his sketch book. If a location caught his eye, he might draw a study and come back the next day with an easel and paints.

His favorite subjects were ordinary people going about their lives; subjects like; washerwomen chatting by a fountain or farriers shoeing horses (although he still made horses nervous). One evening he strolled up to the fifth level and sat on a public bench near a fashionable restaurant. Now late summer, diners preferred tables on the patio by the switchback path. 

Nag Kath spotted two couples enjoying dinner together. Among them was an attractive woman seated next to what must be her husband. He froze her image in his mind and drew a very flattering pose of her listening to her counterpart across the table. It took only a few minutes and then he used the other half of the sheet to start a study of a flowering creeper climbing the trellised garden entrance. On his new line-of-sight, Nag Kath didn't notice the woman's husband trotting behind him to catch an old friend walking by. Returning to his table, the man saw the sketch of his wife on the poster board.

A jealous or possessive type might have accosted Nag Kath for taking liberties, but not Telemath. He froze in his tracks and barely inhaled. Shonedra had been captured for the ages. As with the best of men, he loved her more than the day they married ten years before. Telemath was not a shy man either. He walked up to Nag Kath and asked, "Would you take a silver tenth Florin for your drawing?" The Elf looked over his shoulder and smiled. He had learned what money was but not why anyone would give it to him. 

This could only be good news so he said, "Yes. Thank you." Nag Kath quickly signed the piece with his entwined initials. The Master had shown him how after realizing his work would eventually be in demand. 

"I may want to engage you for other work. How would I find you?"

Another of Quastille's business tips, and art was a business, was teaching the Elf to write his address on scraps of paper. Tallazh had also shown him a few strokes but he was still illiterate by any practical measure. Nag Kath reached in his pencil bag and handed the man Quastille's level number and suite with a smile. He put the coin in the one pocket without a hole.

Mr. Telemath never did stop by, but other people impressed by the drawing or hearing of it did. Before long, Nag Kath was generating two commissions a week. His specialty was family portraits since he could imprint rare moments when the children weren't squirming or crying and complete the work later at the school.

Lentaraes dutifully explained that commissions must be celebrated in the artistic lifestyle. Sometimes Marletta would join the students. Sometimes she brought Kataleese. Those evenings always ended the same way. After patient instruction on their first meeting, Kataleese discovered great physical comfort. But she kept the ardent Elf/man (he never said) at arm's length. A younger woman had already fallen in love with one penniless, handsome lad. The owner of a building repair business had taken notice of her again. Nag Kath was a good way to bide her time.

For his part, Nag Kath didn't understand emotional dynamics. It was either time or it wasn't. Since women evidently initiated such things, he simply did something else. He had no idea his attitude would be prized above rubies by men and women who made irredeemable mistakes. He hadn't learned about rubies either.

_____________--------____________

The King said, "This is later than usual, Master Quastille, would you like a cup of wine?"

Quastille was not a drinking man. As a young artist, he quickly hit the point where he could devote himself to his craft or be one of many who never reached their potential. On the other hand, he didn't have to walk home. "A small one please, My Lord."

Their third meeting was four months after the first. It was also the first time they weren't alone. A steward poured generously for both, bowed and took his position at the door. 

"How fares our artist?"

"So far, so good, Sire. He continues to make progress."

Aragorn took a sip, "Mr. Tallazh reports he is learning our speech as well. How are his more practical skills developing?" Was he still an Elf?

Quastille paused for effect. As the father of a homely daughter, he never had to have this conversation before. "Nag Kath has discovered the fair sex, My Lord. More accurately, they have discovered him. Sylveth has to shoo them from the door sometimes. He occasionally sees one who lives on the third level, a seamstress or something. By accounts he's a perfect gentleman."

As tempted as he was to shout; 'He's a bloody orc!' the King just stroked his beard between his forefingers and thumb. "I suppose that was inevitable. In a city of women, they would notice him." By the Valar, please, let her not be with child! "How goes his study of art?" 

The time for small talk was over. Quastille slowly reached for his leather document tube and unrolled a larger picture than the last.

The King stopped breathing. Before him was a pen and ink drawing of Lady Arwen and himself. He was leaning slightly back with his right ear to her as she gently murmured. She was beautiful beyond imagining, as beautiful as in real life. There was none of the stylized artistry used to depict royal persons through history. This was vital. It was them.

The Master could not have known but the moment was at Nag Kath's second interrogation when his life was at stake. The Lady suggested an ending with no more emotion than describing the weather. Aragorn remembered it like yesterday. Quastille felt he had to break the silence, "He drew this two weeks ago, Sire. He said it was from when you first met."

"I have never seen its like."

"Nor have I" forgetting to add ‘Sire’. "As with the hands and most other work; he sketched it as easily as drawing a beer barrel." Realizing royal couples shouldn't be compared to low beverages, he quickly recovered, "As the old saying goes, Your Highness. Nag Kath asked me to give this to you and the Queen."

"Thank him for us. I hope to see you again soon." The artist excused, King Elessar of the Reunited Kingdom rolled the picture and slowly left for his private quarters. It was the most exquisite image that would ever be created of Arwen, drawn by a monster as she urged his destruction. 

Where could he possibly hang it?


	4. More Than Bargained For

** _Chapter 4_ **

** _More than Bargained For_ **

**Maps Middle-earth Large and Southern Gondor will help for the next chapters. [https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8 ](https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8)**

Nag Kath's interest gravitated towards the first level. It had the most horizontal perspective and racial diversity; soldiers, traders, herdsmen, livestock, teamsters driving mules braying at their lot in life. There were women carrying bundles as large as themselves.

Minis Tirith was carved from a single rock by the Numenoreans. Locals called it the prow because the unusable fascia resembled the front of a boat. Numenoreans must have been hardy folk because chipping lodgings out of such hard material was beyond the skill and patience of short-lived men. Legend has it; sorcery was employed.

The orc assault on the white city came in three parts. The main attack was a line of trebuchets hurling chunks of the decaying Rammas Wall at the Gondoran catapults on the second and third levels. The second prong was Nazgul riding fell-beasts destroying defensive artillery above mortal reach. The third was a swarm of infantry trained to withstand enfilading fire from the wall while they waited for successive gates to fall. The second and third prongs were already repaired but the damage from the siege artillery would not be so easy. It is hard to remove the stone around what will become a pillar. It is harder to put back. In some places it was possible to mortar well-fitted pieces together but they would never stand the load like living rock.

On the second level where the damage was worst, apartments and balconies teetering on collapse were demolished and the stone used for other projects. Interior rooms became exterior rooms and estate agents adjusted their prices. The switchback path to the hill side of the attack was now wide enough for a small park. Damage was noticeable from a distance too. Older residents were reminded of ancient statues that always had broken noses.

The first level was by far the widest since the outer wall wasn't defined by the mountain. It was also where materials to repair the upper levels were brought and stored. Nag Kath set up his easel in a bustling market square he had scouted the day before. The sky threatened rain later but it was worth the risk.

Three off-duty infantrymen walked abreast out of a tavern after punishing several pitchers. It was time for the barracks and well deserved sleep. The man in the center slowed and spread his arms to hold his comrades, “That's him!"

"That's who?"

"That's the bastard who done this!" Tomag spit before sliding his finger down a livid scar across his temple and ear. After gaol duty he reenlisted in his old unit.

"The big dougsh? You sure?"

"Oh yeah. That's him alright."

"Well, we can't have that" said the tall man on the right. He walked over to Nag Kath who was sitting on a folding stool and critiqued, "That's pretty."

Nag Kath smiled back and replied, "Thank you. Hard to catch light."

It was barely out of his mouth when the soldier smashed the easel with his elbow and started to reach for the Elf. Still thirty feet away, the scarred man unsheathed several inches of his long-sword. Contemporary accounts put between twenty and twenty five people in the little square. With the threat of violence, a few scurried away. The rest looked over for the chance of an entertaining fight that didn't include them. 

Magisters of law argue that in any group of people there will always be conflicting versions of an event. Not today. Every witness saw the exact same thing – even if none of them believed it. In one instant, the blonde man began to rise and in the blink of an eye, he was across the square standing over a prostrate trooper who was gripping the hilt of his sword still in the scabbard. Back at the easel, the soldier who started the fight was moaning on the ground with a steady flow of blood from his nose. Some bystanders would later claim they saw a blur or silver wind between the two stricken soldiers. The third trooper turned on his heels and ran because he couldn't fly.

Nag Kath looked at the man lying before him. His jaw was broken but he was still breathing. He seemed familiar. Had he caught more than a fleeting glance at the reflecting puddle, he might have remembered snatching the Klaus stave from the guard's hands and whipping him across the face after his gaol-house shower.

The Elf slowly walked back to the first man and saw he was writhing slightly and therefore not dead. The painting was undamaged so he gathered his paint, brushes and easel with the canvas still attached and walked back to school.

___________-------___________

Minister Levantos asked permission to speak with the King. This was unusual since he had already seen him in the daily briefing. The guardi head waited until milling functionaries found something else to do. "I have concerning news about the orc, Sire."

King Elessar pursed his lips and tilted his head slightly.

Levantos whispered, "It seems on Tuesday, three drunken soldiers harassed him while he was painting a picture by the yarn stalls at the gate. One pushed his picture over. He knocked two of the three cold."

"Nag Kath is a strapping lad. I don't see the problem."

"By all accounts, the two troopers were thirty feet apart and nobody saw him do it. One moment he was sitting down, the next he was standing over the far man. Some claim they saw a flash of light between the two. Two dozen people, all sober as Magisters. Right now it's a local stir. Folk are already losing interest. But if there is sorcery afoot, that falls to higher tribunals than mine, Sire."

"What does Nag Kath have to say?"

"We haven't asked. Someone recognized him and word worked its way to me. Lieutenant Koos has kept an eye on the Quastille School since. Things seem normal, although the orc hasn't left."

"What do the soldiers say?" 

"One won't say anything until they take the wire out of his jaw, but he nodded he didn't see a thing. Neither did the first one he punched. The third man ran to another tavern and tried to forget what he didn't see. I spoke with him myself. Said it was a blur. It seems one of them had a grudge."

The King recalled gaoler Randanold's description of Nag Kath's assault on the guardi; ‘the blink of an eye.’ "Let us have a word with Nag Kath. Have Mr. Tallazh come too."

_______________-------______________

Lentaraes and Timalen listened carefully to Nag Kath's description of events at the yarn market. It sounded like the usual rough practice where you would expect it. Three soldiers or guards of some sort gave Nag a bad time so he landed a couple punches.

Served them right. Nag was a pretty boy from the neck up but he was strong as an ox with the reflexes of a cat. They had never seen him drop anything. Still, those soldiers might have friends so it made sense to keep to the school until Quastille and Sylveth returned from Osgiliath. Now that the old boy could see, he was inspecting cargos for colors unobtainable before the dark lord's fall. Lucca fish were in season too. No city guardi had been sniffing around. Widow Lenstir across the path had little to do but mind everyone else's business. She could be quite sweet and volunteered useful gossip to the charming Lentaraes and dutiful Sylveth. 

By the two-bell, Mr. Tallazh had not arrived. In five months, he had only missed one appointment and that was scheduled weeks before. An hour later, there were three knocks on the door. Timalen was closest and swung it wide. Koos was waiting in civilian garb with a smile. "Good afternoon. I was hoping to speak to Mr. Kath."

Nag Kath was just behind the door and moved a few steps to see the caller. "I am Nag Kath."

Timalen's delayed manners arrived and he asked, "Won't you come in?"

Once or twice a week, runners from prominent families came to commission artwork. This fellow looked well-heeled. At least, he didn't look like Guardi.

Addressing Nag Kath, "My name is Koos. A gentleman you have worked for would like a word. You may recall a drawing you did of him and his wife sometime back. I believe they were conversing."

Nag Kath blinked a couple of times, "Yes, I come. We go now?"

"If that is convenient."

The two tall men walked the switchback path all the way to the top. They could have used several of the stair short-cuts but kept to more open areas. Nag Kath had the sense others were close. The King was busy with a minor emergency so Koos and Nag Kath sat within a few feet of where he and gaoler Randanold had on his first trip to the palace. Only a few minutes later, one of the palace guards came out of the smaller conference door and looked their way. Koos stood without a word and Nag Kath followed him inside.

King Elessar was sitting on his lower throne which was portable as needed. A dozen functionaries stood waiting for other business. Koos walked him to the regulation 20 feet from royal persons then backed a few feet to the side.

"Hello Nag Kath. It has been a while."

"Good day, King Elsarrr (r's were hit and miss). 

"Thank you for the picture of my lady wife and me."

"Glad. I remember." 

"I'm told there was some trouble in the market the other day." 

Nag Kath knew the King must have asked a question but this was a sentence structure he had not mastered. As he knitted his brows for a response, Mr. Tallazh stepped forward and rephrased the king's comment. The Black Speech seemed unusually harsh today. 

"Yes, Sire."

"Please tell me about it."

Nag Kath was of two minds. He had rehearsed both. The first was to attempt it in the common speech. It would be his sorry best but wouldn't seem as orcish. The second was to give a more accurate version in his native language through Mr. Tallazh. He chose the first knowing he could fall back on the second.

What he didn't know was that he had moved at sorcerous speed. In his mind, he punched the first man and ran across the square to punch the other before he could draw his sword. They didn't die. For any but a habitual offender, this was justifiable self-defense. That argument might not hold for former dark servants. Nag Kath made his halting story understood -- although it took several backs-and-forths with Tallazh.

King Aragorn looked confused. "How did you move so quickly?

Now it was Nag Kath's turn to look confused.

"I do …" The changeling mimicked sitting and jerking his elbow above his head before running about thirty feet further from the king and throwing a right cross at the air. He wasn't sure why it mattered. He admitted punching the two drunks.

King Aragorn was a judge, not a prosecutor. Minister Levantos took over, "Everyone there said you disappeared from where you were sitting and reappeared at the second man like that!" with a snap of his fingers.

There was no chance Nag Kath could fumble through this in a foreign tongue. He switched to the Black Speech hoping Mr. Tallazh could make sense of it. The last five months didn't happen. He was on trial again.

Tallazh tried to follow, "It seem normal. Drunks want fight. Stupid. That night I think ... small things. I hit man. Did not see him fall. Turned towards other two and ran among people. They not move. Man's sword no further out. No birds, no crickets, no sound. All stopped. Not dead so I go home. Birds, sounds then."

Was Lady Arwen right? Is this an abomination returned from Mordor? If so, why would he expose himself by dropping two louts in a street brawl? This was not the Sauron Aragorn saw staring back at him in the Palantir. Aragorn pronounced, "Nag Kath, you will stay in your same quarters here tonight while we decide what to do. Tomorrow I will send for you."

Londigal nodded to the palace guards. Nag Kath trudged downstairs and sat on the bed. This was better than the rock dungeon but his mood was dark. He had disappointed his King. And Mr. Tallazh. And Quastille. His friends at school. Kataleese never crossed his mind. 

He still didn't know what he was and now he didn't know what he had done.

_______________-------______________

Early the next morning Nag Kath was brought before the King in the same setting as he left. Aragorn did not seem as taught, though Nag Kath knew he was a poor judge of expressions. There were so many different faces with these people. He and Mr. Tallazh both bowed when presented.

"Nag Kath, I have decided you must leave Minas Tirith. You will return to Isengard."

Now it was everyone else's turn to look confused.

"You will present yourself to my colleague Gandalf for further evaluation. I have arranged for you to travel with a convoy of returning soldiers across Rohan as far as Helm's Deep. From there you will make your way up the Gap. While you are with them you will help these men in any way you can. They have been badly hurt by the soldiers of Sauron and Saruman. In going you may make amends."

It took Tallazh a few moments to work that into black form. Nag Kath had made strides in the common speech but this needed to be precise.

"The convoy leaves in two days. That should give you time to settle your affairs here. Sergeant …” looking to his scribe.

“Matelars, Sire.”

“Sergeant Matelars of the Rohirrim will lead the company. You will report to him inside the main gate at sunrise that day.”

Nag Kath was the only one in the room who did not know this decision had been made over objections at home. Saruman would not have shown any mercy. As the changeling bowed and turned, the King said softly, "If you should return this way, I hope you will visit us."

It was too soft for Tallazh to hear.

_______________-------______________

After being released from the palace, Nag Kath went to the only home he knew and explained everything but his origins. Displaying magical ability didn't seem odd for those around him. He was so unusual anyway, what was a little sleight of hand?

Quastille and Timalen took it hardest; Quastille for genuine emotion at producing a future master and worry that the King might want a refund for the second semester. That money had been invested. Sylveth was quiet, but who knew her heart? 

Lentaraes was pragmatic but would still miss him like the big little brother he was. Having a savant in the studio made him take his own considerable gifts more seriously. The ladies-man of Pelargir also made himself useful. Nag Kath kept his cash unspent, save for their ritual celebrations. If the fellow was about to trek to northern lands in autumn with hardened soldiers, he would need more than his high-water trousers. Together they took Nag Kath's purse and visited several ready-made clothing stores and outfitters. 

Nag Kath's conception of money was still evolving. He kept the coins of each transaction separate -- not understanding that one groat spent exactly like the rest. He was not easy to fit but they found a heavy coat, bedroll, surplus boots, warm socks, under-clothing, a folding pocket knife, two pairs of trousers, several blouses, a knit cap and a sweater. At another store they acquired a frame pack to carry all of this around figuring that even thought his kit would probably be loaded onto a wagon, it shouldn't be more than he could carry. Lentaraes left weapons, food and sundries to either Gondor or Rohan. Neither of them thought of a horse.

Before dawn, Nag Kath asked Timalen to return a twenty groat advance to a family hoping for a pen and ink sketch of their little boy. Apologies and urgent missions for the King might salve their disappointment.

He must have seemed a strange figure to people preparing to leave the city. The hastily repaired gates were left open during the day now that the threat of Mordor was gone but they were still always manned with crack troops. New, stronger gates were under construction. Pirates, bandits and people of false pretenses were still plentiful. Timalen walked with him to the main gate. It was only one level down on the same side of the prow. Tim strained to lift the pack up for the Elf but Nag swung it on with ease. His leather tube with paper and art supplies was lashed next to his bedroll. Reaching the paddock, Tim gave him a hug. Nag Kath’s people never hugged. He thought of Kataleese. She was out when he dropped by.

_______________-------______________

There is always some confusion when a wagon convoy is organized. Even experienced drovers must position their charges. Animals do not understand. Heavy bundles must go to the right wagons in the right order. Everyone else is in the way.

Nine wagons were lined in a row. A combination of mules and horses pulled them, mostly four animals to a team but some had only two. The larger wagons could carry up to six men plus the teamster. There were thirty-one invalids altogether. One wagon was the traveling kitchen with Cookie and his helper. Trailing them on a lead were several cattle and sheep whose prospects were poor.

Their escort was twelve outriders. Four were an honor guard from Gondor who would see them past the Oruadan Forest. The other eight were either healthy men sent from Rohan with Sergeant Matelars or Rohirrim that could now mount and ride a horse unaided. Every man slated for the wagons would have done anything to join them. A few tried, but if Matelars was going to bring this train in safely, his troopers needed to handle their steeds by the standard of their lands.

This was hardest cut. These poor fellows had mostly severe leg or back injuries. Men who had lost arms, hands and eyes were already home. If they weren't going today, they were staying. Some of those men's families came here with Matelars in the three returning wagons.

In painfully unmilitary fashion, the changeling walked up to Matelars and said simply, "I am Nag Kath."

Matelars had survived Helm's Deep, the Pelennor and Morannon. He rode home with one convoy of wounded and returned for this one. The wind-burned sergeant took a look at the pale, tall Elf and breathed a deep sigh. 

Nag Kath added helpfully, "I do not speak your tongue well." One of the few phrases he could say completely

As much as the sergeant would love to chat, he had to get the crippled loaded into the wagons. Well, the man was big and looked fit. That all-too-smooth Lieutenant Koos said their new mouth was there to work. Everyone worked. It would take at least three weeks to cover ground a rider could make in six days. 

"All right" in his northern accent, "Put your pack in that wagon and get in that one. "Darwes, set this man to helping load the wagons when we get there." Nag Kath bowed in courtly fashion. Matelars sighed again. Three weeks on the trail would knock the corners off.

The wagon train loaded provisions at the docks first and then circled to the switchback to ferry the wounded men from the healing rooms on the third level. As they were man-carted down, brother soldiers of Gondor wept openly. Their friends made in mending were lifted into wagons equipped with cots and comfortable pillows to sit upright. Nag Kath joined in carrying invalids from the houses of healing to the man carts and later taking them out. Men had been assigned to specific wagons. One of his charges was blind and Nag Kath had to ask for help to identify the right number.

All this took almost two hours. Once the beasts were settled, Sergeant Matelars gave the order and they crawled back around to the transfer docks and out the main gate.

The rest of the day did not go smoothly. An hour after leaving the gate, Matelars came up from the back of the train. The Elf was walking alongside the cart loaded with his pack. The Sergeant shouted, “Kath, where’s your mount?”

All that got him was a confused look. Remembering the Elf spoke little of their tongue he tried again, “Where’s your bloody horse?”

“Oh, I do not have one. I will walk.”

By the Valar! Didn’t he own a horse? Didn’t anyone think to get him one? Elves are supposed to be smart! “You’d better keep up! You fall behind; you’re on your own!” It was an empty threat. Men with one leg could have gotten out and walked as fast as the wagons. Two wheels broke spokes before sundown. They had spares and a good wheelwright, but when one wagon stopped, they all stopped.

There were other problems too. Only one of the smaller wagons had undercarriage springs. It was a rough ride and some of the men with spinal or stomach wounds could not contain themselves. By dinner the train had a terrible reek. It would be tomorrow night before they reached a stream big enough to wash their bedding and clothes. When they mercifully stopped, Nag Kath was told to collect firewood. No one told him to stop until he had brought enough for a bonfire. Later he joined one of five campfire groups for stew. Men noticed he only ate the vegetables and said nothing.

_____________-------_____________

Progress was better the next day. Men were still sick or incontinent but the wagons kept rolling north. The Sergeant noticed Nag Kath had no trouble keeping pace with the train and chatted cheerfully with whoever was riding nearby, usually one of the teamsters. Horses would not get closer than ten feet to him. It was like two loadstones pushing each other out of the way.

A few hours before sundown the company reached the Elentath, a creek about forty feet across and deep enough to need careful fording, even in the season of low water. They made camp on the far side. Corporal Relas told Nag Kath to wash fouled bedding and clothes in the flow. That only solved half the problem so he started helping or carrying wounded men to the water to bathe. Clothing got in the way so after the first trip, he carried them into the water about waist deep, both as naked as paw-birds. He dunked them and carried them back to their wagon and got another. It was humbling for these proud soldiers to need this aid but they were not alone, and cleaning was definitely better for them and their neighbors.

Kath Baths earned him grudging respect from the Riders of the Mark. He must be much stronger than he looked to hoist any sized man down to the river and back with little strain. And as humbling as it looked; he was doing better for their brothers than they were themselves. 


	5. Outcast

** _Chapter 5_ **

** _Outcast_ **

Sergeant Matelars led the company and his word was law. But he was not the ranking member, not by a wide measure. Seniority fell to Captain Altheras, hereditary commander of the Landsdown Battalion. Reland Altheras was a Lord of the Riddermark and a King’s Marshal, one of the highest officers on the field that terrible day. 

His 482 riders were in the right-hand corps that swept down on the orc flank storming Minas Tirith. They took light casualties in the charge but had the misfortune to be in the center when the line reformed against Haradrim reinforcements coming from the river. More than half of the Landsdown troopers were lost before they were three deep into the Mûmikils. Altheras’ horse was thrown by a tusk net and one of the beast’s huge feet stepped on his right knee.

Four hours later, he was found and taken to triage. The surgeon took one look and said his leg must go or become gangrenous. Altheras told his men to kill anyone who tried. When he finally lost consciousness, they disobeyed him in tears and let the doctors do what must be done. The Captain woke in the House of Healing. His position required him to roundly curse his men’s disloyalty but he forgave them the next day knowing they had been honorable.

Marshal Altheras could have returned to Rohan with the summer train of wagons but he would ride home the way he came. As soon as he could leave the hospital, he took apartments in the city and tirelessly rebuilt his strength and coordination. Rohirrim retainers were allowed to return north. Local men and women tended his household and were ordered to push him relentlessly, particularly in horsemanship. One horse among the many to choose from was particularly good at allowing him to mount with his wood and leather leg and did not need the knee commands bowmen train their steeds to recognize. No, the Captain would ride home as a Horse Lord. Soldiers deferred to him reverentially on the way home even though he was friendly to them and shared stories of high councils past. He did notice the tall Elf keeping-up effortlessly as they trudged through the rocky ground of the Grey Wood but said nothing to him.

The company made halting progress due north for another two days and then turned westward following the Great Road along the northern edge of the Eilenach Forest. On the morning of the fifth day out, the honor guard from Gondor fared them well and turned back to the White City. They would still be in Gondor for another week but the likelihood of bandits was less now that the ground opened before them. And these were men who would enjoy crossing paths with ill-informed troublemakers.

Campfires that night were strictly Rohirrim, save one. The men were generally glad to have Nag Kath along and unofficially promoted him to chief bathing officer. It was meant as an insult but he wore it proudly. A few men did not like having him around and one, Vondras, actively hated him. Nobody liked Vondras either so his vote didn’t count for much. Vondras broke his back in the main charge and would never walk again. Already a bitter man, he took it out on anyone nearby. Nag Kath was an obvious target and that the tall walker never seemed to understand the man’s venom only made it more infuriating. The Elf actually understood more common tongue than he let on. Over the next few days, the road leveled and became smoother, to the relief of fragile invalids and those next to them. Kath Baths were fewer so Matelars or the Day Corporal found him other chores. 

Nag Kath still hardly ate anything. He finally asked Cookie (and aren’t all trail cooks called Cookie?) if he could leave out the meat in his stew. The cook explained meat stock was the beginning and the vegetables were put in later so, no, that was not possible. Cook did say he could set aside vegetables or soaked barley before they were added. In autumn there were also berries and other wild treats along the road so long as he didn’t stray too far from the group.

_______________-------______________

The day they cleared Nundol, a campfire conversation turned to childhood training. The riders of Rohan were all schooled in traditional horsemanship and war but other parts of their upbringing were different. With so many sections of the country represented, it made for good conversation before bed. Men got the chance to open-up about how they got here and look back, good or bad, on their instructors.

Nag Kath listened closely but seldom hazarded any comments. Trooper Mintred waxed fondly about a tough old sergeant who taught him how to shoot in the saddle. Turning to the Elf, he asked, “How about you, Nag? Did you do anything like that?”

After a moment, the Elf replied, “I was never a child.”

Mintred stayed on his question, “I mean when you were a boy.”

“I was not a boy. I was made full-grown Uruk-hai by Saruman. When Sauron died, I became this. The King send me to Gandalf. He say Gandalf will know why I do not die.” The only sound for the next few seconds was the crackling of the fire. Was this a bad joke? He looked dead serious in the flame-light. Was it even possible? Was this the start of a ghost story?

Trooper Emmeryn growled, “That’s not funny.”

Corporal Relas, highest ranking man at the fire added, “You want to explain that?”

Nag Kath stretched his legs towards the fire, “All my troop was killed but me. Locked in dungeon. When the ring died, I slow turn to this.” He pointed at his chest with both hands. “Very painful. Took a year. No one remembered me in gaol. One day they find, let me out. Now I am here. King Elsurr send me to wizard.” He finally cracked his un-Elvish smile, “Some say he turn me to toad.”

One of the men to the changeling's right sighed, “Long day tomorrow. I’ll see to the horses.”

Yes, the Elf made horses nervous. Didn’t real Elves talk to horses? In this land, not being trusted by horses was a bad sign. No matter the truth of his statements, it was time for bed. Most of the nine men there did not believe him but an hour after dawn, the whole company knew what he said.

_______________-------______________

Nag Kath got many curious looks. Men kept their own counsel. The horses seemed even more skittish when he came close but the mules liked him fine, especially when he gathered handfuls of grass for them walking along the road.

Word reached both Matelars and Captain Altheras. Both dismissed it as nonsense but like everyone else, they did not look at him the same. If there was anything to the claim, Gandalf would sort him proper. The wizard settled with Saruman and Sauron. This one shouldn’t be more than a morning’s work. Later that day, the Captain rode alongside the Elf but not close enough to spook his horse. “So, what takes you to Isengard?”

Nag Kath looked up, “The King say Gandalf will teach me. And make art.”

Altheras wasn’t expecting that. “Art?”

“Oh yes. I paint and draw. King say go to Gandalf to learn more.” That was Tallazh’s hopeful interpretation of what might be a short inquest.

“Very well. Good job cleaning up the men!” The Marshal rode to the van of the column as they crested a small hill to survey the terrain. Nag Kath saw the deference everyone in the company paid the old soldier but knew nothing of his position. For his groats, Sergeant Matelars told people what to do. Only Vondras said anything overtly. As Nag Kath walked alongside that wagon, the trooper shouted out from under the cover, “So, you say you’re an orc! Get anywhere near me and I’ll run a knife through your eye!”

They had reached the long stretch of road where the scenery did not change much. That was good. There were fewer rocks in the road meaning fewer bumps. Sometimes Nag Kath would walk between the van riders and the wagons tossing stones out of the wheel ruts.

Three days after the Elf/orc’s disclosure, the Captain and Sergeant stopped together in the lead to let the wagons catch-up preparing to ford a tricky little stream, one of many leading down from the White Mountains. This was the leeward side of the range and the season when the snow melt would be lowest. That figured into their schedule but one could never take the flow lightly.

Their conversation turned to Nag Kath as he arrived alongside wagon five. He spent most time there because it was pulled by a pair of mules. Captain Altheras said, “I don’t know what to make of him Laur. Aside from claiming to be an orc, he seems right enough.”

“Aye, Captain. I’ve had no trouble from him. And I’m sore glad that he helped with the washing.” That was said as a wagon rolled by with a pair of blankets stretched over the cover hoops to dry. 

Nag Kath was not entrusted with any of the night watches. Those were not favored tasks either, but the Rohirrim practiced the patience and skills to discern threats in darkness from the cradle. The Elf was not of them. The orcs, the rest of them anyway, were dead or underground, but there were still wolves, raiders and remnants of defeated armies out here in the wild.

On day twelve the company cleared the Firien Wood and crossed the Mering Stream into Rohan. This was an emotional milestone. Men who had despaired of ever seeing the Mark again were home. Some broke down and wept openly. It meant that much.

Later that afternoon, wagon eight veered off to the right. The four men and their driver were all from the southern Eastfold. It took half an hour to transfer the food and gear they would need for the two day ride and say goodbye. They were nearly home. Wagon two turned right two days later. Unfortunately, a horse in wagon four’s team broke its leg slipping on a rock and had to be destroyed. The riders’ horses were not trained to pull in teams so they continued on with three animals after moving a man and some cargo to wagon one.

_______________-------______________

The northernmost hills of the Ered Nimrais were the last high ground before they reached the Folde, the beginning of the Entwash river valley feeding the Snowbourn. Just before midday, the van rider shouted back to the company, “Stand and draw!”

A warning, a serious warning. Since he had shouted, Matelars risked shouting back, “What care have you Darwes?”

“To the left, Sarn't. Ridge of the first hill!”

A hundred paces away sat three huge wargs, fell wolves of the enemy. They were downwind or else the horses would have warned them well before the van riders. The wargs knew that too. They were out of effective bow range – perhaps not for a Gondor longbow, but the Rohan weapons were shorter-range, designed for nocking and shooting on horseback.

The Captain rode up to Matelars and both men assessed the situation. The Sergeant asked, “Scouts?”

“I don’t know Sarn't. They aren’t making an effort to hide.”

Nag Kath wandered up, never taking his eyes off the ridge. Both soldiers were lost in thought. The Elf set his face and growled, “I will talk to them” then started loping up the hill. 

Matelars tried to grab his shoulder on the way past but just missed so he hissed loudly, “Where the devil are you going?!”

By now, everyone watching the wargs was watching Nag Kath’s long strides up the grassy slope. Almost all of them feared the worst except Vondras who shouted, “Rip him to shreds you filthy beasts!”

Nag Kath pulled to within ten feet of the seated wargs and started talking with them. Warg-tongue was one of his unmentioned skills from his days as a messenger in Orthanc. If the men could have heard or understood them, the conversation started like this; “These men are under my protection. Leave now.”

The largest of the wolves, a black male growled, “Whoooo are youuuu?”

“I am Nag Kath, Templagk to Saruman.”

The big warg replied, “Youuuu are noooo Uruk.”

“I am changed. But I know this one” nodding to the tan beast on the end. “You were sunguud to Oglich.”

The other two wargs turned to him as he said, “Yessss.”

The big black spoke, “We will take the horses.”

“If you try, I will kill you. Better for you; we kill lame horse yesterday. Follow our trail and you will find by nightfall.”

The black again, “You lie!”

“If I do, you will catch us by morning. You are warned!” 

At that, Nag Kath turned and started down the hill to the amazement of the men watching. After he had walked six paces, the black warg tensed into a crouch and pounced at his shoulders. 

None of the onlookers believed their eyes. When the wolf was in midair, Nag Kath was suddenly three feet to his right facing up the hill. It appeared the warg had passed through him. It landed, took a step and fell over dead. Nag Kath surveyed the body, his right arm covered in blood. Then he walked back to the two remaining beasts and talked for another minute, pointing down the road they traveled that day. The Elf turned again and ambled back to the wagons with his silliest smile. The wargs looked at each other before trotting towards where he had pointed, carefully out of arrow range.

Upon reaching the wagons, all present and faces looking under the wagon covers saw him walk up to the Sergeant and Captain. If they were close enough they heard him say, “I think they go. I will stay here until they go then run to you.” With that he climbed the largest rock along the road and trained his eyes where the trail disappeared behind a hillock. 

The King told him to help these men, so he did.

_____________-------_____________

Both the Sergeant and Captain had plenty of questions but they were still exposed upwind to the north and west. Matelars called to Darwes, “Steady on!” The two van riders had pulled back inside arrow-range of the train and now resumed their place in front. Matelars sent another trooper from the rear to watch their eastern flank. Once wheels were turning, he looked back and saw the Elf squatting on his rock staring back the way they came.

Men in the wagons were talking furiously but the horsemen kept to business. Wargs! Three of the bloody things and close to home! Matelars stopped the train two miles short of their expected campsite. It was an area with better defensive positions and that mattered more than distance this day.

Sure enough, Nag Kath ran up four hours later breathing no harder than if he had walked. To the Sergeant he said, “They go to eat Shilas (the dead horse).” Looking back he added with gravity not heard before, “I take both watches.”

The two Gondor mules from wagon five were tied downwind of their camp. They were better sentinels than the horses for anything approaching from that side but had to be kept together or they would heehaw back and forth all night. Any rider of the Riddermark would also tell you they were more expendable than horses. Preparations made, the evening meal was much like any other except for only one topic of conversation. There were more men than usual at Nag Kath’s fire including ones he carried himself. To look at him it was just another day. He managed to wash the blood off his arm but his shirt was still the color of rust where it dried. No one wanted to be the first to ask him what happened. It certainly put his unconvincing claim of being an Uruk-hai in a new light. After he finished his vegetables, Nag Kath said he had to wash wagon three again. Lovlar, the Corporal on duty, told him he could skip washing tonight and to ask the Sergeant where to take his first watch.

There was a fuss when raccoons raided the oat barrel but no sign of wargs that night. The next day they made good time, although the flanking riders had to work their horses harder peering into gullies. The company covered the ground they lost the day before and camped in a very strong position with the mules again staked on their blind side.

This night, the Captain and Sergeant arranged to be at Nag Kath’s fire. When everyone was chewing, Altheras said, “Nag, I need you to tell me what happened yesterday.”

“Black warag was stupid. He is from Gundabad.” Nag Kath started eating his carrot again as if that was all anyone might want to know.

The Captain struggled to keep from blurting, “Then what happened?”

“I can move very fast. That is why King send me to Gandalf. Why to live and why can move fast. More fast than men or Elves. Faster than Uruk. Uruk very slow.” He shook his head with the last sentence as if divulging a family disgrace. “I say to leave or I kill them.”

The dam broke, “But what in blazes did you do?”

“Oh, I tore his heart out. Now those two think; more easy to catch dead horse. Stupid Gundabad!” Turning to the Sergeant, “I take north watch now?”

Matelars agreed, “Yes, have Eomath give you his horn when you relieve him.” 

Ten minutes later, Corporal Eomath replaced Nag Kath at the fire and settled in with his mutton stew. The man was as all in Middle-Earth thought a Rohirrim should be: tall and raw-boned with a leathery face from long days in the sun and wind. He was 36 but could be ten years older as these men age.

Corporal was both a cavalry and militia rank. The Rohirrim had fewer stations in their hierarchy than Gondor and Mark militias fewer still. They were always headed by captains, regardless of the company size. There could be several captains in combined forces with the leader chosen by the king, vote or contribution of riders. Some captains were also lords or Marshals by merit or birth like Altheras.

Corporals generally oversaw ten Troopers. The wounded train had two such men, although the Sergeant could assign a senior Trooper to be a Day-Corporal, and Matelars often did. Troopers ranged from beardless youths to middle-aged men. That was the lowest rank but position and standing were still earned. They could afford their own horse and armor. There was no fall in esteem between militia men and the standing cavalry at any rank, but that distinction alone would not stop a tavern fight.

In times of relative peace, the militias attended their own business but must come when horns sounded. Eomath trained horses for battle specialties like flag mounts and line-end so in his work he was always close to war. Most of his steeds from two years ago went to Minas Tirith and quite a few returned. The round trip made for few birthings this season so he and his cousin signed-on with the convoy at corporal’s pay. The landowners in his home district of West Emnet assured him there would be plenty of foals next spring.

Eomath listened to the men around the fire speculating about the Elf/orc. It reminded him of being a boy out on the plain with the old-timers puffing stories. The Elf was a wizard. No, he was still an orc. Not everyone saw him slay the warg. Those who did weren’t sure. It happened so fast.

Eomath hadn’t seen anything. At the van’s warning, the Atliers, usually ten percent of those on duty, immediately looked away from the threat to areas where the real danger might come. His field was due east. Atliers were an age-old precaution. Having the entire company gawking at diversions could blind them to peril. 

At a rare break in the conversation, Eomath drawled, “I have heard of this one.” 

Even the crickets were silent.

Corporal Eomath was one of the outriders that traveled with Matelars to the White City. Most wagons were provided by Gondor for the trip north but this time they brought three with them holding the bairns and modest possessions of families whose menfolk were staying for life. That gave him some leisure in the city with the usual delays and provisioning of the northern convoy. There was no spare time after the siege but now he sampled its peacetime attractions. Wine was a civilized experience. Eomath was treated well and strolled the switchbacks seeing how these soft people lived. 

He sipped his tea and said quietly, “A few days before we left, there was tell of sorcery on the first. A fellow who sounded like our Nag was sitting in a square minding his business. Three soldiers who’d had a skin-full gave him a rough time. The barkeep told me a tall blonde man vanished and reappeared in a blink ten paces away after knocking two soldiers on either end stone-cold.”

“Did he see it himself?” asked young Dornlas.

“Nay. He said he served two yarn vendors who had been in the square and came over directly to fortify.” Cracking a rare grin, “His pub was within sight of where it happened. They swore it was their first cup of the day and both had the same tale. Two dozen people watched the soldiers tease the fellow. Then they were bleeding on the ground faster than you could say ‘bastesh’!” Another sip of strong tea, “Is that what you saw yesterday up the hill?”

After some thought, Gradiallan the teamster nodded, “Aye, Eomath, just that.”


	6. Past Is Not Prologue

** _Chapter 6_ **

** _Past Is Not Prologue_ **

The sixth remaining wagon turned right towards the Westfold just before noon. It took a bell to transfer kit and provisions from the storage cart and say goodbye. The Westfold and Edoras were more closely allied through war and family than any other in Rohan.

Vondras would not be missed. He must have thought better of knifing Nag. Everyone else had a new opinion of the Elf/Uruk too. Before the wargs, men would correct his atrocious Westron, if only to avoid hearing it. Now he could have sung in Dwarvish to smiling approval. Some of their new caution came from knowing this gentle creature could cut every throat at a campfire with his little folding knife before the first man hit the dirt. They did not know he bought it shopping with Lentaraes to sharpen his goose quills since the students only had one knife to share. Dornlas was a junior Trooper and did the same dirty jobs as Nag Kath. They talked quite a bit.

Edoras was now in sight. They would be there for dinner after crossing half a dozen tributaries a horseman without wagons would have thought nothing of. Men and women were gathering along the wall to watch and wave. Almost everyone in the train was kin or friend, save two men who would continue on to Helm’s Deep. The teamsters were tempted to whip-up but the animals were as tired as they were. As they rolled in, Edorans looked the tall Elf over but hurried to find their loved ones. Matelars hardest task was telling a few their man had died or could not make the trip. Small pull or goat carts were near to hand so men could go home as soon as could be. 

When the procession was within sight of the steps leading to the great Meduseld Hall, King Éomer walked out on the porch with two aides. People quickly bowed and he did as well. He had planned to walk down and greet each man personally but later felt it was a moment for those dearest. There would be enough time to thank them for their sacrifice. Captain Altheras and Sergeant Matelars were still in the saddle and had a little more duty first. They and Trooper Dornlas rode to the base of the steps and saluted the King. Altheras shouted with great joy, “Thought you rid of me, my Lord?”

Éomer called back no less boldly, “Nay, you are too hard to kill!”

“That I am, Sire”

“Come up and tell me of your journey!”

Getting a one-legged man up the tall stairs was not as daunting as it would seem. Long before, a comfortable chair on poles was fashioned not only for the disabled but also for the elderly so they would not be left from court. Bearers made quick work of the steps. Altheras accepted their help gracefully. The stubborn old soldier understood he had limitations. Some could be overcome through toil and strength. Some he had better get on with. Matelars and young Dornlas trotted up the normal way. Dornlas had not expected to be called to the King’s presence. Even as close as their society was, he had seen him as Prince or liege only in formation. That was fine. He was a brave young man and there might be better eating in the King’s hall than mutton and porridge.

Altheras was placed at a thick oak table that could seat six. The other three sat in no order. King Éomer was not a stickler for protocol. He insisted on proper court etiquette in formal settings as befitted his blood and position, but in the company of his soldiers, the King was first among equals and greeted them heartily, “I am glad to see you home my friends”

Altheras did the talking, “Thank you, my Lord. This is the end of a long journey.” He meant both the wagon ride and everything since their muster at Dunharrow.

“You too, Sergeant.” Gazing slightly right, “It’s Dornlas, yes?”

“Yes, Sire. Thank you, Sire.”

“Tell me of your trip.”

Again; Altheras, “Just over three weeks, sir. We traveled the same route as others. It took longer because these men were most grievously wounded and difficult to comfort. They will be the last to return. We dropped wagons at Snowbourne, the Westfold and Enmet along the way. One of our wagons will continue on to Helm’s Deep once provisioned and repairs made.”

Éomer looked at all three faces, “Again, it is good to see you back. Were there any difficulties?”

Altheras answered, “It was arduous My Lord, but all men completed the run. Other than that, there were few incidents.”

There may have been more coming but Dornlas blurted, “Except for Nag Kath and the wargs!”

The King adjusted in his chair and looked first at Dornlas and then around the table. In the presence of royal persons of the Third Age, that outburst would have been unthinkable. Here; the King would hear their tale.

The story fell to Matelars. He had been with the King as one of the banished riders in the ascendance of Worm Tongue. They had taken the measure of each other in fierce conditions. Matelars could be trusted to say what needed saying. “Just after we crossed the Aldberg we spotted three wargs on the first ridge of the Folde. They were out of bow range watching. The van called the halt and issued the warning. Atliers scanned our exposed flank but saw nothing. Captain Altheras and I were together and began discussing our options. Then one of our company slew the largest of them.”

“A Gondor long-bow?”

The Marshal said gravely, “He walked up and tore the beast’s heart out with his bare hand.”

These men had been served no ale. None of them betrayed a smile. Altheras was not given to jest. They were as serious as the grave. To no one in particular, the King said, “Tell me of Nag Kath.” Then he looked over his shoulder at an attendant across the hall near the kitchen door and mimed pouring. Maybe ale was needed.

The attendant disappeared and reemerged in only as much time as it took to fill a pitcher from the keg and clutch four mugs by the handles. He covered the distance quickly and placed his cargo on the table without serving. King Éomer poured the mugs in silence. He tabled the pitcher with a thud, pushed the mugs to his guests and raised a toast, “To the victorious dead.” The other three repeated the toast and meant it with all their hearts. The first swallow never even hit bottom.

Matelars continued, “Nag Kath is an Elf that King Elessar asked us to take as far as we may on an errand to Gandalf. He seemed a harmless greenbottom (an unflattering term for inexperienced) and I wasn’t about to complain so he walked along beside us.”

“No horse?”

“I’ll get to that, sir. A week in, he announced at a campfire that he was actually one of Saruman’s Uruk-hai that had been imprisoned in Minas Tirith. When the ring was destroyed, he spent the next year turning into an Elf.” To his credit, the King let the story unfold. Matelars continued, “Most men thought it a bad joke. A few of them hated him, but in the main, he was a benefit. He volunteered for the scut jobs with never a word of fatigue or complaint. And moving men in such strained conditions is dirty business.”

His liege wondered, “And there was no orcish mischief?”

“Not that I saw, Sire. He is a big, friendly lad. His speech is poor and he makes the horses nervous, but he worked like a mine-Dwarf to ease the men’s suffering.”

“The wargs?”

Dornlas was determined to help, “Three big ones, my lord. Just sitting there like statues. Nag Kath walks up there with nothing but his cod and starts jabbering with the devils. And they talked back!”

Matelars interrupted in more courtly tones, “Their talks concluded, Nag turned and started walking back down the hill. One of the wargs jumped him.”

The sergeant took another pull of the best ale he could remember. “There were at least thirty men watching. It was fully a hundred paces away. When the wolf reached Nag’s back, the Elf disappeared and reappeared just to his right facing the other way. The warg continued through the air, landed on his feet and fell over dead as Durok! Nag’s right arm was covered in blood up to here ...” grabbing his elbow; “... with the beast’s heart crushed in his hand. I swear by all my ancestors! Then he calmly walks back to the other two, who had sat there like retrievers waiting for dinner, and talked with them for another minute. It looked like they were sharing a jest.

“Nag pointed back along our trail a couple times and walked back down the hill with that big, silly grin he gets. The wargs loped off to the south. Nag insisted on watching the pass until the creatures left then he ran to catch us on the road.”

Éomer asked, “What was the pointing about?” 

Matalars had a long pull and said, “He told them of a horse we had to destroy the day before after it broke its leg between two rocks. I was sorry about him. Nag reasoned with the beasts that he would be an easy meal or they could take their chances with live horses and he would kill them. Watching him dispatch the black one must have sealed the bargain because we had no further trouble.”

“Gandalf, eh?”

It was Altheras’ turn again, “Yes, Sire. The man, if you can call him that, is hard to understand but as I took it, he was ordered to Isengard because he has shown these sorcerous powers before and in wonder of why he is the only orc left alive from the Ring War, and how he transformed into an Elf, of all things! He said it was a year of terrible pain. That’s not to say he didn’t deserve it, but he still fared better than the rabble we routed.”

The pitcher hadn’t lasted long and the king made no signal for another. “I would like to meet this Nag Kath.”

“That should be easy, My Lord”, said Matelars. “The day corporal was going to send him to the north farrier to get one of the mules reshod for the trip to Helm’s Deep. He’s probably a stone’s throw away.”

King Éomer nodded to Dornlas who stood and bowed in one motion before hurrying at as dignified a pace as he could out the main doors. Altheras said in defense of his trooper, “Dornlas took a spear in the side at the Black Gate, sir. He rode with the first wagons back last fall.”

It wasn’t needed. He was a warrior of Rohan.

_______________-------______________

Dornlas ran to the smithy at full speed. This was King’s business, mind you! The main farrier’s station was well down in the city. This was a smaller annex for handling officer’s kit and fashioning metal objects for the hall. The young trooper was about to question a beardless apprentice about tall Elves when he saw Nag Kath leading a mule back towards town.

“Nag!”

The Elf looked over his shoulder and smiled. Dornlas ran the twenty paces to him and said breathlessly that he was wanted up the hill. Even Dornlas knew not to mention the King in public. 

Nag said, “A’mash shoe.” picking up his own foot and drawing half a circle around the toe. “Oats now.”

The day-corporal Relas would have instructed the simple Elf. Relas out-ranked Dornlas so the lanky trooper improvised, “Come with me. We’ll get oats there!” pointing up the hill. A workable solution; Nag Kath turned A’mash around and the three of them walked towards the great hall. 

Dornlas tied the mule’s lead to one of hitch-posts surrounding the Meduseld and started climbing the stairs. Nag Kath looked back at A’mash for a moment and followed. The door guards saw Dornlas leave and were told to expect him back with another. They let the new one pass without questions but he still got a good stare on the way by. There weren’t many six and a half foot Elves in Edoras this season, and fewer still dressed like tinkers. 

Dornlas and Nag Kath bowed deeply to the King who pivoted in his chair. Éomer made no sign for them to sit. Dornlas saw a fresh pitcher on the table but stood at proper attention. King Éomer said to Nag Kath, “Thank you for helping my men.”

The Elf returned one of his practiced phrases, “It was the honor.” Close enough.

This was not a friendly summons. Éomer was King because monsters like this one murdered his father, cousin and uncle. They were the horror of Helm’s Deep that would wake surviving children in screams for the rest of their lives. Everyone here would have died too had Gandalf not retrieved Éomer’s exiled company on the best horse Rohan ever produced. The King rose to his own considerable height. Oh Aragorn, he wondered, why didn’t you spit him like a troll? Éomer resolved to not be hasty. If the King of Gondor had reason to deliver this changeling to Gandalf, his will be done. In mirth he did not show, he thought the Lady Arwen might not have been fully in accord. 

There were political matters too. Lord Aragorn II, now King Elessar Telcontar, had bowed full and greeted Éomer as a brother King in this very hall when his entourage bade tribute to King Theoden. With the legend coming to pass uniting Gondor and Arnor, Rohan could arguably be included as a prior vassal state. Aragorn publicly made no claim on this land other than keeping his promising to return and honor their fallen comrades. He was a true friend in any manner of men and rarer still among sovereigns.

Dornlas remained at attention. If his instincts about his liege were fair, the trooper was now a bailiff. His sword had been left with the door guard. He still had his boot knife but knew as truly as his liege did not that this inoffensive-looking greenbottom could spike them all to the ceiling with it.

Éomer said, “You are going to see Gandalf?”

Was that a question? “Yes.” Nag Kath turned to Dornlas, “He is lord?”

“He is King.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“What will you do with Gandalf?”

“King Elsarr send me. He will know why I live. Can turn me to toad” he added with a grin.

Éomer bore down, “And why you move so fast?”

That must be a question too. “Yes … yes, My Lord.”

“Tell me of the wargs”

“Sorry, what is wargs?”

“Big wolves.”

“Ahhh. I tell them to go or have trouble.”

Éomer growled, “They did have trouble. You killed one of them.”

“Yes. He was stupid. From Gundabad.” The birthplace should explain all.

“Then you told the other two about the dead horse. Did you do that because they were your allies?” This was more forceful.

And also more confusing. Nag Kath’s common tongue had improved markedly over the journey but he only caught a few useful words. And this King did not have the estimable Mr. Tallazh at his call. When he understood, Nag Kath offered, “Ahhh. Noooo. To count.”

“I don’t take your meaning.” Éomer said impatiently.

“One horse, two tsitsi warags, much to eat for days. Good for them so they go. More hiding near, they do not go. They go, so, two.”

The King relaxed. They were right. He was hard to dislike. Brave too. And not slow either. That was quick thinking to bribe them with a dead horse and reveal their strength. “What are tsitsis?”

“Big wolves. Smart, can speak.”

“Then what is a warg?”

“Ahhh, warag.” In two syllables. “Big ones.” The elf raised his hand from the shoulder height of a tsitsi to that of a warg. “Not smart. But can ride like horse. All dead.” His first common phrase, learned from the other King himself!

“You know this?”

Another question that was not a question. Nag Kath thought hard and answered, “Tsitsis say yes, but can lie. Warags dead. Tsitsis live. Not know count … My Lord.”

“Nag Kath, thank you again for helping my men. Good fortune on your travels to Isengard.” The King ended the interview with the slightest of bows. Almost on cue, A’mash started heehawing outside for his forgotten dinner. 

Dornlas offered, “With your permission, Sire, I’ll escort your guest back to his duties.” There would be more ale in town tonight.

Éomer smiled at the young trooper, “Good work.”

_______________-------______________

“The King has oats?”

“No, Nag. We’ll take A’mash to the main stable. Follow me.”

The two young heroes strolled down the broad main road. At least, Dornlas felt that way. Nag Kath swiveled his head in all directions, taking things in.

The young trooper asked, “Where are you bunked?”

Nag Kath tilted his head in a way that reminded Dornlas of a sheep dog trying to understand a command. “Where are you sleeping?”

“Oh. Do not know. Wagon five smells best.”

It fell to Sergeant Matelars to billet the Elf and he was busy. Dornlas mulled options as they made their way down the street. A’mash was hungry and tried to pull away when they passed window boxes or little gardens. Nag Kath barked sharply in a guttural, grating tongue that made the mule freeze in terror. For the rest of the walk, A’mash sulked and followed listlessly. Dornlas would dearly like to know how to chasten ornery mules but was sure that was a language men should never speak.

They arrived at the main paddock ten minutes later. A stable boy wasn’t sure he wanted to be anywhere near the towering changeling but did take the mule to a stall. His reputation was spreading. Dornlas looked at wagon five and thought Rohan should do better by Nag Kath. After all, this was the creature that slew a warg bare-handed and invented the Kath Bath! He could spot his friend a few coppers if the realm didn’t appreciate the Warg-slayer with cash. “Nag, get your pack and come with me. Have much money have you got?”

Nag Kath had been told not to reveal his purse but Dornlas was his friend.

The Elf answered, “Half a Florin ... maybe a little more.”

Dornlas grew-up on the bad end of this street and knew enough not to let his eyes bug out. He still exclaimed, “Half a ...! Where did you ever get that?”

When Nag Kath said ‘maybe a little more’, he wasn’t intentionally vague. He was working his fingers to add the other three silver tenths Timalen had sewn into his belt to the total. When he finally did his sums, he answered Dornlas’ second question instead, “I paint and draw pictures. People buy them from me.”

The young trooper declared, “Well knock me over with a feather! Let’s get you a bed.” He wondered if a better question would be; why someone who could disappear would not have a lot more. They made their way much further down the hill where the buildings were shabbier and closer together. Dornlas walked into a two-story house with a small desk next to the door. Seeing no one, he shouted up the stairs, “Mr. Tanlath! Are you here?”

A low, gravelly voice answered, “What do you want?”

“A room, unless you have retired to a life of leisure.”

A short, squat figure appeared at the top of the staircase and came down slowly, needing both feet for each step. The descent took some effort and he wheezed a little when he reached the floor. 

Mr. Tanlath was not a local. Nag Kath would not learn this until later but the boarding house owner was mostly Dunlending with a few other breeds thrown-in through the generations. Unlike the blonde and ginger Rohirrim, his hair had been very dark. What remained was artfully arranged across his head. Thin hair ran in Dornlas’ family too and he hoped he would not pretend if it came to that.

Most cities this size would have inns for traveling businessmen and officers to stay. There was nothing of the sort here. Those people stayed with friends or customers. But the occasional stranger did wander through and that trade was increasing with the King’s Peace. Mr. Tanlath ran the hostel with his wife until she wasted away some years ago. Their daughter, a simple, unfavored creature, managed to find a husband. She made his food and his babies. When guests were here, she cleaned.

“So, Ferd kick you out already?” the hosteller asked with a chuckle. He had known Dornlas since the boy was eight. It also implied the young trooper needed the room for himself. 

Unfortunately, he might be right. In a better world, Dornlas would just invite Nag Kath to stay at his sister’s home. In the world they had; neither of them was welcome. Her husband was a drunk and an unsuccessful thief. Tonight’s visit might only last a few hours, depending on Ferdan’s mood. The man fancied himself a rough fellow. As green as he looked, Dornlas was a battle-hardened trooper and could easily thrash his brother-in-law, but then the lout would just take it out on Dornlee. Sometimes she used fine silt paste to hide a black eye. It didn’t cover much better than Mr. Tanlath’s hair, but she didn’t want people feeling sorry for her. Bringing Nag Kath home would certainly cause a fight. 

Now there was a thought! The wrong word in the right ear and Dornlee would be free to pledge her heart to a new man whose own heart hadn’t just been ripped out by a warg-rending demon. Dornlas liked the old hosteller very much but he still had to negotiate for his comrade. “Oh no, Mr. Tanlath. It is for my friend Nag Kath. We are returned from defending our wounded men from wargs. Even with so many places available, I thought I would bring him somewhere he would be well served for a couple nights.”

“Room 203 is available for six groats a night.”

Dornlas made a show of considering the offer. At least it was on the second floor. He turned to the Elf, “I don’t know, Nag. Maybe we should go back to the …”

Tanlath knew the game, “Of course, for a friend it would only be eleven for two nights, payable in advance.”

Dornlas turned to the Elf, “Nag, he needs eleven groats.”

The Elf looked a bit thick for a second. Then the flame brightened and he dug into his pocket producing two ten-groat coppers. Dornlas handed them to the innkeeper who made change which was handed back to Nag Kath, completing the deal.

Mr. Tanlath smiled and said, “Dornlas, show him up. Those stairs are hard on my old knees. You’re a good lad.” He meant it.

The hostel, which had no name, had not served meals since Mrs. Tanlath’s time so the Elf had to eat elsewhere. Dornlas took him upstairs with his pack and told him where he could get a bite. As he was leaving Nag Kath asked, “You go to your woman now?”

“Fraid not, Nag.” Dornlas headed down the stairs and reluctantly walked to his own family reunion.

_______________-------______________

In dying sun through an oiled-paper window, Nag Kath heaved his pack on the bed and took stock. The clothes he wore were much the worse for wear but he had a spare blouse and pair of trousers. Kath Baths had ruined his shoes. The boots were still serviceable.

He counted his money. Most of it was kept in a pouch in the pack. On the trail he had learned a bit more about coinage. It was confusing for him because it was confusing for everyone. Rohan did not have its own currency. Most countries, including Rohan, used Gondoran coins based on Numenorean counting.

The standard was the gold Florin, a coin not quite an inch and a half around by a bit over an eighth inch thick. That was a lot of money. A more common denomination was the quarter Florin. It was called a “nipper” because like the Florin, it had a serrated edge that made chiseling the sides obvious. Reigning kings on the top of the coin changed through the years but the size and shape stayed constant. Many of those august Lords had dents in their faces from people biting the coins to check for counterfeits; ‘the poor man’s assay.’

Even nippers were rare in daily use. Practical money started with the castar or silver tenth. It was a shade under three-quarters of an inch around by under a tenth-inch thick. At one time, ten of them would make a Florin but with the discovery of rich silver mines in the Misty Mountains eight hundred years ago, the value plummeted. Now it took ten of them to make a nipper. 

The price of gold also collapsed briefly three generations past when the Dwarves reclaimed Erebor from Smaug. Massive gold stores were reluctantly shared with Elves and Men after a fierce battle. Merchants throughout Middle Earth were sure the supply would flood the market and gold values fell sharply. After a few years, the Dwarves and Elves spent little more than the dragon and prices recovered.

At the bottom of the range was the humble copper groat. These came in tiny single, five, ten and, rarely, twenty groat sizes. At current rates, it took seventeen hundred groats to make a Florin. Since the relationship between gold, silver and copper changed and varied by region, commerce in all but piddling sums was done by weight. Most merchants kept a balance scale with their wares and a small stone counterweight that might be compared with the other party's for veracity.

Money was not very important in Rohan at the upper levels of society. More was always better, but the real measure of wealth among horse-lords was property and livestock. Most transactions were done in barter. Holdings seldom changed hands except through marriage. That contrasted with Gondor whose mercantile, shipping and financial interests paid and received cash. Their land and livestock traded like Rohan but did not dominate the diverse economy.

That made Edoras a poor national capital. People who had farms and grasslands stayed there along with the families who worked for them. Nobles often kept small homes here for state occasions but the year-round city population was largely un-landed and served the soldiery or worked in cottage industries. One did not distinguish himself by living here except for the royals whose hereditary lands were scattered about the country. Now that Rohan was not fighting anybody, cash was needed to maintain defenses. All men could be called to arms without pay during war, but with the orcs slain, it took money to pay troopers like Dornlas to ferry the wounded back home. Sergeant Matelars would dole out their groats tomorrow. 

Nag Kath knew none of this. The last thing he did before dinner was open his leather art tube. By luck, none of the paper had molded. He hadn’t even tried to draw on the trail, what with his important position and all. This city had a lot of interesting faces. He would capture some of them tonight.

_______________-------______________

The tavern Dornlas suggested for dinner was only four doors down the street from the hostel. Now sundown, the room was filling quickly. Those mostly eating were more to one side. Drinkers went to the other which had a long bar. Dornlas knew Nag Kath’s tastes and thought they might be able to manage something without flesh. He enjoyed fish from the Anduin and once when they camped along the Mering. The Falcon’s Lair usually had the bottom fish with faces like house-cats. A middle-aged woman waited on him but asked no questions. New arrivals gave him long looks.

Dinner was good and so was the Rohan red beer which was more robust than the brews to the south. He nursed his and when his plate was cleared he took out some paper and pencils. A trio of older gents was having an animated discussion about matters at hand – just the sort of scene Nag Kath loved. He started drawing the lines but punched his pencil through the paper into a declaration of eternal love carved into his table. Shifting his chair to a smoother surface, he brought the men to life. Two thirds of the way through, a young woman walked up to his table and proclaimed, “You don’t look like an orc!”

He was absorbed in his sketch and hadn’t noticed her but he looked up and was pleasantly surprised. She was young and quite pretty, and rather bold to approach a stranger in a public house. “People keep telling me that.” He closed with one of his best grins. “I am Nag Kath.”

“Everyone knows who you are. I’m Kateen.”

Hmmm, sounds a lot like Kataleese. Perhaps such women have similar needs … “Please sit down, Kateen.” She did. Nag Kath signaled the barmaid for another red but the woman went to Kateen’s table instead and fetched her mug.

“They say you killed a pack of wargs with your bare hands!”

This was going well. It had been quite a while. In his halting, aw-shucks tone he said, “Only one. The others run away.” She really was lovely. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

Nag Kath reassured, “Just for a minute.” Then sternly, “no peeking!”

She did, but he could see her straining every impulse to look. He flipped the paper over and did a very quick sketch of her. As usual with women, she was captured as beautifully as she would ever be. He did take some artistic liberty in bringing the sheen up on her lips and removing a smudge along her jaw.

Kateen was fidgeting and said, “Hurry, I can’t stand this!”

“One more moment. Now, you look.”

Her reaction was the same as all who saw themselves drawn by his hand. She made a soft “O” with her mouth and her eyes sparkled. He handed her the paper. Kateen was no Kataleese. She rose with a girlish curtsy and ran to show her friends. They looked at her, him and her again several times. One of her friends flipped the paper. Turning to the bar he called to the three men, “Uncle Bose! You’ve lost a chin!”

It was too good to be true. She could only be so forward surrounded by chaperones. Her biggest risk was a scolding when she went home. To great acclaim, Nag Kath couldn’t buy a drink at the Falcon’s Lair. If he was an Uruk, he was a good ‘un! Kateen brought the picture back to his table and he finished the three men with fresh pitchers all round.

A new feeling swept over him. If there would be no passion tonight, he might still do some good with this. He announced, “Now I must go pay Dornlas his money.”

The crowd collectively wondered; Dornlas? A good apple from a bad tree. The Elf expanded, “Yes, half a Florin. He was there with warags! He is very brave!” Dornlas actually helped him stretch stained blankets over the wagon hoops but there was no need to mention that just now. A lad too young to drink said he would be glad to run down to Dornlee’s and fetch him. 

Quastille taught Nag Kath not to close the transaction too soon so he shook his head and replied gravely, “No, he is with family. Must not disturb.” 

Everyone in the room knew tearing Dornlas from the bosom of his family was a mercy. The young lad was quick on the uptake and offered, “Maybe he can steal away for a pint to celebrate,” and stared at Nag Kath until the warg-slayer nodded.

Within fifteen minutes, the boy and his new hero walked in the tavern. Nag Kath waved him over and one of the patrons gave up his chair. Things hadn’t gone that badly at Dornlee’s but the offer of a beer came at just the right time. Before Dornlas could ask any questions, Nag Kath drew his purse from a pocket and handed it to the astonished trooper saying, “Thank you for loan. Half Florin. It is all there.”

Dornlas was gob-smacked. The Elf continued as if it was an afterthought, “Oh, this is Kateen. Kateen, this is my friend Dornlas.” They had known each other since she was five. He was deployed in Snowbourne when the Uruks marched so they hadn’t traveled together to Helm’s Deep. In the two years since they last met, she had matured. Someone slid her picture under his face and he instantly fell in love. Dornlas’ fortunes had risen considerably. Obviously a man of modest means and a certified war hero to boot, she looked at him with fresh eyes.

Work done, Nag Kath rose with an affected yawn and proclaimed, “Well, must rise early. Go to Helm’s Deep.”

Dornlas snapped out of his fantasy, “They aren’t going tomorrow, Nag. Wagon five’s got a busted axle.”

This was news. The Elf simply said, “Then I will see you in the morning” and made for the door. Dornlas watched him go and whispered, “Thank you.”

_______________-------______________

The changeling rose just before dawn and strolled to the paddock where the back end of wagon five was propped on a barrel. His Elf eyes could make out the broken part but he didn’t know an axle from a neck yoke. The men who could would arrive with the light.

He walked over to A’mash and started rubbing the mule behind the ear like the teamsters did. A’mash had forgotten his scolding but the horse two stalls over shied so Nag Kath eased his way to the other side of A’mash, careful to avoid getting behind any hooves. They kicked when they had the chance.

A’mash was a gray jack with long eye lashes. Average sized and around seven years old, he was in his prime for both strength and knowing the traces. Somehow, the four mules in the train had no problem with Nag Kath. He brought them grass. Silence was best. Mule talk was evidently different than tsitsi, judging by yesterday. When he thought about it, berating the poor beast in the tongue of murderous wolves was not the best way to start a friendship.

At first light, the cartwright arrived and saw him standing in the gloom. “So you’re the rascal! I’ve seen Uruks closer than I cared for and you don’t look anything like them!” 

Nag Kath put him at about forty-five. Unlike most men of Rohan, he wore only a bushy moustache and clean shaved the rest once a week. Maybe it got too close to the forge. “I am glad you think so!”

The workman filed reports of monstrous powers as silly camp gossip. “You were going out today?”

“Yes. To Helm’s Deep.”

“It will take me till afternoon to mill a new axle and fit it tight. You won’t make it over the Snowbourne if you leave that late.” 

He explained that Nag Kath couldn’t take just any wagon to the fortress. That track was not a road. Number five was the only two-animal rig in the original train with springs supporting the box – made from some southern wood; they were. That made it less bone-jarring. Nag Kath needed to clean it less so that made sense. A’mash was one of the team. Mr. Woromid would still have to add extra braces to get it there in one piece. Nag Kath thanked him and walked out of the barn at least a man’s length from any hooves pointed his way.

He wasn’t hungry after a full meal of fish and vegetables the night before so he strolled. There were few flat places anywhere and none of any size. People were already up about their business. Old women weren’t sweeping their porches like they did in Minas Tirith. Constant wind in the dry season made removing grit futile except for special occasions. The plan was to be at the stable at dawn. Everyone knew that but him, so the Sergeant was the man to ask. Now, where was he? 

Troopers were assembling on the farrier’s side of the horse compound. The changeling walked up to them and asked about Matelars. They looked him up and down as the infamous Warg-slayer, decided he was not an orc and pointed towards the western wall of the long city. The general direction was as much as they knew.

It was a start. Fifteen minutes later he had reached the end. The log fortress wall served as the exterior of last row of houses so this was as far as you could get in the city. Strict laws forbade weakening them inside your home with windows or doors. An old woman covered in black woolens was husking corn on her porch. He walked over and got a suspicious stare for his trouble. “I am Nag Kath. Do you know Sergeant Matelars?”

Word of the Elvish beast or even returning wounded hadn’t reached her. “Matelars, eh? He’s back is he? Matelars start six doors down on that side.” pointing across the street “Take your pick. Can’t help you past that.” Her knowledge exhausted, she went back to shucking ears that were likely doomed for some revolting stew.

Nag Kath knocked on the sixth door. A tousled and scantily draped woman opened the door wide and blinked in the daylight. When she realized he was not her overdue soldier, she pulled her gown closer around her shoulders but didn’t slam the door. Nag Kath asked politely, “Sergeant Matelars?”

“He’s back? One house down.” She gave the Elf a lingering look but still shut the door.

The next woman looked a lot like the first. Rounder and fully-dressed, she assessed the Elf and said, “So, you’re the one.” A shy lad of about five peered around the staircase. He would look just like his da with more years in the sun. She shouted upstairs, “Laur … company!”

After some thumping and snapping, the sergeant walked down the stairs in only his trousers and suspenders. Nag Kath bowed.

“I’ve told you Nag, you only bow to officers!”

The difference still escaped him. The usually gritty man looked like he’d had a Kath Bath! His hair was washed at least. “What can I do for you, Nag?”

“Tell me not go today. When go?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I guess Luka didn’t find you. Yeah, the wagon needs a new axle. It looks like tomorrow.”

Nag Kath would never mention this to an officer, or a sergeant, but the man looked more cheerful than usual – a fine distinction, mind you. The Elf knew nothing of the wealth of Rohan. Their third national treasure was sons. The Matelars had been doing their duty. 

___________-------__________

Well, he was an artist. There were sweeping vistas across the flood plain. Nag Kath walked back to the rooming house and collected his leather tube. In Edoras, the higher you went, the better the view so he started back towards the King.

The great hall of Meduseld was perched on a small hill. Three sets of stairs led up different sides and met in a central courtyard tier before a single stair continued to the hall. That was where the first guards protected the King. Almost everyone used the middle stairs which were shortest and closest to the entrance. The stairs to the right were steeper and zigzagged up with benches at the switchbacks for people to rest or enjoy the view. Nag Kath worked his way to the highest landing. The guards saw him but he was not their concern unless he continued to their station. Finding the flattest flagstone, he rolled a sheet of the heavy aroney paper backwards to keep it from curling and studied the vista.

It was quite a sight! Before committing pencil to paper, he closed his eyes and imagined his purpose. Quastille told him you can’t catch everything from this far away. Add too much detail and the grandeur is lost. Shadows would define this work. Clouds were rolling in from the east. Not heavy enough to rain but they might give him better contrasts across the plain.

He started sketching – working quickly. Most artists would have hatched the paper into quadrants or eighths and rough them in separately to keep the scale. The Elf didn’t think that way. It was almost as if he burned the image onto the paper with his eyes and filled in the lines.

An hour later, it was done except shading. It was time for a stretch. The guards at the next landing could see him clearly but men higher or further south could not while his back was to the wall. As he rose he heard, “Nag Kath! Shouldn’t you be on your way to the Deep?”

It was Captain Altheras standing on the Meduseld porch with King Éomer and another man in armor. They must be officers so he bowed. The Captain embraced his King as a brother and then both men bowed formally to each other. After Éomer returned to the hall, Nag Kath shouted, “Not go today. Wagon broke.”

“What are you doing here?”

He held up his drawing. 

The Marshal couldn’t see anything from that distance and called, “I’m coming down.” He was leaving the hall, not arriving. Altheras climbed in his bearer chair and was carried down to the central landing. Nag Kath stowed his materials in the tube and followed the path to join him. The Captain was certainly an officer. After another bow, Nag Kath repeated, “Wagon broke. Go tomorrow they say.”

“Can’t be helped. Have you eaten?”

“No, my Lord.”

“Follow me.”

Nag Kath kept behind the chair for the rest of the way. Then the bearers helped him into the saddle of a different horse than the Lord rode from Gondor. The former Uruk kept a respectful distance. Scaring a horse into dumping such a man would not reflect well. This horse seemed less skittish than most and Nag Kath was able to stay almost eight feet away as they worked their way to a row of houses near the eastern wall. These were better kept than in Matelar’s district and considerably nicer than near the Falcon’s Lair.

“I’m glad for the chance to thank you, Nag Kath. We didn’t know what to make of you but you proved your worth.”

He didn’t get most of that but it was praise so he thanked the Lord. And Altheras was indeed a Lord – the hereditary Captain of the Landsdown Brigade or their older name; Eorl’s Men Militia. The King had his own permanent company now, but the historic troop would be called that as long as there was a Rohan.

Rohan’s political system was as different from Gondor as its economy. Kings did not have absolute power like in Gondor or, even more so, in the southern and eastern dictatorships. The King of Rohan was first among equals. Captains and Lords must defer to his decisions but they got their say. That Dornlas wasn’t cleaning stalls right now after interrupting the King showed the respect they bore all men who carried a lance into danger.

In this vast, underpopulated country, the only uniting theme was the military. The King was the fighting head of the army. Abdications were more common here because Kings and Lords led from the front. If a man felt he could no longer do his duty with honor, there was no shame in passing the mantle to a son or other family member who could. Former kings were honored and participated in matters of state to the extent they could or were wanted. That wasn’t always voluntary. The Council of Lords had rarely and reluctantly supported men who were better prepared. The more common practice was for lords to declare their heirs Marshal of the troop and retain civil authority. King Theoden had been easing his son Theodred into that role before Saruman’s sorcery.

Altheras and the Elf arrived at the Captain’s town-home five minutes later. His primary residence was on his estates to the east but most of the high council owned or shared smaller apartments near the palace. Aids helped him down and gave him his crutch. “Come in!” he beckoned. 

A plump, maid with rosy cheeks approached and curtsied. “Mai, I could eat a horse.” a fearful expression in this country, but still used. “This is Nag Kath.” Another curtsy. “He will be joining her Ladyship and me for breakfast.”

“Yes, my lord.” Followed by a bow and quick retreat.

Altheras led the way and Nag Kath patiently matched the Captain’s pace.

They approached a long table in the largest room of the small home with the best window light. A woman of about the captain’s age was already seated on the side next to the head but had been served only tea. It smelled wonderful.

“My dear, this is Nag Kath. I told you a little of him last night.” 

Lady Altheras was still a beauty. The skin was tighter against her cheeks and her blonde hair showed considerable gray, but she would have been a prize when this match was made. Her mouth reminded the Elf of the Lady Arwen. It could smile or be pursed but was generally neutral. Of course, how much anyone smiled depended on how many teeth they had.

Nag Kath bowed to Lady Altheras. “Thank you for joining us, Mr. Kath. Won’t you be seated?” Her teeth looked fine. Her Lord sat next to her at the head of the table. This had to be unexpected but noble families took surprise guests in stride or, at least, discussed them later privately. She knew her husband had a purpose. 

Lady Altheras had borne her husband two sons and three daughters. One son died years ago in battle. One daughter died bearing her first child. The others were well on their way to noble destinies. They were a happy couple who had weathered the storms that came with joining two great houses and loved each other very much.

Breakfast arrived. There was a steaming bowl of yellow curds that smelled interesting. Warm bread was served with different yellow pats melting into the surface. Cups were filled with tea. A plate of meats was included and finally some greens in a separate bowl.

The couple followed the country tradition of serving portions at the table onto each diner’s plate. Nag Kath did not help himself to any meat but took plenty of everything else. He watched her Ladyship dip a wooden spoon in a small mug and pull it out covered in a thick golden liquid that she dripped over her bread. He felt he could manage that now that he’d seen it done. The big mystery was the yellow stuff. He heaped a respectable spoonful on his plate but had no idea what it was. The noble couple used their forks to eat it so he did too.

The first bite stayed in his mouth an eternity. Finally he chewed and swallowed. It was good. That could have gone either way. He would ask someone else what it was later. He also got the honey mostly on the toast and it was good too. Everything was good. He could get used to this.

Nag Kath finished chewing and said, “My Lord, I have that drawing here.” He unwound the lanyard holding the end of his tube. In most courts and high houses of Middle Earth, that motion might have earned foreigners a spear in the throat. Altheras didn’t see the need for that kind of security in his own home. Plenty of people had had the chance to kill him and hadn’t managed yet.

Her ladyship thought she had misunderstood her husband. Yesterday he spoke of a warrior who had slain a fell beast as in bygone legends. Had he mentioned an itinerant artist too?

Nag Kath unrolled the paper in front of the couple with the usual effect. They were mesmerized. Most art, and all art supported or owned by ranking persons, was done in ritual style. Hills and mountains were always the same color so people knew what they were. Trees were always in bloom. Nobody was fat. Nobody was bald. They all had long smooth fingers with no knuckles unless gripping a sword. They certainly never smiled. This vista was as if they had walked out their door. Nag Kath signed the picture at the bottom and said, “You keep.”

Altheras looked intently for several minutes and then looked at Nag Kath. This could not be coincidence. He had visited the King to formally name his son as the new Captain of the Landsdown Brigade. They walked out on the porch for what would probably be his last time to share this very view. And now it was here for all time. His Lordship had underestimated this creature yet again.

The Captain said, “Nag Kath, I hope you don’t mind me asking again but I would very much like to know how you slew that warg. I see it over and over again in my mind and cannot fathom it.”

Her ladyship wasn’t confused. This was the sorcerous being.

“I move fast. Fast …” he rephrased “So fast cannot see. All things stop, but not me. Tsitsi … no, warg still in air, I move to side.” He used his hands to show the beast frozen at head height. “Stab him with arm. Only weapon I have.” with a small grin. “Take arm out, time starts, warg goes past, he dead.”

Altheras was listening intently. He was about to repeat Dornlas’ description of walking up the hill with only his cod but considered his Lady Wife’s sensibilities. “And you went up there with no weapon. You must have relied on these powers to defeat the brutes!”

“Oh no. I hope, but not sure. Only third time! I tell them to leave my friends alone.”

The Captain was shaken. Here was a creature who had risked death for men who ridiculed him. He did it because it was everything he could do. 

Her ladyship asked, “You are going to see Gandalf?”

The Elf became very quiet. He had been on trial for his life at least twice already. Orthanc would probably be the third. 

“Yes, my Lady. He will decide.” Nag Kath grinned remembering being told Gandalf might turn him into a toad.

“Nag Kath ...” said the Lord with gravitas, “... I saw you have no sword. A warrior needs a sword to protect those he loves.” 

The hereditary Captain called an attendant, a military man, and whispered in his ear. The man whispered a question back. Altheras nodded and the retainer left. No one said a word until he returned carrying a sword in its scabbard with the traditional grip and guard of the Rohan cavalry weapon. It had seen service.

“This sword was presented to me by King Thengel after the battle of Dellanos. I carry my own inherited from my father as has been our way since anyone can remember. My younger son will not need it now ...” holding back tears, “... I hope you will accept it against the dangers you face.”

Nag Kath did not understand all of that but he knew he had been greatly honored. He recalled a painting or tapestry in the Provin Gallery of a knight accepting a similar weapon by bowing his head and holding the sword high at arm’s length. That he did.

“Please excuse us now. My lady and I must repair to the country after my long absence. We wish you the best.”

Nag Kath stood, stored his pictures in the tube and reverentially picked-up the weapon. He looked on the hilt, bowed as an honored man and left the home walking on air.

_______________-------______________

Back in his room, Nag Kath stared at the sword in his lap. It meant a great deal to him. Rather, the gesture did. He had been forgiven. Not his kind and the terrible wreckage they caused. Him. Alone. The very last one.

It was a stronger version of the feeling he had when he decided to help his friend Dornlas the night before. Most importantly, it was a necessary step in his development – a step that could have gone quite wrong.

In his foul bargain with Sauron, Saruman needed to create an army very fast. Even the short breeding cycle of common orcs was not enough. The wizard had to manufacture warriors. In doing so, he used substances of earth and water and grew them almost like tadpoles or larvae with cuttings from Sauron’s Uruk-hai. They emerged from their fell stews full-sized and ready to train. The drawback was that they would only live about six years, still more than enough time to achieve their dark purpose.

Saruman also crafted their brains. They must learn quickly but not too much. They must only fear their superiors but never death. And they must hate with all their being. All other emotional capability was excised. When his design was good enough to produce en-mass, the Isengard Uruk-hai were a complete fighting instrument. It was only a matter of adjusting the formulas for different uses.

Then, in an astonishing act of stupidity, Saruman marched his entire army against an outpost with no strategic value hoping to catch King Theoden and his court off-guard. He failed as miserably as possible, losing every soldier under his flag. Even if he had reduced Helm’s Deep to its last babe, the bulk of the Rohirrim cavalry was already forming in the provinces and could have outflanked his infantry to their doom. Or Rohan’s horsemen could simply trap them in Helm’s Deep and listen to them eat each other. Everyone agreed Saruman could be the very soul of terror, but he was a miserable strategist.

What no one could have anticipated was that there would be a single survivor and that in the absence of the dark Lord, he would revert to the original Elvish stock Morgoth co-opted thousands of years before. Alone, in the dark, over a year of pain, the Elf in him drove out the orc. Every cell in his body changed except for a small “6” tattooed on his neck. He emerged from the gaol with the body of a perfect Elf. He still had small cunning and could learn quickly.

What he did not have were emotions. The fear and hate Saruman physically imprinted in his orc brain were gone. He had the vastly improved mind of an Elf but it was virtually empty. Emotions and feelings can only be created by experience. By blind luck, his first experiences were awe and wonder at the beauty he felt wandering through a palace. Now completing his transition, what he did and saw and felt informed how he viewed his world.

In the last twelve hours, he had given things that meant very little to him in exchange for much, much more. He gave Dornlas money he earned doing something he enjoyed in hopes that someone who had been kind to him might prosper. The sword in his lap represented forgiveness. He was not a horror. 

Nag Kath felt a tear drip down his cheek. Then another. They would not stop. He sobbed for ten minutes without understanding why. Logic reasserted itself and he dried his face with his sleeve. Shortly afterwards he heard Dornlas calling to him from the first floor. He shouted, “Come up.”

The young trooper took the steps two at a time. At the threshold he said, “I’m glad I caught you. Here’s your money.” Dornlas had wrestled with that decision not knowing if the gift was for show. In the end, he decided he would ask first.

Nag Kath smiled at him and said, “No, you keep coins. You have new start.”

Dornlas didn’t have to be told twice but he was glad he checked. Then he said, “Wagon five won’t be going to Helm’s Deep.” The Elf gave him a blank look that Dornlas now understood to be thinking rather than the lack of it. “Jarrie’s family is already here in Edoras and Denomath got word that his family might have left the Westfold. That’s a long ride if no one is home. He’ll stay with Darwes until they get word.”

Nag Kath sat on the bed and said, “Good! I will go to Helm’s Deep alone.”

“No Nag. The Deep’s no good for you. All your people died there and too many of mine. They will kill you for sport. If you are going to Isengard, you stay on the road and don’t go anywhere near the forest.”

Nag Kath considered that for a moment and then stood to remove his belt. Sitting back down he opened his quill-knife and sliced the top seam to extract a silver tenth. Dornlas wondered if he had taken the Elf’s last groat but between that silver and a handsome new sword, he wasn’t turning his friend out in the snow.

Nag Kath looked up at him and growled, “How much to buy A’mash?”

_______________-------______________

The rough plan was that Dornlas would get A’mash and Nag Kath should buy supplies at two stores. He needed a canteen, oats, a frying pan, some dried fish strips if he could find them, salt and a block of cheese with wax around it.

Dornlas strolled to the stable where Mr. Woromid was still fitting the axle on wagon five. “Hello Tomad.”

Woromid looked up. With his huge moustache and bushy eyebrows it was hard to tell his expression but he responded with a hearty, “Dornlas! Heard you was back! Is that your bay in stall fourteen?”

“Sorry, I lost her. I’ve got the roan. Think he’s in seven.”

“Eight. He’s had his fill of oats but you’ll have to brush him out yourself.”

With the same smile he kept throughout, Dornlas said, “Maybe later. I wanted to tell you that wagon won’t be needed. The men are going to stay here. One of the mules goes to the Elf who came by, but I’d imagine that wagon is now property of the King.”

Woromid needed a moment to think. He didn’t have official permission to release a mule to this lad’s custody, but he didn’t have much use for an ass with a Gondor brand in any case. Mules were much more common in Gondor where they carried goods unloaded from boats and ships along the Anduin. In Rohan, cartage was done by draft horses or oxen. 

On the much more positive side, that was the only sprung wagon in Edoras. He would study it closely. If he could find a wood that would take the beating of that dark southern timber, people would buy these things.

“Fair enough, young man. Take any mule you want. There’s a pack frame hanging near the tack pegs. You come back and visit me when you have time.” With a wave, Woromid started rasping the axle shaft where it fit the mounting. 

Nag Kath’s adventures went well too although a young woman in the dry goods store was horrified to have the warg-slayer here with her alone. She locked him in the showroom and ran home to fetch her father. Five minutes later, the front door flew open. Father and daughter found the Elf deciding between two bars of soap. He had a small pile of other goods on the counter. Unfazed by the panic, he looked at the merchants with a smile and said, “And twenty pounds of oats, please.”

They were so shocked that they didn’t overcharge him.

Dornlas and A’mash met Nag Kath at the main Gate on the east side of the compound. That continued the Great West Road and had the only serviceable bridge over the Snowbourne. 

Nag Kath held the trooper by his shoulders and smiled. “You have woman now?”

“It’s not that easy Nag. I was invited to dinner on Wednesday. That’s a start.”

The Elf said, “I come back, you have babies!”

“Maybe. You just remember to stay clear of that forest.” With a nod, Nag Kath turned and led A’mash towards the bridge. 

_______________-------______________

After hauling wagons across roads barely worthy of the name, A’mash thought carrying a light pack at a man’s pace was heaven. At first the Elf held his lead but within a few hours, he just let him walk along. The mule didn’t know it but Nag Kath was faster than him. There would be plenty of fodder when it came time for a break. The mule was tempted to dine along the road until a wolfish growl convinced him otherwise.

There had been little towns dotting the route but they were all destroyed by Wildmen or orcs in the last war. Nag Kath wondered why an Uruk-hai brigade like his hadn’t put Edoras to the torch when the citizens fled this way. Theoden was said to have left a small detachment to defend, but even the hapless Uruks could have burned an empty wooden city.

Elf and mule made good time. He walked faster than a man and only stopped for water or to let A’mash graze. He could also see a lot longer in fading light than men so they didn’t make camp until almost full dark. Nag Kath found plenty of berries and apples from abandoned orchards so no dinner was required. It wasn’t until the next morning that he realized he hadn’t bought any matches or flint to cook his oats. They didn’t taste much worse raw.

The next day was more leisurely. Nag Kath found a pool on the mountain side of the road and took a dip to wash off a week of accumulated grime. A’mash watched without comment. They made camp near the ruins of a little town. People, farmers, he thought, were rebuilding some of the homes but they hid when he approached. The men were working again at dawn after they had a chance to see him in the light.

Up early, they had already been on the road for an hour when they came across a platoon of nine Rohirrim breaking camp on their return to Edoras. Nag Kath waved and said hello. A large, mostly-dressed man walked his way and said, “And a good morning to you. Who might you be?”

“I am Nag Kath.”

The fellow considered that and asked, “And what brings you this way, Mr. Kath?” As it happened, and would happen many times again, Nag Kath’s hair was not of Elvish length and covered his ears. Dressed like a peddler, most took him for an outsized youngster.

“You can call me Nag Kath.” When that answer didn’t fill the requirement, he added, “I go to Isengard to see Gandalf.”

The big man mulled that over as another trooper joined him. Then he asked, “Have you been on the road long?”

“Yes, I come from Gondor with many wounded Rohirrim. The last, they say. They stay in Edoras and I go on.

Just then, both men noticed the Rohan dress sword strapped to the outside of the mule pack. The trooper said, “My, that’s a handsome weapon! Where did you get it?”

By now, Nag Kath knew this wasn’t idle chat. He did not know it but these soldiers had just completed their last sweep of the Westfold as far as the Isen and into the hills looking for remnants of Dunlending militias. The old men said winter would be early so this was a good time to not be in the mountains looking for fighters who weren’t there.

“Captain Altheras gave to me.”

A third man, now fully clothed, joined the party and spat, “You lie! I saw him go down on the Pelennor.”

Unconcerned, the Elf responded, “He has a wood leg but he came with us. He can ride now. He give this to me when I don’t have one.”

The big man again; “Who led?”

“Sergeant Matelars.”

The lad was no villain. If they didn’t know the Sergeant, they knew of him. A man finishing his breakfast shouted, “Isn’t he married to that crazy woman?”

Another at the fire said, “No, that’s her sister.”

The big man turned to the campfire and said sharply, “Enough of that!” A man’s business was his own.

“Aye, Corporal.”

A young trooper near the fire called over, “Say, I don’t suppose Inold Tevaran was with you?”

Nag Kath moved a few steps to see around the Corporal and replied, “Yes, he come. Cannot walk but he come in the wagons. His sister takes him home.” Trooper Tevaran was ready to mount and ride until their horses dropped. His brother was back. There was nothing more to say.

The Corporal softened his tone, “Thank you for bringing our men back, Mr. Kath. You have a safe trip to Isengard and keep to the main road.” The men had broken down the tents as he questioned the traveler. “All right lads, let’s get this loaded and be on our way.”


	7. Wizardry

** _Chapter 7_ **

** _Wizardry_ **

At any time in hundreds of years, the turn to Helm's Deep would have been a simple country crossroads. It was much wider now for being trampled by thousands of Uruk-hai feet, all pointed in one direction, never having returned. Two years of weather had restored some of the grasses but the land had not forgotten.

The next day Nag Kath camped even with the Fords of Isen. Turning due west would take him across the river to Dunland. There were roads on either side of the river leading to the little valley of Isengard which made sense because it was a hard river to cross. You had to use whichever side you were on in spring and summer. 

They reached a road leading east just before climbing into the mountains. He remembered it well. That was his path to ambush the Fellowship. A couple hours before sunset, they saw the gates of Orthanc, or rather, where the gates used to be. Nag Kath remembered the place as a foul, smoldering waste of metal-working, completely devoid of plants.

Orthanc was beautiful. Somehow, full-grown trees were thriving where only mud had been before. Shrubs and grass grew as if they always had. Almost all of the Dunlending and slave quarters were removed, the exception being a small shanty-town along what had been the outer wall. A well worn trail led from it to several open pits inside the fortress with large frames built around them.

Nag Kath left A’mash in a grassy area just to the left of the main entrance and walked to the base of the steps. Just outside he was met by a short, powerful man dressed in the uniform of Rohan militia. The lapel gorget was unfamiliar, but they had a lot of them. The stout fellow belied his fearsome look and said affably, “Good day, sir. How can we help you?”

“I am Nag Kath. I come to see Gandalf.”

“You don’t say?” The Elf’s pointed ears were showing. Visiting Elves, however badly dressed, were welcome at Orthanc. The guard flagged one of two boys playing in the courtyard and said, “Coran, there’s a good lad. Go tell Gandalf an Elf is here to see him.” 

The boy replied, “Yes, Mr. Tolander” and scampered up the steps to the double doors. 

The guard turned back to Nag Kath and offered, “It takes a while to get up those stairs. There’s a little stream over by your mule if either of you needs a drink.”

Nag Kath thanked him and walked past A’mash who followed him to a clear rivulet of freezing water. That hadn’t been here before. In fact, none of the streams looked like they did before. His head jerked up towards the dam, or what was the dam. There were still a few of the posts that had held the penstock pipes but the rest of the spillway had been wiped clean.

Refreshed, he took an envelope from his art tube and made his way back to Mr. Tolander. Sooner than he expected, a voice yelled something Elvish down from the tower. Elf and soldier looked up to see an elderly man leaning over a balcony. Undaunted, Nag Kath shouted in the common speech, “I do not speak that tongue, my Lord.”

The old man looked at him for a few moments. From this distance, Nag Kath thought the codger probably couldn’t see any better than Captain Altheras in front of the Meduseld. He was wrong. Gandalf called in Westron, “Tolander, bring him up. Ask Mendos to join us.” His head disappeared and the two entered the great hall.

Nag Kath had never been inside the castle. Once you were spawned and armored, you left the pits for training areas further up the valley. It seemed bigger inside than one imagined from outside. Tolander trudged up the winding staircase. Gandalf’s quarters and workshop were on the tenth floor. By the fifth, poor Trooper Tolander was breathing hard. The Elf had to shuffle his steps so as not to leave the man behind. At the ninth floor, the trooper gasped, “Wait here.” Then he turned towards an open door and shouted, “Mendos, we’re wanted upstairs. Mendos! Get a move on.”

From the room a waking voice yelled back, “He’s getting a page from the scratchers. What is it?”

Tolander said as calmly as he could, “Gandalf wants us to see his guest to the tenth.” His soft tone was a warning.

A tall, raw-boned man with a thick beard and thinning hair rounded the doorjamb in his trousers and undershirt. Were it not for the beard he would show a disfiguring scar from ear to chin. 

If Mendos was the toughest fighter of Gandalf’s guards, Legatorn of Arnor was the scariest. Gandalf would not have asked for two guards, particularly Mendos, unless this guest was dangerous. If so, Legatorn was an excellent substitute. The soldier looked the Elf up and down before returning to his room. A minute later, he had his blouse and boots on. With Legatorn in front and Tolander behind, the three went up one more flight. 

Legatorn knocked on a large, oaken door three times and said, “It’s Legatorn and Tolander with your guest.”

“Come in.”

The soldiers flanked Nag Kath to either side. Gandalf was sitting at a huge plank of wood that was both desk and work table. It was almost covered in stacks of papers and manuscripts. The old wizard was exactly as described but not wearing his unique hat, reading something that held his interest. Nag Kath walked to the correct military distance from an officer’s desk of three of his paces and stood more-or-less at attention.

Gandalf finished his page and finally looked up at his guest saying in Sindarin, “This is grand! It is always nice to have Elvish visitors.”

“I am sorry my Lord. I only speak common talk. I am Nag Kath.”

Gandalf leaned back in his chair and continued in that language, “Very well. What brings you to Isengard, my lad?”

“King Elssar send me.”

Gandalf brightened, “Ah! Did the King give you something for me?”

Nag Kath took the thick packet from his jacket and started to approach the wizard when he was deftly intercepted by Tolander who said with a smile, “Let me, Mr. Kath.”

The soldier handed it to the wizard. There was no doubt. It had the royal seals of Arnor and Gondor, a little the worse for travel but both intact. The seals were so large and impressive that Gandalf had to hold them against the edge of his desk and press hard to break them. Inside were three smaller packets. He read the description on the largest and set it aside. The second was from a friend in Minas Tirith which he would also read later. 

The third was a single sheet of heavy folded paper, unsealed, with Gandalf’s oldest name, Orórin, written in Quenya on the outside. It was in the King’s own hand.

** _My dearest Orórin, _ **

** _It has been too long. I hope your efforts bring you peace._ **

** _The fellow presenting this is Nag Kath. We reliably believe he was one of the Uruk-hai Saruman sent to attack the Fellowship. He was imprisoned in a hidden dungeon here in the White City for over a year. When he was remembered, this is what was emerged. His hard transition began the instant Sauron was destroyed. My Lady Arwen suspects he may be Sauron himself escaped in Elvish form again. _ **

** _Against my better judgment I freed him to start a new life as an artist. That went well until a few days ago when he was attacked by three soldiers. According to witnesses, he disappeared from one place and reappeared in another while beating his foes._ **

** _This is sorcery unknown to me. It does not seem Elvish. I have sent him north with a convoy of returning Rohirrim wounded for your appraisal. Despite his origin he is a charming fellow, but I will defer to your expertise._ **

** _The large packet includes reports on our rebuilding effort. Things are going well. My Lady and I both miss you and hope to see you soon,_ **

** _Elessar Telcontar, High King of Gondor and Arnor_ **

** **

Gandalf slowly placed the letter down with the others and looked quite differently at his guest. He said in the common tongue, “Let us speak Elvish.” Knowing his men would not notice, he slipped into the Black Speech of Mordor, “_**The King says you are Uruk-hai from here. Is that so?"**_

The words sounded harsh and alien but it was his native tongue. “_**Hoch**_.”

Gandalf continued, “_**And you changed. Are you in pain?**_”

Nag Kath told the truth, “_**Small. It comes and goes.**_”

Changing back to Westron for the benefit of his guards, Gandalf said, “Please bring me the sword hanging from that peg over there” pointing to his left. Nag Kath did so and stood with it in front of the desk. The wizard drawled kindly, “Good lad. Now draw it out a little.”

The Elf did not understand but Gandalf mimed the motion and Nag Kath exposed a foot of steel. It glowed a faint blue.

“Thank you, Nag Kath. Please hand it to Mr. Tolander.”

Nag Kath turned back as Tolander stepped forward to accept it. While that happened, Gandalf grabbed his staff leaning against the wall and cast a spell that surrounded the Elf with a pale green aura clinching every muscle in the changeling's body. He tried to scream but no sound would come. The wizard walked around the desk uttering an incantation to increase the power of the field. Nag Kath dropped to his knees, frozen in pain. 

A thin black and green mist began oozing from the Elf that circled him like a cloud of gnats and then dissipated out the window. After that, the spell was the only thing holding him up. Gandalf ended it with a grunt and the Elf fell on his nose followed by a small trickle of blood spreading across the floor.

The old wizard knelt beside the stricken form and felt his neck. Looking up at the guards he said, “He’s going to sleep for a while. Take him to Worm Tongue’s old room and let me know when he wakes.”

Both men hesitated for the slightest moment. Neither had seen the wizard do more magic than light candles with his fingers. Glad they hadn’t unmanned themselves in presence of true sorcery, they dragged the unconscious Elf by the armpits out of the study. Either he was much lighter than he looked or wanting to leave that fell room lent them strength. One flight up, they dropped him face-down on the bed, locked the door and hung the key on a nail just outside.

_______________-------______________

Gandalf shook his head as the soldiers hauled the creature down the hall. He tried to keep reading but could not concentrate on the tedious report. The orc was more important. Why would the King send the monster here? There were a dozen possible reasons. Aragorn said himself that the Lady Arwen suspected this fellow of being Sauron, escaped yet again in Elvish form to buy time. Aragorn must have doubts or he would have settled this in Gondor. He was a dear man to spare the beast.

He might be hard for mortals to kill. If three soldiers never saw him coming, who would volunteer for that task? No, arrows would stop him. He wasn’t very powerful if a simple purge spell could paralyze him like a fish. And why risk him escaping in Rohan, of all places? The wizard’s best guess was that Nag Kath was sent because he knew something or was something that could help Gandalf’s inquiries. The King would have already extracted information but dared not send it here with the orc. 

This called for a smoke. He scraped the burned weed out of his smaller clay pipe and loaded a small pinch of fresh leaf – just enough to order his thoughts. Practically; did this help or just add another task to the list? He had a few. 

Gandalf, Mithrandir to many in the region, returned to Orthanc because only he could clean the mess. His most important labor was to make sure the knowledge how to create the dread Uruk-hai died. Here was one of them now, thought he didn’t look it. They were spawned in great numbers rather than born like common orcs. However unlikely; the process could be repeated. That must not happen. Orthanc was part of Gondor now. The King bade him hold the keys as long as he needed to remove foul sorceries and craft. After hundreds of years under Saruman’s thumb, this rock had secrets men did not need to know. 

An intriguing part of that mystery was the seventh lock. The door keys to Orthanc were symbols of power. But there were seven interior keys to safes and storerooms. Those were less known because few men came here and fewer left. Five were immediately matched. One was disguised in a pedestal. But the seventh lock had not been found even though his folk had scoured the place. He should employ Hobbits of the Shire! They could find anything.

Another of Gandalf’s tasks was organizing the files. Orthanc served as the archive of the wizards in Middle-Earth because Saruman was their chief and head of the White Council. An entire library had been built over the years with Elvish, Dwarvish and Mannish texts. Several bookshelves were given over to Numenorean papers that survived the flood. This cache rivaled the library of Gondor and was in generally better condition. In addition to anything he could find about the Uruks, Gandalf hoped to learn the fate of the Blue Wizards who came to Middle Earth about when he did and disappeared shortly afterwards. Now, what were their names?

Most of the documents were routine reports and quartermasters’ lists like the one making his head hurt right now. He had packed two small crates that should go to the undying lands with Elves leaving these shores. Gondor would keep the rest or send them home. 

The third matter was repatriating Saruman’s estate. The first White Wizard had light fingers. By force, threat or deceit, he accumulated a room-full of valuable and culturally significant artifacts over the centuries. Folk wanted them back. 

A gathering of free peoples was called for here in Orthanc next spring. Gandalf would rather avoid diplomats bickering over trinkets but there were larger issues. Some of these men, he supposed they were men, had little to do with one another except fighting regional dark factions. Some were merely crushed. It was time to unite them. A few might have been on the wrong side. Lord Aragorn was seeing to the invitations.

In addition to the identifiable patrimony, Saruman had a chest of gold Florins larger than two men could lift. Gold has no father. Claims on that and precious stones would be based on need and loss. For the meantime, that gave the wizard all the cash he needed for this and a dozen operations like this in perpetuity. His was not a sprawling enterprise but he needed people for security, organization, carrying things up or down and feeding everyone.

At the top of the chain were fourteen former soldiers, half from Rohan and half from Gondor. These men impressed Gandalf in the Ring Wars and had uncertain futures back home. Some brought their families here. All knew this was a limited engagement but it was still also a fresh start at good pay. Soldier’s wives had senior positions in the household staff.

Below them were the cooks, cleaners, repairmen and husbanders. A few were former slaves of Saruman with nowhere to go. Turnover was still high. Paid employment was a huge improvement but many of them could not manage the strain after such harsh treatment. Others were refugees from Dunland caught in regional strife. Fighting for dark Lords was only one of several reasons those people killed each other. Included in this category were traders bringing supplies to this isolated outpost. Most brought Saruman’s goods too. Gandalf paid them from the same box.

Last came the miners. 

There was nothing so cheap in Middle Earth as the swords of dead orcs here and the forests of Helm's Deep. Saruman had created the largest iron works in the world to equip his troops. They were wasteful. He had limitless labor and ore and trees for the fire but precious little time. The metal his orcs and slaves produced was poor by men’s standards. To the good; they had already done the backbreaking work of mining and crushing the stone, then smelting out most impurities. Slag slopped out of a single crucible might equal a week of digging it out of the mountain.

These clannish people were also refugees. For years uncounted they had mined the Pit of Iron, crags immediately below Isengard at the base of the Misty Mountains where the purest ore was found. As Saruman’s need for iron increased, his Uruk-hai killed, enslaved or forced men further away from their traditional homes. Threat ended; they laid claim and were making up for lost time. 

These folk were Dunlanders in the broad sense but really a people unto themselves. They had no political sympathies. They held conservative views for family and feared a pantheon of local gods and demons anxious to judge. Salvagers, called scratchers by the soldiers, reclaimed timbers and stone from the slave quarters for housing as the Ents beautified Orthanc. It was unsightly but temporary. Originally outside of the compound walls, the huts and barracks were largely out of view from the lower levels of the tower. 

Gandalf reluctantly agreed to let them scrounge iron from the pits but had two steadfast conditions. One was that they were to give anything they found with writing to the guards immediately. That had amounted to little. The orcs only use for paper needn’t be mentioned here. The other was that they had to do the noisy and smelly work of processing their bounty well away from Gandalf’s studies.

Most agreed. One night, a flight of flaming Nazgûl screamed down from the heavens over their shanty-town convincing the rest to mend their ways. Gandalf still chuckled over that.

Fifteen or so of their womenfolk did day work here in the tower. 

Deciding he’d had enough of ancient boot requisitions, Gandalf needed to speak with a bird.

_______________-------______________

As horrified as the guards were, Nag Kath had simply gone through a variation of the cycle he endured a hundred times in the dungeon. This hurt much worse but only lasted a minute. He woke in the morning, three days later. At first, he lay motionless making sure there were no dangers in the room. Alone, he rose slowly and started the familiar process of stretching and un-kinking painful joints and limbs. 

Fortunately, someone thought to provide a chamber pot and a pitcher of water. He used them in that order. Shuffling to the door, Nag Kath leaned his forehead against it and started pounding with the heel of his palm until the peep-door opened. Outside was a guard he hadn’t seen before in the livery of Gondor cavalry. The man casually assessed the prisoner and shut the flap.

After half a bell, the guard opened the door and told him to follow. He was with another new guard but this one was clad as trooper of Rohan. They did not seem particularly worried about him. No weapons were drawn. The three descended a single flight of stairs to the wizard’s study. This time the door was open. The guards gestured for him to enter but remained outside and shut the door behind him.

Gandalf was sitting at his table. Still groggy from his ordeal, Nag Kath did not immediately notice another old man sitting at the far end. He was dressed from head to toe in a patchwork of brown rags. For a moment he reminded the Elf of beggars in Minas Tirith who wore similar garments hoping pity would inspire a few coppers from passersby.

No, this fellow’s face showed purpose and confidence. And he smelled better. Nag Kath approached the table at the regulation distance and waited. The wizard, or someone, had reduced the stacks of papers to a few orderly piles. In the black speech Gandalf told Nag Kath to take the chair across from him. The changeling did but then said in Westron, “Your pardon, my Lord. My old talk is strange to my ears. May we use this talk instead?”

“Of course, dear boy. I think that wise of you.” In truth, Gandalf wanted facts and would use any tongue to get them. “Nag Kath, my friend does not speak your old language so that may be best for all.” His friend only nodded. Gandalf adjusted in his seat and said, “I am sorry for the pain I caused you the other day. I needed to remove the last of the orc from your blood.”

Nag Kath gave them both their first look at his infamous grin saying, “I do that many times. Good you did not tell first.”

The Elf would have gradually purged that himself over the next year but Gandalf had no reason to wait. The spell was similar to the one he used on King Theoden to remove the presence of Saruman. 

“Now, young man, I want you to tell us everything about yourself.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Not Lord. Just Gandalf.”

“Yes Gandalf.” For an hour Nag Kath gave a much fuller version of the story he had told officials in Minas Tirith. His improving knowledge of the common speech and the ability to lapse into orcish moved the narrative along. Gandalf asked most of the questions but the elder in brown chimed in occasionally, mostly to clarify.

The subject turned to his confrontation with the soldiers. His description and later analysis of events made more sense to the old men than they had in the south. Nag Kath used the same pantomime of running from his chair to a candle stand across the large room for scale.

The still unnamed friend finally asked a question of his own. “Has this happened before or since?”

The Elf said, “Both.” not understanding they might want to learn more.

The man in brown continued gently, “Let us start with before.”

Nag Kath explained hitting the guardi with his own stick leaving the dungeon. The warg story was much more interesting. Aragorn would not have heard that. And slaying a warg might have softened his reception in Edoras as well. It was no surprise that this creature had killed a former ally. There was no love lost among any of Saruman’s forces. Giving his purse to Dornlas was noteworthy. To their minds, it reduced the chance that he was secretly Sauron. The Dark Lord was notoriously stingy.

Gandalf announced that they had covered enough ground for the day. “Nag Kath, ask the two men outside to come in.” On his way to the door he saw the contents of his pack had been strewn in what at this hour was a darker corner of the room. The soldiers presented themselves at the desk and Gandalf asked them to help the Elf pick-up his belongings. They did, but the Gondoran looked back to the wizard when they found the sword. The wizard nodded so the man tied it to the pack. Nag Kath’s leather art tube leaned unnoticed against the wall.

When everything was stuffed back in the bag, Gandalf said, “Thank you Nag Kath. We will talk again soon. Lemas, please take our guest downstairs for some food and find him a bunk. Nag Kath will be staying with us for a while.”

The Elf returned to the desk to say thank you when his pale face lost what little color it had. 

“A’mash?!”

_______________-------______________

Lemas was working on precious little information. Legatorn would have never said a word but Tolander wasted no time sharing how the creature known as Nagass had been beset with powerful witchcraft nearly to his death. Now Lemas was to find him a billet as if he was just one of the lads.

The Elf tried to dash past him to find A’mash. When the soldier could make sense of what Nag Kath wanted he said, “Relax friend. Your mule has been eating better than you have. Let’s get you some food.”

That would mean going cap-in-hand to Rosas, the formidable tower cook. She and her staff had fairly stiff rules as to when rations could be had. Lemas walked past her cooks and cleaners with the outlandish Elf to Rosas’ little office. She was planning the evening meal. “Hello Rosas. I need some leftovers.”

Without looking up the stout, middle-aged woman said, “Hello Lemas. This isn’t a pub.”

Lemas played his only card, “This is a new guest of Gandalf. He thought you might have something.”

She raised her head at that. The only guest checking in here lately was the creature who had just been tortured and imprisoned. This fair-faced boy fit the description. “All right, put your pack down. I got some porridge, salt pork, biscuits, and bread in the basket. There’s also half a capon under the napkin over there.”

Meals were served an hour after sunrise and an hour before sundown with no lunch. The exception was for Gandalf who seldom ate it. The capon was his. Nag Kath had to learn a capon was a chicken before declining. He was happy with bread and cheese. Lemas did not let the capon go to waste.

After eating, their next chore was to find quarters. Only one person could manage that. They made their way up several flights of stairs and down two halls until they saw a tall, raw-boned woman with thick ginger braids directing two maids. Lemas walked over to her and cooed, “Is now the time you finally leave your worthless husband and fall in my arms?”

She belly-laughed, not one of your society-titters, mind you, and replied, “Oh Lemas, I would, but you’re poor and need to lose twenty pounds.”

They both laughed. Lemas was one of her and her husband’s oldest friends. Annas managed the organization of the tower. Her husband was Sergeant Eomander, head of the guards. Their son Coran was the lad who told Gandalf of the Elf and there was a daughter who was probably practicing her needlework about now.

Annas could barely read but she had an amazing ability to put things in the right place. She was obeyed easily, a natural leader. 

“Annas, this is Nagass or Cat or …” 

He looked to the Elf who corrected in his halting cadence, “I am Nag Kath.”

Lemas said, “Close enough. Gandalf says he will be staying with us for a while and I’m to find him a room.”

She tilted her head, “Did he say where?” That was for logistics and if this was the mystery man of Tolander’s tale, how should he be placed relative to everyone else?

“Nope.”

She turned and said, “Follow me.” They went down one flight and walked through a long corridor where there were three identical doors. She opened the first one and asked of no one in particular, “How is this?”

If she was asking Nag Kath, it was fine. The room was fairly spacious with a bed almost long enough for his feet and a real window facing east. There was a dresser, a small desk, several oil lamps and candles and a night-soil box. Annas told him he would have to get his own water from the tub near the kitchen. With that, she returned to her duties. Lemas looked at Nag Kath and said, “You’ll find your mule in the stables behind the tower.”

Nag Kath skipped down the main steps and loped around the tower. He could have gone out the back door but didn’t know there was one. Sitting on the top rail of a paddock was another boy about the same age as the ones out front watching a dozen horses and one mule. Nag Kath said, “That is my mule.”

The lad said nothing. His job was to make sure none of the beasts escaped. People could talk to them all they wanted. The Elf whistled and A’mash trotted over to the fence for ear scratches. When the mule found there were no oats involved, he got bored and returned to a thick patch of grass. One of the horses investigated too and came right up to him.

Duty done, Nag Kath strolled around the grounds. How could this place have changed so much in two years? Perhaps for the worse, but not for the better. He walked over to one of the pit entrances and saw a stout horse that hadn’t been there before pulling a long bar attached to a winch. Yet another lad of about twelve (it must have been a cold winter) was on his back making sure he didn’t slow down. A large pawl clicked the time. They were bringing something up to the surface. He stayed far enough back not to scare the horse and then remembered the steed in the paddock. Perhaps losing the remaining orc had made him acceptable to these fickle creatures. He would test that theory carefully.

There was a lot to draw here. At that point he realized his pencils, paints and paper were not with his pack. Gandalf said he would be staying here for a while. There would be time to reclaim them.

At the appointed dinner time, people from around the compound began gathering in a large mess hall just off the kitchen. The room had been something else in days of grandeur but now it served well for those working here. Employees seemed to come from nowhere. Nag Kath wasn’t hungry but he wanted to see how things worked. 

A line formed-up along a series of tables. Kitchen helpers ladled different foods from large tubs onto the diner’s plates. The Elf took some vegetables that had not been cooked into a stew. A group of women stood near the tubs. They were miner’s wives who cooked and cleaned in the tower. Hot dinner for their families was a large part of their compensation and they filled baskets under the watchful eye of Rosas’ second-in-command, a woman almost the size of Lemas whose face was not built for smiling.

If there was a seating protocol, Nag Kath did not know it. The only pattern he could detect was that no one would sit next to him. The miner’s wives stared at him like a chained troll. They did not take their meal here in the evening but they did in the morning. He would see how that went. Finally, Annas walked by and asked if he was settling in. Annas feared nothing, least of all boys, and to all-the-world; Nag Kath looked like a teenager, a tall one, but still a youth.

Once the main line was through, Rosas’ humorless lieutenant set aside portions for those still working. Someone was always on duty and often projects did not cooperate with scheduled meals. Since nobody wanted to talk to him, he finished his carrots and went back to his room. 

Breakfast conversation was no different than dinner except Annas was not there. The miner’s wives still considered him possessed and would not look at him if he was looking at them. 

He spent some of the day walking with A’mash. His bag of oats had been put in a slap-dash storage shed. Helping himself to a scoop, he made friends along the paddock fence. One of the horses was a beautiful white stallion, the only one that would get near his mule. Of course, horses are terrible snobs. A’mash’s mother was a horse so he tolerated their disdain, but he wasn’t above biting one that was too snotty.

Nag Kath had to do some thinking. Until recently, he hadn’t considered what he wanted – or what he could do. What Uruk-hai wanted was a bigger piece of saw-bread and to die quickly when it came. Since his transformation, his agenda hadn’t been his own either. It was only pure luck that his first strong emotional reaction was to beauty and wonder rather than fear or hate. It was a near thing and could have gone quite differently.

While picking carrots out of greasy stew that night he had the budding realization that he didn’t have to do that. The long term was still a blur but there were things he wanted now. One was to get his art supplies back. Two was to get more exercise. After a month of hard travel, five days of inactivity made him feel sluggish in mind and body. Deep breaths made for deep thoughts. 

His third goal was to discover why he was here. Now that the dark forces were out of his system, was he done? What did Gandalf want? Come to that, what was Gandalf? And, for the first time; what should he do next? He thought well into the night. Nag Kath wasn’t used to thoughts keeping him awake so he tried relaxing his mind like he had in the dungeon to dampen the pain. Within a few minutes he was sound asleep.

He woke at dawn and put on his city shoes for a run. They were barely together after repeated Kath baths but better for running than his boots. He jogged down the stairs, out the tower and built to a moderate pace circling the inside path where the wall had been. He hopped broken stones and flood debris but the path was fairly smooth. When he reached the part of the wall with the shanty-town, there was a small crowd of spectators all wondering what insanity could cause someone to strain more than their labors required. He waved and kept going.

Not all of the wall had been removed. Another quarter of the way around the circle brought him to the Ent breach nearest the Isen. He picked his way through the rubble and continued running along the bank. This was more cross-country but he wasn’t pushing hard the way he had to run as a messenger. Half a mile further along, an eddy pool was carved in the rocks away from the main river current. He sat down and poured the sand out of his shoes. Then he disrobed and waded-out far enough for a clean dive. 

For reasons that died with their creator, Uruk-hai could swim. It was not an elegant stroke, you understand. Like dogs, they could keep their heads above water. Twice in his training, the Depotchuul (training sergeant) marched a hundred of them above the makeshift dam on the Isen to the far side of the lake it created and made them swim sixty feet of water in full armor. One sank like an orc but the rest made it sputtering to the far side and back.

Perhaps Saruman thought they needed amphibious assault skills for later campaigns. Helm’s Deep was the first thrust in force outside of Isengard. It was meant to kill the king and command staff in Edoras but holed-up in the Deep, the assault could never have trapped many soldiers or civilians here on the border – Saruman’s greatest miscalculation.

Nag Kath surfaced ten paces from the plunge. He shook his head and tread in a circle for a view of the rising forest. This new body floated better than the last. He spent the next half hour swimming from side to side or holding his breath and diving. As with his dips in the snow melt through Rohan, the frigid water did not turn him blue.

Mission complete, he found a small, sandy beach to dry and dress. There were a lot of interesting angles to draw. He had not progressed very far in his painting studies. The incident with the three soldiers saw to that. Hopefully he could scrounge some paper and pens or pencils in the tower if Gandalf had impounded his tube. He had to do something to bide the time besides talking to A’mash. 

Nag Kath walked up to his room to change into his boots and then continued up to Gandalf’s study in hopes of collecting his supplies. The door was shut and Eomander stood outside. He had heard of the man but this was the first time he had seen Annas’ husband and sergeant of Gandalf’s small force. Eomander was a big, bald fellow and had been a sergeant of like stature to Matelars in the Entwash militia, one of the larger companies in the country. He rode in King Theoden’s army as a younger man but after a fight that seemed to settle things for a while, he joined his older brother’s horse farm with a small equity stake. That went well. He married the incomparable Annas, had children and counted his blessings until his brother died unexpectedly a year before the Ring War call-up.

His brother’s eldest was an intemperate man with a roving eye. Worse; he was the sort who thought he could outsmart more experienced hands. Eomander had been on the verge of demanding his share and leaving several times before the muster at Dunharrow. He caught Gandalf’s attention in the Gondor campaigns and when the war was over, the wizard’s offer to supervise Isengard security seemed a lot better than prospects back home. He actually did get a small settlement from his nephew including the horses Annas and their children rode here.

“Good day. I am Nag Kath.”

“I know who you are. What do you want?” No mincer of words; Eomander.

“To see Gandalf.”

“He’s out.”

“I want to get my pack.”

“Gandalf has to approve that and he’s out.”

“When does he come?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Who are you?”

“Sergeant Eomander.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Eomander.” Sergeant; no bow needed. 

He turned and walked back down the stairs. Three rotations below, the changeling caught a whiff of something familiar and foul. He stopped and sniffed the air but it was gone. The same boy from the miner’s camp was watching the paddock. Nag Kath said he was taking the mule out for a walk. Again; he had no response. He was there to make sure they didn’t get out on their own. If someone took one, that was their business.

A’mash followed him for a walk around the inside of the wall. At the salvagers’ town he saw a smaller group of gawkers, almost all women with some children peering around their mothers' full skirts. Girls nearing womanhood were kept indoors. Their menfolk would be deep below by now. The ladies seemed glum. Mining must be very hard. Caring for miners must be hard. The orcs that worked the pits in his day didn’t last long. If accidents and fights didn’t kill them, the sulfurous air would.

Nag Kath took the mule back to the original grassy area near the main stairs and they both took a drink from the brook. The water tasted sweet. Clear water tasted better than brown, good to know when you had a choice. They loafed for an hour and then he took the mule back to the paddock.

_______________-------______________

It was time to see if he could cobble some drawing supplies together. Annas would know where things were, if Lemas was anyone to go by. She was also the only one who would talk to him. He found her in a small room near the kitchen counting cloth bolts for the seamstresses. The woman could read a little but not write. Common folk here and in Gondor could usually count though and used a system of marks for each item – nine in a row with a tenth drawn through to complete the group – the same number as fingers. To multiply there would be another tally above the first for how many groups. It would be no help to the Scholars in their celestial calculations but their calculations were no help to anyone else. All Nag Kath noticed was that she used a chalk on a thin black slate.

“Good day, Annas.”

“Oh, hello Nag Kath. What brings you by?”

“Hope you can help find paper, pencils. Gandalf kept mine.”

“Hmmm … Gandalf keeps all the writing paper in his study.” A short pause; “Ask Rosas. Sometimes her supplies come wrapped in paper or parchment. Tell her I said to ask. I don’t know where to find pencils.”

With a bow, “Thank you, Annas.”

Annas smiled and went back to her cloth.

As he rounded the corner into the kitchen, one of the women barked, “No food until supper” in a heavy Dunnish accent. 

“Do not need food. Need Rosas. She is here?”

The woman looked at him crossly but then went back to Rosas’ little office. A minute later, the stout cook walked out. “I told you, no food between meals!”

“Ohhhh … Annas say you have paper.”

“Did she now?” It was good he dropped her name. Rosas did a quick inventory. “I just may. Come with me.” The salvager’s wife never changed her sour expression as the Elf followed the cook to a large storage area near the eastern entrance.

The room was a confusion of boxes, crates and non-perishable foods. This wasn’t just the kitchen storage; it was the port-of-entry for all of the supplies that came to Orthanc. Like his guest room in Minas Tirith, groceries and grocers weren’t admitted through the front door. Rosas went back to a dark corner of the room and stood by a small crate with large, bold printing. Neither of them knew what it meant but someone was trying to make a point. The crate was better than half full with layers of what looked like heavy tan paper. Peeling a piece back revealed small cloth pouches with different colored swatches. Several were missing on this layer. Nag Kath wondered if they were paints. 

“I don’t know what thems are, but there’s no fire allowed near them.” There were no torches in the wall brackets either. Had she known, she might have noticed that the missing colors on this layer were the same as the flaming Nazguls streaking towards noisy miners.

“You can’t have the ones in the box. Those are all right.” pointing to sheets that had separated several missing layers. The elf collected six measuring about two by three feet each, a veritable trove.

“Thank you, Rosas. Do you know pencils?”

“You’d need someone who can write for that” she chuckled. “Can’t help you.” The Elf bowed and left grinning with his cache. Rosas watched him walk. Mighty silly for an enchanted Elf. Men didn’t look like him in northern Rohan. A younger woman might learn to like that. She followed Nag Kath out and turned, “No, Agneth. Put that under the pans!”

_______________-------______________

If pencils were a privilege, he could make do with charcoal. The furnaces would be full of pieces if the flood hadn’t washed them too deep. He wandered over to the miner’s tool shed near one of the openings into the ground. Not far away, a new lad, this one a bit older was sitting on the same horse turning the wheel. Someone thought well of this handsome animal because the gearing was not onerous. He kept a steady pace without strain and didn’t look too thin. No doubt his owners had already given A’mash a good look.

It felt very strange to stare down in the pit. Anyone watching him might have thought he was afraid of heights. If they knew what he knew, they would be afraid of what had happened below. Nag Kath called to a man twenty feet down on the main catwalk. “Hello. I am Nag Kath. Do you have charcoal?”

Without a word, the scratcher motioned to a younger fellow who walked into view and cupped his ear.

“Do you have charcoal”

“It’s all over. Help yourself.”

The Elf hadn’t been through this portal but he climbed down with sure feet. Both men waited for him and the younger pointed down one of the rope bridges. Many of these had been destroyed by falling wreckage when the Ents broke the dam, but most survived and were even more dangerous than when the orcs strung them. Pieces of the penstock that drove the huge trip hammer were still hanging from the supports although the heavy metal parts had already been hauled up and carted to where the salvagers were allowed to make noise. “Get lost and you’re on your own!” They were waiting for the load being hauled from below and had leisure to watch Nag Kath walk down rather more quickly than one would expect from a greenbottom. 

A hideous face painted over the pod pit entrance stared down at him as he turned on a more industrial path to the sword forge. There was a pile of coals untouched by the water. Most crushed in his hand but more than he expected were solid. Almost all of the steel produced in this hell was left soft to pound into implements and armor. The weapons forge needed to heat steel orange hot for hardening. The orcs weren’t over-worried about producing a fine edge because these weapons were primarily used as clubs, but swords that broke on impact were grounds for punishment – something to be avoided in a pit of hot irons.

He wished he had brought a bag. His blouse would have to do so he laid it flat and heaped several large handfuls into the center. Tying the sleeves and tails together, he walked back up the bridge timing the lurching swings nimbly. With a polite bow to the men waiting for the mine shaft bucket, he strolled out to the surface and inspected his haul.

_______________-------______________

The next few days followed the same pattern or exercise and sketching. On the third, Nag Kath took his morning run and swim. There seemed to be more miners’ wives watching. He waved as usual. After he dried and dressed, he started walking up the path when his Elf ears noticed the slightest of sounds behind him. 

Thinking like Lentaraes, Nag Kath loudly whistled a song he learned with the wounded train. As he climbed, he reduced the volume until he stopped and then slipped behind a large tree on the path. A young woman, about fifteen he thought, stole almost silently back to the camp. 

He had an admirer. She was of the age where the conservative hillmen kept daughters inside. Nag Kath arrived in time for breakfast and then walked the grounds with his sketch pad. Today he hiked up to where the dam had stood. The lake was gone. 

Gandalf had still not sent for him. Gandalf didn’t even seem to be there. The white horse was missing too. Nag Kath was drawing one of the local hills when his charcoal crumbled and smudged the piece. With an orcish word not meant for polite company, he walked back up to Gandalf’s study. Lemas was outside and the door was closed.

“Hello Lemas. Can I get my pencils?”

“Not until Gandalf says.”

“Thank you, Lemas.” 

Nag Kath retreated downstairs in time for dinner. People had started sitting near him, if not talking to him. This time it was Eomander. And he was not here to chat. The burly man said softly, “Nag, we’re getting complaints from the scratchers. They say you bathing so close to them is indecent and bothers their women.”

Nag Kath looked at him and countered, “Not so close.”

“Look, I’m not your Sergeant or your father. I’m just telling you to watch your step.”

The Elf nodded as the soldier left the room.

The next day, Nag Kath took his advice and ran well away from the shantytown without swimming. The damage was done. Four miners hurried towards his path. They should be deep underground by now so this was planned.

“Hey you! We told yas to keep from our women.” This was said by a small, wiry man with lank black hair and close-set eyes. For reasons no one who knew either of them could fathom, he married a very pretty woman who bore him two fine children without losing her face or figure. She was one of the watchers when he ran along the trail. 

The man continued, “Aleg, what do we do to thems what don’t listen?”

A thick miner with a red beard and no other hair replied, “We teaches them a lesson.” The two other men stood by, probably there more for loyalty than justice. 

The wiry man pulled a blade. It was a thin dirk about eighteen inches long. Like most civilian weapons, it had no guard. These were light, offensive tools not made for combat. He waved the dirk in the air like an aristocrat testing a practice sword. 

Then he began waving it in the Elf’s direction. Nag Kath did not need his extraordinary speed to avoid the half-hearted swipes. His Elvish reactions were enough. Passes got close but were still no threat. The man’s companions began to snicker that the blonde wasn't scared or pleading. The pretty-boy was making him a fool. The miner's face hardened and the idle swipes became a hard jab towards Nag Kath’s heart.

And then, as has been described before, time stopped. One moment, the point was a foot from the Elf’s chest. An instant later, it was buried through the scratcher’s left boot all the way to the handle.

Shock preceded pain by a blink. “AAAHHH!” The man tried to move his foot which only widened the cut. He was pinned to the earth. “NGAAGHHH!” He tried to pull the weapon out but it was firmly lodged. Falling over backwards made it worse. “I’m going to kill you dougsht!” he screamed as blood left his face and puddled under his boot.

A moment later, Aleg found his considerable bulk dangling above the ground with the Elf’s hand around his throat. This was not a boy. This was the face of an Elvish warrior just like in the legends. Aleg was losing consciousness as his water dribbled down his leg. Nag Kath brought him nose-to-nose and said, “Remember!”, then flung him aside like a toy. 

The wiry man passed out as his two friends tried in vain to extract the dirk. Nag Kath surveyed the wreckage and strode back towards the tower. Legatorn and one of the Rohirrim were watching from a balcony on the second level. 

Good! Let them remember too.

_______________-------______________

The knife through the foot was an instant decision but part of a plan. He could have killed him. He could have killed them all. But that was not his new way, not how he wanted to find his place. It had to matter or things must end badly. The miner would be back at work in a month.

Nag Kath chose this demonstration when it presented itself for two reasons: One was to better understand this gift, if that is what it was. He was only alive because the most powerful people on earth hadn’t killed him yet. That could change. The second reason was that it was time to learn what Gandalf wanted. The wizard had removed the remaining orc from his flesh but had shown no further interest. If this display did not get his attention, it was time to move on – probably to the north where Dornlas said there used to be people like him.

Breakfast the next morning was eaten in silence. Not only did no one talk to him, they didn’t talk to each other while he was there. The salvager women couldn’t even bring themselves to look at him – suspicions confirmed that he was a demon from one of their mountain hells. A notable exception was Fionel, the miner’s sister-in-law. Her lips pursed into a grim smile nodding her approval. Had she the power, that knife would have cut higher.

Nag Kath kept to the tower and surrounds. He did not run or swim but he did lead the mule to the grassy area and lay on his back looking at the clouds. Events had been put in motion that would break the impasse. He heard nothing from upstairs. Dinner went the same as breakfast except Annas was there and she always smiled. Nothing scared Annas.

The morning meal started with Eomander leaning over Nag Kath’s shoulder saying, “Upstairs.”

Gandalf chose his security men for their experience. He wanted cool heads and tamed passions. That was not a recommendation for hundreds of stair steps. Eomander had a trick knee and used a brace made of two hinged steel slats on either side of his leg bound to his thigh and calf with leather straps. They eased his pain but did nothing for speed. It was due for fresh tallow to keep it from squeaking too. As with Tolander, Nag Kath alternated steps on the short, narrow treads to not leave him behind. He smelled nothing passing the seventh landing.

They eventually arrived with Eomander very short of breath. The door to Gandalf’s study was open. Nag Kath walked in and the Rohirrim closed the door from the outside. The Elf walked over to the table and saw the brown elder had returned as well. Perhaps the day’s wait was in bringing him to hear evidence.

“Sit down.”

Nag Kath did as told. Gandalf rose and took his sword off the peg. This was the legendary weapon Glamdring, the Foe-Hammer. Nag Kath had prepared for this. If this was to be his end, he was glad he had seen some beauty in his short life. The wizard unsheathed the blade and casually laid it across Nag Kath’s arm. Twisting it slightly for the best reflection, it showed no hint of blue. The wizard slipped the weapon back in the scabbard and returned it to the peg. Finding his seat, he scraped burned weed from his pipe into a saucer and refilled it from a small leather pouch. Finally, he took the last match from a small clay jar on the desk and scraped it on the underside of the table to light-up.

The elder in brown caught the aroma and observed, “Not Longbottom?”

Gandalf replied testily, “I am making inquiries.” In the exchange, Nag Kath stole a glance at his leather art tube. The white wizard turned to his guest, “Do you know what you are?”

“No. Just what others tell me. Men say Elf. Elves say no.” His Westron was improving.

“Do you know who we are?”

“Not old men.”

Gandalf posited, “It happened again, but not the same this time?” The Elf was learning that statements could actually be questions.

“Different. I had more …” he didn’t know the word ‘control’ yet so he finished with, “… command. More time to hold and decide.”

“Is that why the miner is still alive?”

“Yes. I am not bad. Just want them not to fight.”

"Heh, heh" the white wizard chuckled. “I would have told them if they didn’t want their women watching you bathe they should try it themselves more often.” That was followed by a small cough from the local pipeweed.

Nag Kath shared the joke but thought it applied equally to some of the tower staff.

“I am going to trust you. And I hate trusting you. We have just won the most terrible war. You should have died when all like you died. There can never be more like you were. Oh, this is Radagast. We are the last stewards of this world against the evil of Sauron. Do you know who Sauron was?”

“Yes. Dark lord.”

“Correct. Our task is not complete until we know more about you.”

Gandalf took another draw of his pipe but it had gone out. Bloody Eriador pipeweed! He instinctively reached for the little match jar but it was empty. “Nag Kath, do an old man a favor and fetch more matches from that bookcase ... Should be about this high” raising his hand to about chin level.

The Elf walked to the large wooden frame. This was Annas’ doing. There were very few books. She had a handy soldier fit the top shelves with dividers to make cubbyholes. Gandalf tended to work furiously on a project until he solved it, abandoned it or waited for more information. Left to his own devices, he could never find anything he had worked on before. Most of these contained Gandalf’s puzzles waiting for more pieces. 

At head level in the first cubby was a box of pens and what looked like paints. Good to know; that. As he slowly inspected the boxes, the cubby fourth from the end started to glow. Another step and it was a soft white light. If a blue sword was bad, this must be worse. He looked to the wizards helplessly as they looked back in shock. Gandalf recovered first, “Good. Probably find them just before the lamp.”

Reassured, he grabbed a fresh bottle of matches two cubbies from the curious light. Nag Kath returned to the table as the wizards watched the glow fade behind him in horror.

_______________-------______________

Oh dear! Oh dear, indeed! Even in a world of circumstance and probability, this was impossible. But since it happened, it narrowed the wizards’ scope of inquiry considerably.

The glow came from a fragment of the wizard Saruman’s staff. Gandalf himself had destroyed it in Saruman’s hands on top of this very tower when Gandalf returned from death with heightened powers. Most of the staff had fallen into the flooded Isen, but this piece of the crown casting stayed on the roof.

A wizard’s staff is a very personal tool. It must be melded to the wizard’s powers and purpose over time. There is some interchangeability. Radagast gave Gandalf his staff after Gandalf’s was destroyed in Dol Guldor by the Necromancer (Sauron’s aspect at the time). There was a dangerous gap in effectiveness until he adapted it to his needs but it could be done. Saruman seized another of Gandalf’s staffs and used it to imprison him, again, in this very tower. But Saruman jealously guarded the secrets of his own staff. It responded only to his flesh and will. Gandalf and Radagast had both handled the twisted metal often and tested it with many known spells. Finding no residual power, it was consigned to Annas’ storage cubby.

And now; this Elf, orc, this grinning yokel, wanders by and it glows like an Elf-fountain firework! And the crystal is missing. The metal itself was glowing it was so happy to see him! Somehow, this creature must have received magic from Saruman – possibly by blood or incantation. They might never know. The only bright spot was that it further reduced the possibility that he was Sauron escaped to yet another form. Nag Kath was a local boy.

The wizards really didn’t need to converse. They knew each other’s minds and could communicate with thought alone, not at great distances like the Elf-witch Galadriel, but easily in the same room. Gandalf started, “Nag Kath, did you ever meet Saruman?”

“Not meet, he come to inspect with drasjoul (head orc breeding master) and roshdal (armorer). Nineteen of us.”

“Did he do anything unusual or talk to you.”

“No, he walk line slowly, then talk to roshdal to fit. Then he go.

“Did he have his staff with him?”

Nag Kath had to think a moment, “Yes, yes he did. Saw later too when he cursed clouds to go to mountains. Very angry at clouds!” Hmmm … Possibly the sorcery to create the avalanche that forced the fellowship into Moria.

Radagast this time; “Nineteen. That isn’t very many, is it?”

“Very small. Only nineteen of us. We were Templagz! Runners. The Fighters, Toluschg (Berserkers), sappers, many more. Made many times too. But Templagz; only once.”

Radagast was on the scent, “Why so few?”

Nag Kath broke into his very farm-boy smile, “We wonder. Maybe fail. Not so good to make more. Not so bad feed to warags. We were “fast” Uruk-hai. Take messages to commanders. Must remember exact. Crows cannot say long talk.” He thought about that and had a good laugh.

Gandalf thought; oh, this was too much! Here we are trying to save Middle-earth and this creature is amused that he wasn’t fed to wild wolves! Radagast was undeterred, “How were you different, Nag Kath?”

The Elf sputtered an answer but there were no Westron words to suit. Inspiration struck. He said with gravity they had not seen before, “I will show.”

Nag Kath walked around the desk to his brown leather tube and untied one end as he returned in front of his chair. Reaching in, he pulled the entire roll of papers half out and then retrieved a small piece of fine parchment from the center. Spilling several pencils on the table, he chose the one that rolled his way and sat down to sketch. The wizards were impressed – first at the speed and then at the accuracy. In a minute the shape was roughed. Another minute later the detail was in with a final minute to fully shade the contrasts.

Radagast had never seen an Isengard Uruk. Gandalf had seen too many. The head was identical to the monsters at Helm’s Deep but the body was leaner and the armor lighter. Made to run … and expendable.

“This was Nag Duhl. I look like him.” His new face was an improvement. While Gandalf and Nag Kath discussed Uruk fashion, Radagast took the roll of papers out of the tube. On top was an extraordinary picture.

The Brown Wizard did not appreciate art. From time immemorial, it was used to convey meaning. Kings were grand. Men were never cross-eyed. Trees were always in leaf and it was always sunny. Every aspect of the work represented what it should say, not necessarily what was.

Here was a plump washerwoman, heavy with child, happily chatting with a woman whose back was to the artist while a third laundress admonished a four-year old gleefully walking on the ledge of a public fountain. The woman had a wealth of freckles and a gap between her front teeth. Only her husband could love her. But she was loved, because this was the face of a loved woman. She existed exactly like this at that moment in time. It meant nothing but said everything.

The next picture melted his heart.

Radagast’s name meant “Tender of Beasts.” His older name was Aiwendil, “Bird-friend.” He was Maia to Yavanna, the Vala responsible for birds and animals –- growing things in this world.

The picture was a pen and ink drawing of a sparrow pecking a breadcrumb on a cobblestone street. She was perfect. She could have flown off the page. Nothing was added. Nothing removed. She wasn’t a great eagle or a symbol of strength –- just a little bird daring cats and feet to feed her chicks for as long as her life would last.

Now the wizard knew there must be a reason changeling was here.

Nag Kath saw him looking through the drawings and grunted. Radagast thought he might take this precious drawing but the Uruk thumbed through the sketches and found another picture of the same bird from a different angle. He swapped looks at the one in the wizard’s hands and the one in his before handing it to Radagast. “You keep.” 

Gandalf saw possibilities. While not articulate, the Elf could draw things and see things no one else could. He would put him to work! The first thing was that seventh lock. “Nag Kath, come with me.”

The wizard stood and walked to the opposite side of the room from the bookcase while rattling a key ring in the front pocket of his robe. Nag Kath was tempted to recommend Lentaraes’ practice of using oatmeal to conceal the noise. Gandalf used one of the keys to open a small but impregnable stone door with an ornate escutcheon built into the wall. It was the size of a pie safe.

“I want you to watch for a keyhole like this one” he said, pointing to the slot. “We can’t find it. The ones we have found have a red mark next to them. I also want you to watch for other secret hiding places. Your eyes may find what others have not.”

Nag Kath thought for a second, “I know one.”

Gandalf erupted to his own considerable height and commanded, “Show me!”

_______________-------______________

The wizards, Elf and Eomander stamped, stepped, tapped and squeaked down the stairs. Nag Kath grabbed his art supplies and led them to where he had smelled the faint but foul odor of orc. Not every time. Not even this time. But it had been here. He got on his hands and knees sniffing like a hound. Pointing at a panel along the wall of the staircase he said, “There.”

Gandalf coaxed a light from his own staff by moving his fingers close to the head. Nag Kath wondered at these wizards and their convenient lights. 

“Where?”

With the light, the changeling ran his fingers over the carved trim in the stone and felt a tiny crack. He sniffed again and there it was.

“Inside.”

As he had at the gates of Moria, Gandalf rattled-off a stream of Elvish and Dwarvish spells to no avail. There were no markings or key holes. The panel looked just all the rest. They never learned the command. When patience failed, two stout soldiers with Dwarf hammers pounded the panel to shards.

A clever little room had been fashioned inside an exterior buttress. For most of the stair this was simply the inside of the outside wall. The secret vault would look like a solid support from east of the tower. The granite was only an inch thick but had been hardened with the rest of the structure by craft forgotten. Ten minutes later, the panel was demolished revealing a dead orc who lay where he stood when the ring was unmade. The soldiers dragged the desiccated creature onto the landing. He did not weigh much. Gandalf went in immediately but there wasn’t room for two so Nag Kath sat next to Radagast on the stairs and watched. 

Gandalf’s incanted his staff to glow brighter. It revealed three things. Several bundles of papers were the treasure the wizard sought. Stacked together they were three inches tall. Then there was an Elvish crown or hair band in the high, old style. Nag Kath had seen the Lady Arwen and the Elvish questioner wear them. It was displayed on a purpose-built wooden stand of superb craftsmanship. Finally, there was a small chest which, when opened, shined with silver tenth-Florins. 

Gandalf ordered everything taken to his study. His “experienced” soldiers groaned a little out of earshot (men’s, not Nag Kath’s) as they hauled the booty back up the stairs. Making a conscious effort to break from his new find, Gandalf turned to the Elf sitting on the stair and said kindly, “Good work, my lad. We will talk again soon.” A parting thought, “I am proud of you, Nag Kath. You could have killed those miners thinking to impress us with your power and savagery. Instead, you showed great mercy. Mercy is a rare and precious gift. Guard it with your other gifts. I will send for you in a few days.”

As the wizards resumed the climb to Gandalf’s study, Nag Kath ran down the stairs two at a time to tell A’mash.

_______________-------______________

The Istari Maiar (now in the form of human wizards) walked up to Gandalf’s study following the soldiers carrying the papers and Elf circlet. The cash he had them put with the gold. He did not think his men would help themselves but was not overly concerned. After all, he was not here to count lentils! As soon as the men left, he cut the twine around the newest-looking sheaf of papers and flipped through a few sheets. “There are plenty here for both of us.”

Not quite his area of expertise, Radagast declined, “I’ll leave the research to you, old friend. I return to the forest. It suffered as badly as the world of men from Sauron’s evil, and it will take longer to heal.”

Gandalf put the papers back in order and turned to face Radagast. “I am a poor host. Thank you for coming so quickly. I hope I am not grasping at straws.”

Radagast said thoughtfully, “Just being thorough. This old place must have many secrets. Some will come to nothing.”

Gandalf said as he loaded his pipe, “I am most concerned about those wretched Uruk-hai. We have yet to find anything in Saruman’s hand telling his method, and precious little of anything else from him.”

The brown wizard took a piece of cheese from the plate Mrs. Ednith brought up while they were exploring the stair panel. Not quite finished chewing he mumbled, “For what good it does, you have your own Uruk-hai now.”

Gandalf wondered yet again. “Yes, though I am even less sure what to make of him after he lit that staff. It hardly seems possible but somehow, he must have received his talent directly from Saruman. We were given that by the creator! It is not blood inherited. The others like him were all slain before Helm's Deep so he is the last. How do you suppose Saruman did it?”

The brown wizard had already considered this, “Blood or spell. If he could change the nature of flesh in creating those monsters, giving them sorcery might not be much harder. And remember, Saruman could move like that, more as a blur than here and there. Thranduil can too. We have seen this before.

Gandalf scoffed, “For all we know he used one of those foul pits as a chamber pot! We cannot discount the possibility that it was Sauron who changed the recipe. If he did and Nag Kath is his vessel, that silly grin is certainly his best disguise yet!” Gandalf reached for the lesser pipeweed pouch.

Radagast reflected, “I do not think Saruman would have shared any secrets about his staff, cold comfort, perhaps. As for Nag Kath, I wonder if this is as much as he has or it this talent is nascent. It is hard to reconcile that he is still just a child. He said himself he could, what was it … command it. Could he summon it at will? For all we know, old friend, he is our young replacement to shepherd the race of men.”

The white wizard agreed, “We will inquire in the fullness of time. There is no rush. Winter will be on us soon. I’ll keep him here until the snow melts for evaluation. And I have use for him! Finding that panel has already earned his keep.” Eyeing the stack of documents, “Those Elf eyes might yet find more secrets the rest of us miss. I need some clever Hobbits! 

Gandalf added thoughtfully, “And I confess, old friend, I like this fellow. For someone who started life as a maggot, there may be some good, true good, in this business. I am at a loss how to tell him.”

Radagast remembered the little bird pictures in his robe. Gandalf could appreciate the skill but Radagast saw the soul. Unless the changeling was subsumed in a character he must completely discard, no dark lord would make something so insignificant so perfect. “I think you must trust him a little more each day.” The brown wizard rose and reached for his staff. “You were right to invite me. I may be harder to reach in the coming months, but send word, nonetheless, if you need my counsel.”

They said simultaneously, “Until we meet again.” 

_______________-------______________

Life around the tower got back to normal, such as normal was. Nag Kath was now considered the wizard’s apprentice. Everyone was put on notice to help him with his common tongue. People would start conversations. The miner’s wives still thought him a cave-troll, but occasionally made eye contact. When the secret panel was discovered, a number of tower inhabitants began searching exterior stair-walls for new troves. After two weeks of tapping and thumping, Gandalf had Eomander sternly thank everyone for their efforts.

The Elf resumed his run and swim routine but wore a pair of cutoff trousers for modesty sake. After a week, some of the miners’ inexhaustible supply of 12-year old boys came down to the pool to watch. He taught them to swim – fully clothed – respecting their cultural prohibitions against being uncovered. The boys got cold in a few minutes but had fun, which was in short supply at home. Girls were never allowed but he suspected there were watchers further up the trail. 

Nag Kath took his role as finder of secrets seriously. He did his tapping above Gandalf’s study. No one had ever lived in the top third of the tower. That made sense. It was a long climb and every step was further from hot food. Minas Tirith, another tall city, had dozens of rivulets running through the rock so there were fountains at every level. Here, water and everything else had to be lugged from the ground. 

Judging by the dust on the floors, no one had opened hidden doors for centuries. He did wander about with a torch looking for artifacts. The story below the roof had seen some use. Orcs used it as a staging area when Gandalf was confined on top of the tower. Nag Kath remembered the food they would have prepared and spat. He did walk out on the roof of the tower and looked at the four massive stones ringing the corners like a henge. It was quite a view. In better weather he might bring his easel up here.

_______________-------______________

The autumn project for Orthanc was a permanent barn. There were enough horses between the soldiers, miners and drayage to justify replacing the little shed next to the paddock. Saruman’s stables had burned to the ground. Since they started hauling iron out of the pits, miners’ wagons took scraps to a smelter about 20 miles away, out of the wizard’s hearing. They returned mostly empty save for supplies. In the last three weeks, they were heavily laden with sawn-wood for the barn.

Nag Kath was pressed into service. His exceptional balance made him the first choice for walking beams. The Rohirrim all had experience in barn-building. Men of Gondor had construction skills too. For wall-raisings, some of the miners were called up. They would benefit by having a place for their draft animals so it was a fair exchange. Those draft horses and A’mash contributed by hauling rafters on a pulley to the top.

Aleg was among those conscripted from the pits. At first he found ways to not be in the same place as the Elf but a loose rafter had all available men scrambling to hold the line while a crew braced from above. Nag Kath smiled and said, “Hello Aleg. You are well?”

“Well enough.” A long pause, “How are you?”

“I can not complain.”

That was the extent of the exchange. Nag Kath thought nothing of it but Aleg was relieved. No hard feelings, it seemed. He could still feel those iron fingers around his throat.

The barn took almost a month to complete. Light snow flurries didn’t stick. The old men were wrong about an early winter. A week after they got the animals in, almost two feet of snow fell. They accounted themselves lucky. A month later they were nearing the season when both Rohan and Gondor celebrated Syndolan, the day after the shortest day of the year. That was a time when all gathered to feast and remember that earth would renew. The miners also revered the day in their own fashion and company. Annas ordered trimmings to make the first level of the tower more festive. They included ribbons, small candles and several sacks of mystery ingredients for Rosa’s kitchen. Men cut boughs of fragrant pine and fir trees to dress the cold rock. Fires were kept roaring but the fortress was never meant to be comfortable. Woolens and skins stayed on most of the time.

_______________-------______________

Life seemed a little dull until just before the holiday when one of the miner’s children took seriously ill. She was five and had a high fever at a time when no one else was sick. Her parents sat vigil but hope was fading and her mother could not help but cry. Their healing woman had done what she could.

A delegation of miners came to the tower and petitioned Gandalf’s help. He agreed and appeared a little later on the first level after not being seen on the stairs. That had happened before. Well, he was a wizard! The salvagers had already returned home. Gandalf came down the front steps at the same time Nag Kath was returning from the stable.

“Nag Kath, come along. We’re going to see about an ill child. Do you know anything about healing?”

“No.”

“Come along. We will aid.”

There was a visible trail in the snow which made things easier. Gandalf carried his staff and a small valise which he shoved in the Elf’s stomach. He said nothing else until they reached the shanty-town a few minutes later. An old woman took them to the little girl’s home.

Aleg was her father. He glanced at the two nervously until the wizard asked him, “How long has she been like this?”

“Three days.”

“What have you done for her?”

“The healer brought herbs” her mother wailed, “but she still burns.”

Gandalf put his staff on the floor, sat on the edge of the bed and touched the child’s forehead. She was fitful but conscious. He leaned over and smiled, “Think of your favorite things.”

To Nag Kath; “Give me the small blue bottle.” The Elf rummaged through the valise and handed it to him. Gandalf took a pinch of powder out and lightly touched the girl’s lips. The Elf put the stopper back in the bottle and dropped it in the bag.

Gandalf then placed his large hands on either side of the child’s face. The wizard closed his eyes and murmured a brief blessing in Elvish. Mirias, that was her name, began to kick her feet and writhe, not enough to loosen Gandalf’s gentle hold but enough to make her mother gasp in fright. The wizard said to anyone listening, “Hold her feet and keep her still.”

Nag Kath was closest. He gently gripped her ankles just above her slippers. A few seconds later the girl’s tiny legs emitted a pale yellow light that spread into Nag Kath’s hands. The child relaxed immediately. Gandalf didn’t notice until he took his attention from the girl’s face and looked towards the foot of the bed. Mirias coughed a few times and fell asleep. 

Gandalf took his hands from her and told Nag Kath he could do the same. Color returned to her pale face and she started breathing more regularly. Handing her mother another small bottle he fished from the bag, Gandalf said, “A pinch of this in tea twice a day for three more days. Make sure she drinks it all.”

Without further ado, the wizard rose and left. Nag Kath made some awkward smiles as a parting gesture and followed. He felt queasy but kept up for fifty paces until retching in the snow. Gandalf stopped and stared back the jaundiced elfling. “Do you know what you did?!”

“I threw-up.”

“Yes, yes! What else did you do?”

“Took her feet. Hands shook. Felt warm. Felt pain … no, weakness. Like eating stew ...”

The wizard was agitated. “You healed her. Like an Elf … a skilled Elf!” The wizard’s eyebrows were beetled in concentration. “You pulled the sickness out of her. Did you mean to do that?”

“No.”

“You just did it?”

“Feel … feeling come to me when I hold. Like my pain, but very small.”

“Good work, Nag Kath. Good work!”

They trudged the rest of the way in silence. Gandalf thought; well, he is an Elf. Why shouldn’t he have some healing talent? It was time to take him more seriously. In the fading light he also noticed that Nag Kath was losing some of his baby face. Perhaps in his transformation at six months old, he had been given the youngest Elf face that could go on a full-grown frame. Now it was maturing.

“Good work, my lad.”

_______________-------______________

Syndolan Eve started with a snow flurry giving way to sunshine by noon. The soldiers and their women did not ordinarily drink much but Annas, bless her heart, managed to get a barrel of Rohan red on one of the wagons. Heartier than the brews of the south, it was prized when it could be found. Evidently the harvest this year was strong.

They ate and enjoyed the party at dinner time. Afterwards, Gandalf had a special surprise. Syndolan was his favorite holiday. He had some of the secret packets delivered to his room and crafted fireworks in green and white, the colors of the season. Nag Kath watched him mix the powders and helped haul the rockets up to a higher balcony.

When it was dark enough, everyone huddled outside to enjoy the show. The wizard was in his element and worked his way through lesser sparklers to the white and green rockets with their rooster tails. At first, the salvagers were sure this was new devilry inflicted by their capricious godlings. The children did as all children do; ohhing and ahhing with each flash. Soon the parents relented and most families came outside to watch. Mirias sat on Aleg’s shoulders squealing in delight. The display only lasted fifteen minutes because it was too cold for the little ones but Gandalf had a wonderful time. His only regret was that the salvagers knew the Nazgûl hadn’t really returned.

Back inside, it was time to sing. Gandalf came back down to host them with his rich baritone. Syndolan had its own songs that everyone remembered from childhood. Nag Kath managed to learn a few of the repeating lines in time for the tune to end. He already liked the Rohan red. This wasn’t a tavern so by the nine-bell, everyone said good night and found their rooms. All agreed Annas was a right, good hostess.

_____________-------_____________

The next day, those on duty reported on time but might have moved a bit gingerly. Ale did not affect Nag Kath. He went for a swim, proving beyond a shadow of doubt he was quite mad. A few hours later, he saw Annas with her black slate counting odds and ends. Chores being slow, he asked her to explain what she was doing. Annas taught both her children and gave the same presentation to Nag Kath.

“Come with me.” They walked to the large storeroom behind the kitchen. “We have twelve bags of oats. I make a mark like this,” drawing a short, vertical line, “for each one.” She counted one through nine and then said, “For the tenth, I draw a line though them to show I am done. Then I start another set with two more, like this. Here, you try.”

She handed him the slate and chalk. He drew nine lines and crossed them. Then he added the other two.

“Very good. Now, let us say there were many bags. I would start another group above these with one mark for each completed group like this. For many, many things, I might put marks above that. Ones, tens, hundreds, on up.”

Nag Kath seemed to be taking this all in so she continued with the next lesson.

“If I have different things to count, I can put them up here. Bags of oats, hams, boots for the men, cloth … continuing with a little picture of the item and the count.”

Nag Kath said with his charming grin, “Thank you, Annas. Now I learn.”

His smile, no, his whole demeanor, slowly became an expression of steely determination. Annas had not seen this face before. In Orthanc, only Aleg had. Despite demonstrating minor powers, folk in Orthanc mostly thought of him as an outsized lad. This was the visage of a grave Elf Lord and she wondered how she had ever thought of him as anything else.

“Annas, we must go see Gandalf. It is important.”

To Nag Kath the boy she would have begged off, if only to avoid all those stairs after last night’s ale. She would not refuse this creature and slowly nodded.

He added, “Thank you. Please bring your slate”

The two wordlessly wound up the stairs to Gandalf’s study. Lemas was standing outside but the door was open.

“Hello Lemas. Can we see Gandalf?”

Together, he wondered? She wouldn’t be here, with him, if something wasn’t afoot. The Elf looked different. Lemas poked his head in the office and said, “Gandalf, begging your pardon sir, but Annas and Nag would like a word.”

The wizard was standing just inside the door and leaned around the corner. He looked to Annas first but she glanced sidelong at the Elf. “What is it, Nag Kath?”

“I want Annas to show you.”

The wizard nodded, “Come in.”

“Annas, can you show Gandalf counting?”

She looked at the wizard as if to say this wasn’t her idea but he gave no sign of exasperation. The Elf had done yeoman work lately and he could indulge him a few minutes. Gandalf didn’t actually know how the unlettered did their sums so hearing her repeat the lesson wasn’t entirely dull, and it was over quickly.

Nag Kath said graciously, “Thank you, Annas.” Then he looked directly at Gandalf. 

As with Annas below; the boy fell away and he became the imposing figure within. In the Black Speech he growled, **“_You look for Saruman’s papers but you find none. He did not make them. _****_Orcs are not so smart. They make notes to remember. He tells them how to make Uruk-hai, different Uruks; different things to mix, like rocket powders. You have been to the breeding pools underground?”_ **

The wizard nodded.

Elf-Lord eyes bore in, **_“You saw little marks, faces, numbers next to them?”_**

Nag Kath waited for the explosion like when he revealed the secret panel. Instead, the old man closed his eyes in relief. Two thousand years of worry fell away. Nag Kath was concerned the wizard may need to sit down when Gandalf opened his eyes and turned to Annas with his sweetest smile, “I don’t know how to thank you my dear. You have been more help to me than you know.” That much was certain. The housekeeper had no idea how showing him how to count hams mattered, but she could take a compliment. Rising with a smile of her own, she bowed deeply before joining Lemas in the hall. Gandalf nodded to Nag Kath who followed Annas out.

_______________-------______________

That was it. That was the answer.

The White Hand of Isengard had not dictated or kept a diary or wrote much about anything after his seduction by dark power. Gandalf did not recall him ever keeping records. Why would he change a lifetime habit to chronicle these creatures? But Nag Kath was right. The orcs would have to carry, pour and mix accurate proportions of foul ingredients in preparation for the life Saruman would sorcerously breathe into unique strains of Uruk-hai. Expecting the orcs to remember many combinations would be asking too much.

Gandalf did visit the pits. And he saw the breeding pools with scratches on the walls that had no meaning at the time.

The relief was palpable. This was his primary reason for being here. It was the primary reason to stay in Middle-Earth. The Uruk-hai were manufactured, a process that could be repeated until today. Men would solve their property disputes, or not. The archives were in order. He hadn’t found the seventh lock but that would be Gondor’s problem soon enough.

Fixing this would be simplicity itself. A handful of those silver tenth-florins would keep the illiterate miners happy for days defacing markings in the rock and dumping the chips in the deepest pit. Redirecting the little streams would wash away the paint and residue in the pools. That was evidence too.

Solving this huge riddle accelerated another and created a third. When should he leave Orthanc? Spring was probably best. Before sailing to the Undying Lands he must see both southern free kings of men and several Dwarves along with Elrond, Thranduil, Lothlorien, and the Shire. Two crates of archives were ready to go. There was plenty of time. The blue wizards would remain a mystery.

Now, what to do about Nag Kath? Aragorn had charged him with the Elf’s fate. Gandalf might have thought a lesser man was shirking an unpleasant task but the King was quite correct, Nag Kath’s creation and talents fell to Gandalf’s jurisdiction. First, he must be sure this was not a wicked seed waiting to sprout after the guardians were gone. That seemed less likely now. Melkor had sung discordantly from the start of the great music. Sauron never drew freckled washerwomen.

Even if Nag Kath was as innocent as he seemed, he might still become a power in his own right. The last immortal in a world where men and Dwarves must die could eventually fall to corruption. Departing Elves made no claim on him. Looking like an Elf was not enough. Truly being an Elf meant a lifetime of training and understanding. And Elves were never alone. Perhaps they would relent ere the last ship left for Valinor. 

Well, if Nag Kath left Orthanc alive, Gandalf must outline a path with the greatest chance of harmony. The Elf, and he was an Elf, should explore every foot of Middle-Earth; know it, live it, be of it. Gandalf would help him develop those healing skills – very handy in this world of pain. 

His other gifts were harder. Would they gain in strength? Should Gandalf help him or let him learn on his own? Or should he do as the Rohirrim teased and turn him into a toad? 

It could wait until spring. 

_______________-------______________

The next day Nag Kath had an unusually leisurely morning. He raided Rosas’ larder for a few things and walked around to the new barn for a few more. The malaise from Rohan red had dissipated and people were about their business, including in the pits. 

He strolled down the path to the main opening and clambered down with a satchel and a covered pail. Half a dozen salvagers were milling around waiting for the bucket crew below to start loading iron. These were hard men but they were not comfortable having this devil so close.

Nag Kath announced, “I need one of you to go with me to the breeding pools.” Every one of them found something interesting about their boots. “The man must have strong hands! You!” He said to the man who had pointed him towards the charcoal what seemed like ages ago. “Open your hands.”

The fellow was not happy but this Kath creature was not to be directly disobeyed. The Elf made a show of examining the back of his hands and then turned them over. With sleight of hand that would have made Lentaraes proud, he slid a silver tenth into one of the palms and closed them both. “You will serve. Come with me.”  
  


Without another word, Nag Kath turned on his heel and marched down the broken trail into the darkness. One of the men handed the conscript a torch on his way by. Neither said anything. All the while, the Elf watched the man use every ounce of willpower not to bite the coin. A minute later they met Proytas, the miner whose foot was impaled. He walked with a pronounced limp but he was walking.

They startled him. He saw his fellow scratcher first and then froze his eyes on the Elf. Nag Kath asked, “How is your foot?” No one had ever told him the man’s name.

“What’s that to you?”

“Just keeping-up.”

The wiry man’s eyes still shone brightly, “I’ll get by.”

“Good.”

Nag Kath started to walk again but the man said in a pained voice, “Why didn’t you kill me? Ya coulda. Ya coulda and no one coulda stopped ya.” Almost pleading, “Why?”

The Elf walked over to him and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “For your children.” And then he was gone with the young miner trying to keep up.

Nag Kath had only been here once and that was going the other direction. After two wrong turns and a near fall by his torchbearer, they made the pits. These were nine natural fissures in the porous rock ranging from eight feet around to twenty feet and generally about half that much deep that had been chipped larger by the orcs. At the first one they reached, Nag Kath sat on the floor and took his sketch pad out of the satchel.

The miner cleared his throat. The Elf looked up to him and said, “This will take small time.” 

The fellow shifted his weight from foot to foot and whimpered, “Can I go now? I mean, I brung ya here, din't I?” Nag Kath reached into his satchel and tossed the man a block of cheese. Money and food! He could stay a little longer. 

The Elf quickly sketched the foul face painted over a series of hash marks in different colors. He didn’t think the faces looked anything like his fellow Uruks but these were painted by orcs and they had no reason to flatter. The marks below were the only history of his life. He did not copy them. The changeling would make his own history.

Face complete, he handed his helper the pail which was full of red barn stain. “Here, paint big circle around those marks. Then, come with me. He repeated that at the other eight pools. There was a smaller pool with what looked like tadpoles, now long dried and shriveled. After peering over the precipice to be sure there weren’t pools below, they made their way back up the path. The torch failed with a third of the way to go so Nat Kath had the man hold his shirttail for safety. 

Reaching the rest of the topside miners, Nag Kath said to his helper, “Good hands!” and lightly touched his nose with his forefinger. Eomander would be back here tomorrow with more silver tenths and instructions for pounding the carvings to dust. 

_______________-------______________

Gandalf had unexpected free time. For less cash than the solstice party (not that he knew), the orcish recipes were smashed from the rocks and the terrible faces scrubbed away. He went down, just as Saruman had many times, to confirm no trace was left.

The wizard decided to take Radagast’s advice and trust the Elf, just a little. His fledgling healing talents were definitely Elvish. His quick movement felt more like those of a wizard. Lore seemed the best way to probe Nag Kath’s aptitudes. By February the Elf could speak enough of the common tongue that telling stories wasn’t an ordeal. Gandalf kept mostly to the Third Age. Describing the Elves felt awkward because this Elf had been disowned by his ancient kin. Gandalf chose to include them because this was formerly the land of Elves, even if they were sailing away.

Word was creeping in that bands of Silvan Elves in the deep forests were not moving towards the coast. Some had left, but it was not an exodus. The lowest rung of Elvish society, they might be of no mind to continue that relationship across the water. They might even find common purpose with this changeling, thought he looked like a Teleri Elf, for what that was worth. 

Nag Kath had no emotional response one way or the other about Elves but for all subjects, he absorbed every word, asking questions occasionally while cataloging names and places. Gandalf never quite reconciled himself to the very un-Elvish knitted brows and toothy grins of this specimen. Nag Kath surprised the wizard more than once by confirming a minor point when it crossed a later event, asking if a city of old was where a modern city stood now. Saruman’s map archive helped immensely. Nag Kath also remembered quite a few historical paintings and tapestries from Minas Tirith. When one obscure king found his way into the wizard’s tale, the Elf asked if he wore a blue tunic. For more general subjects, Gandalf would talk downstairs and let the children attend. He chuckled to himself that the tall Elf was the youngest of them at three years old while the little tykes were twice that at least. That must be why he wondered bright-eyed at each revelation.

Nag Kath’s favorite theme was travel in far lands. He had already seen from central Gondor through northern Rohan. There was the sea, vast beyond imagining, filled with nothing but salt flavored water. There were peaks where the snow never melted, and dry, sandy tracks where people must protect themselves from the sun. Oliphants still lived there. And there were huge monuments of people who walked the earth thousands of years ago. The changeling always enjoyed hearing about Bilbo the Halfling, bold, wise and filled with mirth!

Curiously, and Gandalf wondered why he had never considered this before, there was no art or very much in the way of written lore about the Ainur and their creation of this world. All in the western parts of Middle-Earth knew the tales. Eastern peoples had their own versions. The tyranny of distance changed those stories every generation no matter where you lived but there was a common thread. Gandalf couldn’t spin yarns for more than an hour a day so Nag Kath dutifully kept sketching. Annas had one of the smelting-town traders secure a stack of fairly large paper. It wasn’t up to Quastille’s standards but it would serve. A lot of the archives were ready to discard and the changeling got those if the backs were blank.

_______________-------______________

Winter was late arriving and stubborn leaving but it finally loosed its grip on budding trees. Crocus and daffodils sent shoots through once trampled turf. The livestock were tired of hay and ready for green grass. By late March, spring was in the air. At this altitude, that could be a false signal so no one with experience took chances.

The children were remarkably hearty so Nag Kath had few occasions to heal anyone since Mirias. He did cure Mendos of a mighty hangover after a visit to the shanty-town still, same principle, the wizard supposed. Nag Kath seemed a little wobbly for an hour after his intervention. In one of their private meetings Gandalf told the Elfling that his calling might be healing the sick and injured. He should travel these lands and divine the secrets of all peoples. Only a few of the tower staff were lettered so the Elf would have to learn that on his own. He could recognize names on the maps he copied but he drew them rather than wrote them. That might speed things later.

Then there was the issue of his origin. Nag Kath had started his life spawned in a small tub and transferred to a stew of noxious slimes. That was true of every Uruk but he was the last of them. Saruman’s hand in his talents was still unknown. It might have even been recorded in the scratchings chiseled to gravel.

Gandalf decided it was time. He slipped the broken staff crown into one of his many concealed pockets and made his way downstairs. No one saw how he got there. Nag Kath was walking A’mash so the wizard sent Eomander’s lad Coran to fetch him. Ten minutes later the Elf dashed around the tower to the courtyard.

“Walk with me, Nag Kath.” They made their way towards the main gate. The wizard said nothing for a hundred yards. Then he turned back towards the tower and pulled the metal fragment from his robe. It was already glowing. He held it against the backdrop of the tower. It was new to Nag Kath. He saw the light when he fetched the matches but not what made it.

“Here, you try.” Gandalf handed Nag Kath the remnant. It glowed much brighter but out here in the sun it wasn’t blinding. The Elf held it against the top of the tower and saw the resemblance. He felt a current of power flow through him. “I will trade you.” Gandalf give the Elf his staff and took the fragment. “Pass your hand over the top, like this.”

On the third try, Nag Kath got the crystal to flicker feebly but no more. Gandalf took the staff back, sighed, then smiled, “Now for the hardest thing to explain. Let us sit over there on the mound.” 

They made their way twenty yards to the north where green grass was asserting itself despite being crushed under Uruk formations. Making themselves comfortable, Gandalf continued, “You should not have been able to make this light at all. Not even one of the great Elves I told you about could have done that.” Pulling the crown fragment out of this pocket again he said, “And nobody alive should be able to make this glow. This was part of Saruman’s staff. It was his alone.”

Nag Kath seemed to be taking this all in stride. “I am part of Saruman?”

“I think so, dear boy. I think so. I do not know how or why but I believe your ability to move so quickly came from him. That is probably why you did not die when the ring was destroyed.”

“Or killed by ghosts?” He knew the word from campfire stories through Rohan.

“What ghosts?!”

“They say a great battle in Minas Tirith. Orcs were killed by ghosts. They came in my cell. I see … sorry … saw them. They did not see me. Ghosts came through the rock. They glowed too.”

Yes, of course! The army of the dead! He was held on the second level and the dead chased the orcs as far as the third. At the battle of Pelennor Fields, he would have still been a full-blood Uruk-hai.

“Yes, ghosts too.” This called for a smoke. Gandalf pulled his pipe from yet another pocket. Scratching a match against a stone he lit the bowl and breathed out a smoke ring. With no wind it held intact for ten feet. “We will be leaving here soon. I must see to things to the south and west. I would like you to go north, away from your banishment. You may find answers there.”

Nag Kath sounded older, “I thought about that. Would it be good to follow great Bilbo's path? See mountain, lake, Dale?”

Gandalf took a puff and said, “Well, that’s got some north to it. Yes, that might be a good way for you to go. You will have to go through Mirkwood. And you may have to deal with the Woodland Elves. I will give you a note for their king. He doesn’t care for visitors. Be careful of dark spirits! They are still out there.”

Gandalf took the staff remnant out of his pocket and turned it in his fingers. “Remember to heal. That will be how you will make your way. In this world there is need for healing pain and trouble after this terrible war. It will help people forget what you were. I hope you will not use your powers to hurt them. You settled with that miner wisely. Always remember that. Never take a life unless at the end of need.”

Nag Kath looked at the fragment and said, “You keep that. I will make my own way.”

That was the right thing to say.

_______________-------______________

The next month passed much the same way. Nag Kath learned as much as he could. His Westron was quite understandable now despite an unplaceable accent. One of the teamsters arrived with a cough. Gandalf had Nag Kath hold his hands and the glow returned. It wasn’t as bright as the ancient high-Elves aura but it was Elvish. The fellow hacked and spat for a few hours but seemed improved by the time he returned to smelting-town.

There was one more thing that made parting sweet.

With improved spring light, Nag Kath had taken to sketching some of the architectural molding around the first level. It was extraordinary craftsmanship unrivaled by modern builders. There were elements of Numenor and early Arnor in the design. Along the inside of the long hall were four arches supported by pillars. Each had an identical carved motif with a combination of plants and flowers. A little bored, the Elf drew the first in some detail. Then he went to the next to compare features. When he got to the third, he noticed a small slot between the stalks of two tulips or some such flower – it was hard to tell.

Nag Kath made a soft “O” with his mouth and stood for a closer look. Tucking his drawing under his arm, he ran up the stairs two at a time.

Legitorn was on duty one floor below, just as he had been when the Elf first arrived. The Elf poked his head in the security office and said he was going up to see the wizard. Nag Kath was now approved anytime, unless nobody was, so Legitorn waved him up.

“Gandalf, can I show you a picture?”

"Hmmmm." Shuffling some papers, “Yes, what do you have?”

The Elf laid his sketch on the table and spun it half around.

“Corridor of long room. Decoration over arches. You know these?”

“I do.”

“All the same but one, here, has a small cut, right there.”

This time, Gandalf did repeat his command when the secret wall vault was found, “Show me!”

They hurried by Legitorn’s station and scurried to the long hall. A couple cleaning women watched with wide eyes. Gandalf said hurriedly, “Ladies, tell two of the lads to bring me the rolling stairs from the pantry. Off you go!”

While they were waiting, Nag Kath showed him the discrepancy between the four panels. They were crafted by a master. The only difference was that little slot between the stalks.

Lemas and Mendos wheeled the stair/ladder from the empty library to the wizard and Elf. “Over here a little! Good. Mendos, take this.” He gave the burly soldier his staff. The man winced like he had been handed a live Tilor snake but did not let go.

Gandalf climbed eight or nine feet up and clanked through his un-oatmealed keys. Knowing exactly which to use, he slid the tip into the slot. It turned with a satisfying click. He had to back down a couple steps to pull the entire carved panel open on concealed hinges.

“Mendos, hand me my staff”

The guard gladly climbed four treads to slide the cursed pole into Gandalf’s left hand. The wizard stepped up to his first perch and passed his fingers by the crystal. He reached in and touched the contents. As he did, two more soldiers walked over. Their women joined them. Miners’ wives peeped from the safety of the hall to the kitchen.

After a minute, Gandalf descended two steps down, shut the door and locked it, dropping his keys in a pocket. “Good, that’s settled.” Looking down at his captivated employees he asked, “Do you think Rosas can find me something to eat?”

Everyone, even the clueless Elf, knew better than to open their mouth. It took two days of constant speculation until Coran was coached to innocently ask what the wizard found. As if it was hardly worth mentioning, Gandalf said, “Oh, it is the original miter of King Elendil thought lost at Dagorlad. The replacement is in Minas Tirith. Probably put here for safekeeping and someone forgot.” A puff of his pipe, “Make sure I tell the delegation from Gondor when they get here next month”.

Gandalf didn’t care for curios. He had seven keys and he wanted seven locks. There were no Uruk recipes. That was done. When the passes were clear of snow it would be time to leave.

_______________-------______________

A week after the anti-climax of the seventh lock, Gandalf told Eomander and Annas he would leave soon after the repatriation conference. As Rohirrim in what was officially Gondor again, they had decisions to make. To smooth the way, he handed them a small purse of gold nippers – a veritable fortune to a working rider of the Mark. There would be no need to raise other men’s horses. Sworn to brief silence, he had them assemble the other staff after the miners’ families had returned to their town. 

Addressing everyone in the main hall, Gandalf said “I need you to prepare for guests. As you know, we can expect people from Rohan and Gondor plus some of the smaller nations who have claim on Saruman’s stealings. I would appreciate you staying to help them until they have enough time to settle matters.” He did not say until matters were settled because that could take another age. Time enough was plenty unless they found employment with the new landlord.

“And remember, things must go smoothly.”

The men from Gondor, one of whom had his family here, could make easy choices. Their experience would be greatly valued along with Gandalf’s references. Or they could return home. Legitorn was now a man of the Reunited Kingdom so that applied to him too. The Rohirrim did not have far to go. Some of Saruman’s gold would grease the skids.

Every soldier was given two Florin in assorted coins. That would reduce the danger of needing to make change publicly. Unusually, and possibly the cause of domestic turmoil, their wives received the same as the men. Women of Gondor could have their own possessions and estates. Married women of Rohan had fewer rights. Gandalf knew all of this but didn’t care. The King of Gondor wouldn’t miss the money, bless his heart. Horses were privately owned already. The day-servants would each be given half a Florin in silver tenths and groats and Eomander had gifts for the miners when Gandalf left.

Three days later the first delegation arrived; six Dwarves from Erebor came to inspect and lay claim to Dwarvish articles lost to Saruman the deceiver. Among them was the new King’s cousin, Tombor. Traveling with them were four men of Dale including; a scholar, a man of the purse and two soldiers.

One of the ground-rules for this moot was that items of cultural significance or that were identifiable to free peoples would be returned to them. That primarily covered artifacts and should be straightforward. The oldest society tied to the item would lay claim. The same applied to documents and literature of each area. What they didn’t take would stay here as archives of Northern Gondor and Arnor.

The more difficult part was suing for reparations caused by this villainy. There was cash, jewels, regalia and some very nice trinkets that weren’t culturally specific. Everyone suffered greatly. There was not enough money in the world to repopulate lands that would lay fallow for generations. Somehow these people had to settle the bloody estate of Saruman.

The Dwarves weren’t here for the cash. They wouldn’t refuse it, but nobody thought them downtrodden. Valuable articles were known to have been pilfered over the years by the first white wizard and they would see for themselves. Annas had laid-in stocks of foods and drink popular with Dwarves – but not too much of the latter. The last thing this convocation needed was a pub brawl. 

Next to arrive was the Gondor contingent. This was more formal because the head would be the new provost for the region after this council. Edomar Dolthanan was one of the officers who took his men into the battle when Denethor dithered. It cost him an ear but earned him respect. He was also an administrator, coming from the quartermaster’s side of the service. After dividing the spoils, his job was to consolidate the region west of Isengard into Dunland and protect the Old South Road from the Isen to the Dusenorn.

Dolthanan was not expecting to be handed the keys. Gandalf’s arrangement with King Aragorn was that he would control Isengard until he had exorcized fell sorceries and evil to his satisfaction. That could have taken years. The Provost Marshal wouldn’t do it with the ten men he brought. They were coming later and would include soldiers from the Arnor side of the family, more for optics than strength. Dolthanan was pleased when half a dozen experienced Gondorans saluted crisply on his arrival.

King Éomer’s delegation rode-in the next day. There were only four of them with six outriders but they had the shortest trip. Nag Kath recognized one of them as the officer with King Eomer and Captain Altheras on the steps of Meduseld. The other three were retired soldiers studied in lore. 

They were primarily here for the cash. Rohan did not cherish artifacts from the past except weapons and personal kit from renowned countrymen. They had suffered greatly from Saruman’s Uruk-hai and Wildmen. Most of what their land needed could only be replenished with births, but there were many families who lost their breadwinners. Importing basics that local hands could not make was of great moment. Their few artifacts were easily spotted and no one begrudged their claims.

Finally came eight representatives from questionable lands. Four were men of the Wilderland. Not all of the Dunlendings were wild or allied with Saruman. Some were hostile to him. They paid dearly when Sauron ordered his wizard to subdue the land. Now officially part of the Reunited Kingdom, this congress seemed a good way to make their case to the new central power that their own subjects needed whatever help they could get. The men were surprisingly civilized and spoke the common tongue better than expected. The other four were from Dorwinion. They had reclaimed lands from the Easterlings below Dale and were rebuilding the rich, fertile farmlands.

Gandalf was the host but kept out of the proceedings except to help identify objects with questionable provenance. To his amazement, everyone was well behaved. Gimli, son of Gloin, made it clear to the Dwarves that they should find those things that belonged to them and make friends. Tombor agreed. Fortunately, the Rohan red beer was to their liking. Quite a few objects belonged to peoples that had not sent representatives. Articles of the Hobbits, river people and men of Cardolan were in the cache. Marshal Dolthanan decided to hold those here for now and send them home when appointed representatives came to call. Elvish artifacts were handled separately. 

To Gandalf’s relief, the cash wasn’t contentious either. Dorwinion and Dunnish needs were handled discreetly in direct negotiation with the King’s representative and they left pleased. Too much too soon would only be re-stolen. The Dwarves had a trove of personal objects that would take all of them to carry back but left with no coin. They also left with no Rohan red, having banked it already. 

Elessar’s instruction to Dolthanan was to take good care of Rohan. As all knew, it was not a society based on money but they could surely buy things of need. Part of their share was used to pay for a series of grain shipments that would travel the same road Nag Kath did last fall.

Nag Kath’s status took a twist. He wasn’t known as a former Uruk-hai. When the Rohirrim arrived, the story got out. One of the escorts was Corporal Darwes’ brother. No one much believed or cared about the orcish parts but more than a few ales were hoisted on tales of rending warg hearts! That he had only pithed a scratcher’s foot in all his time here showed amazing restraint. Everyone marveled at Captain Altheras’ sword. One of the learned Rohirrim explained the ancient Westemnet inscription on the guard, “**_Strength follows Honor._**” Even the man of Rohan could not read that full language but knew the motto.

Sooner than expected, everyone but the Gondorans were gone. The Rohirrim left for their short trip home with the bulk of Saruman’s strongbox. Gandalf’s own Rohan guards left with enough geld in their pockets to make a new life. No less than three troopers swore on their swords that ales would be drunk at the Falcon’s Lair in Edoras.

The miners were about done too. They sent their own delegation to the tower. Gandalf gave them two of the wagons in the stable and Eomander distributed a purse of silver tenth’s that the Provost wouldn’t miss. Dolthanan was too excited about Elendil’s mitre. That was a significant find but it would stay here until he received specific instructions otherwise.

_______________-------______________

It was time to go. Gandalf traveled light. He had his own white horse and a pack animal for his travels. The archives for the Undying Lands were crated and would be shipped out on wagons yet to arrive from the south. Nag Kath left with little more than he brought. He had managed some better clothes through Annas’ good graces. A’mash was fitted for the road. 

In the courtyard, Gandalf gave Nag Kath a bear hug with emotion that had been slow to come but was well meant. He gave him a purse of coins. And he gave him some advice. “Treat people well in hope they will of you. Help those in pain though it causes you pain. Fight the enemy! You, among those left in Middle-earth, can see what is wrong. Learn as much as you can about this new world for it has all changed. For the better, I believe, but you must find that out for yourself. I cannot help but think we will meet again someday. Take good care, my lad.”

No words would come, Nag Kath just smiled with love, turned and whistled for the mule.

_____________-------_____________

On the same day many leagues to the south, King Elessar Telcontar felt the wind on his face. A month before he resolved to get more exercise. His favorite belt felt a little snug. The sedentary life of an administrator was making him think small. Large breaths create large thoughts, the old saying went. He was riding a new mare at a near run across the Pelennor. She was spirited, in fine trim and, like most horses of Rohan, sensitive to knee pressure so riders could manage their weapons. 

Riding her was a guilty pleasure. The King had to violate his own prohibition against government officials accepting valuable gifts. It was in a greater cause and wouldn’t happen often. Before leaving, King Éomer presented grooms holding eight mares and four stallions. The finest bloodlines of the Mark coursed through their veins. Their former riders would not be going home. Aragorn had already inhaled to start his polite refusal when Éomer said, “Once you accepted a gift of horses from me when you were in need. That brought my land great fortune. Please accept these so that our luck may continue through their progeny.”

Good relations with his friend Éomer easily trumped officious moral stances so Aragorn gratefully accepted. The horses were stabled with Gondor mounts for now but a stud farm being built in Lossarnach on the north bank of the Erol River would be ready for them and other fine breeds within the month. 

His rides and sword practice had already paid-off with improved decisions. On the second day out, he decided he would reduce Harad’s reparations to having prisoners and conscripts destroy Minas Morgul plus an easily-manageable two Oliphaunts trained for construction work. They would come with their birth handlers or as close as was possible. There was not enough time in the day to squeeze peoples with nothing to give.

A few days later he asked Mr. Tallazh to become the newly created Minister of Trade. Tallazh agreed and was needed. The King thought like a warrior but the days of great wars were over for now. While always needing to be prepared, they were entering a day of skirmishes. Reconstructing the old kingdom would not erase jealousy and border disputes between traditional rivals. Amedies Tallazh understood the value of things in different places around the realm. And Gondor now had vast unprotected land – all the way to Dale, depending on who you asked. Reduced to groats, the kingdom could not guard the periphery. Those people had always been on their own, but it would be wise to reach an understanding.

Gondor’s financial situation was strong but there were personal benefits for Aragorn also. The protocol for the creation of stewards some 900 years ago divided income and outflows into two distinct tracks. By far the larger was revenue and expenditures for the realm. Those were as they had always been. The royal family’s Privy Purse was largely depleted with the last king. The new, smaller track was for the steward’s use and was part of his personal estate. Over long years, some did better than others but private funds kept them from beggaring themselves to the national administration for upkeep. They were stewards, not kings, and did not have unlimited fiat under the stipulations.

With his posting as Steward and Prince of Ithilien, Faramir chose to only accept his mother’s contribution to his inheritance, which was the bulk of it. Those funds and properties alone were easily enough to support his station. Most of the costs of his new fief were covered in the national budget … and he had recently married well.

Denethor’s legacy became the new Privy Purse. That left Aragorn with pocket money for the first time in his life. After 89 years of being the poor relation, his tastes were simple. It was more than he ever thought of spending. But the stud farm was his. He paid the crown the value of the Rohan horses from his own funds. If he and Arwen had more than one child, the younger siblings would not be completely dependent on the heir.

Aragorn dismounted and walked Lastilleth to one of the clean streams leading south of the city. While she drank, the king looked back at the prow and marveled, as he always did, at the extraordinary engineering of its water supply. Fresh, clear water seeped from the mountain behind the city between layers of solid rock. It must have been why the site was chosen.

They would have been sizeable streams when they emerged from the surface. The city fathers harnessed them into two sets of pipes. One was the fresh water supply. It had valves to maintain constant pressure and not flood in heavy rain. Those pipes fed fountains, troughs and taps on each level of the city to either side of the prow. Some private homes had their own supply. Another stream further north ran to West Osgiliath. The eastern side had to use river water.

The second system started with water diverted from the original sources combined with runoff from the fountains that carried waste-water down and away from the city to large leach-fields on either side of the prow. Those were popular with vegetable farmers.

Each level had pipes sticking out of the path for residents to deposit their night-soil. They were grated and covered by hinged wooden tops for obvious reasons. Proximity to them affected property prices. Every day, save holidays, people gave "honey wagons" a wide berth collecting subscribers' buckets. Non-subscribers weren't always diligent about that responsibility. One didn’t want to be known as a violator so neighborhoods policed themselves. Rain went into a series of gutters that were less organized than the piping systems but did not seep into them either.

Lastilleth snorted. She hadn’t drunk too much after the hard ride, a smart horse. The King remounted, nodded to two outriders who knew to maintain a discreet distance and cantered back to the gate. 


	8. On His Own

** **

** _Chapter 8_ **

** _On His Own_ **

Maps; Middle-earth large, Eregion, Greyflood Basis and, especially, Dunland help with the next few chapters. <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8>

For the first time in his short life, Nag Kath was free. He had the power to choose what he would do and when. It had not been a burning goal for him – but neither was it daunting. He would grow into it. Elf and mule walked out of Orthanc and headed west.

In his almost daily talks with Gandalf after the finding of the Uruk-hai glyphs, his origins came up many times. On the theory that he was now what his people had been before their corruption into orcs by Morgoth, he was likely of the Avari or “Unwilling” Elves. But he didn’t particularly look like one. Too tall and broad-shouldered, perhaps he would never shed the Uruk-hai frame. His hair was a sandy blonde. If he let it grow long it would be Elvish enough. He seemed a high Elf of some sort. Properly dressed, and if he could ever suppress that farm-boy grin, Gandalf thought he could pass in Lothlorien, possibly Alqualondë.

Nag Kath was a sharp student but he never quite wrapped his arms around the creation of the Elves. They stayed or left. They divided, reunited, were destroyed and traveled constantly, all while the land and seas shifted beneath their very feet. Now the ones in this world were leaving for another.

Gandalf later wondered if he did right by Nag Kath in not directing him to Elvish enclaves along his route. It was for his protection. Men and Dwarves might let him live out of respect for Elves, but the Elves themselves would see things differently. Elrond would be fine. Gandalf was not as confident about the Mirkwood contingent or Silvans of the outer forests. If he blundered among them he could take his chances. Gandalf gave him a letter written in Sindarin if he needed references but hoped it wouldn’t be found after a sentry put an arrow through noisy changeling’s eye. The wizard also slipped the Elvish hair crown from the secret vault in his pack on the sly. He might grow into the fashion. It was plated with mithril, famed metal of the Dwarves, perhaps solid.

Nag Kath’s rough plan was to travel west through the Gap of Rohan and then turn north following the western side of the Misty Mountains through Dunland and Eregion to Arnor. From there he would cut back on the Great East Road following Bilbo’s route. It was the long way around, but staying on the eastern side put him too close to Fangorn. Those trees might not remember his kind fondly.

Dunland had been reclaimed, on paper, by Gondor. Merchant trains were reportedly traveling roads hugging the western foothills following King Aragorn’s route to Rivendell after attending Theoden’s funeral. Gandalf thought Nag Kath might fall in with them. The talents he showed in the Rohirrim train to Edoras would keep everyone safer than they knew.

At high noon, Nag Kath and A’mash found a small stream. A’mash grazed on tender weeds and Nag Kath ate two carrots from his pack. He raided the kitchen before he left for vegetables. Most of the preserved foods were meats which he ignored. A small bag of oats covered emergencies. Not much would be ripe along the trail. 

Elf and mule was a unique combination. Horses now tolerated Nag Kath but he had always intended to walk. This was a journey of discovery, not destination. Bringing the mule was unnecessary too but they liked each other’s company.

Fortunately for them there were roads on both sides of the Isen. After fording it at the headwaters above Isengard they would not have to risk another crossing now that it was swollen with snow melt. The track was clear and they made good time. The only people they saw on the first day were the drivers of a salvage wagon returning to Orthanc. There were usually two or three in each train so iron from the pits was dwindling. The teamsters stopped and were friendly. Even they had come to accept him, after a fashion.

The next morning Nag Kath started a fire to boil his oats. He had a flint and steel in the pack and a box of Gandalf’s matches that had been dipped in wax. The wizard also gave him a sock filled with the powders used to make them since they could not be found in the wild.

Nearing sundown they reached the secondary Salvager town. It was out of Gandalf’s earshot in the Pit of Iron. Most of the miners were still picking slag out of Isengard. When they had to haul rock out of the hills again, crushing and smelting would be done as close to the mine as possible. Nag Kath always felt for these people. They had hard lives but kept that to themselves. He could appreciate that. He was even offered a bed that night by a man who looked a lot like Aleg.

At the end of their third day out, Elf and mule came to Grimbold’s Camp. It was the first town, if you could call it that, on this side of the Fords of Isen. Uruks had overrun and burned most of it three years before but entrepreneurs were already building more permanent structures than had been there. Without evil wizards, this was a logical place for servicing trade between Eriador and Rohan. 

It was also a good hub for smugglers since there was no central authority on this side of the river. Prefect Dolthanan might have something to say about that but his first problem was getting out of Orthanc. Like Helm’s Deep, the tower was built for siege defense. It was hard to reach and hard to supply. Originally one of three impressive capitals of the Numeroreans, it was a poor choice for the regional hub of a mercantile empire. Prefect Dolthanan needed to consolidate the realm’s presence from the Isen north to the Dusenorn River. If there was enough of it left after centuries of neglect, war and weather, Tharbad, further north, was a better location.

As Nag Kath was learning, one of the first things men do when they build communities is brew. A mile from Grimbold’s Camp he could smell future ale wafting in the breeze. If there was a meal and a bed to go with it, they would stay the night here. 

The Lord’s Tavern did not quite live up to the name. But they did have excellent fried trout from one of the many streams pouring into the Isen from the last of the Misty Mountains. The ale was a work-in-progress. His room was almost comfortable. In the morning, Nag Kath learned something about the society of men. Tiny insects were crawling all over him.

Bugs don’t bite or feed on Elves, whose skin they find disagreeable. But now he knew why men were always scratching. Leaving his trousers and tunic on the chair, he carried his pack and boots out of the room and walked across Grimbold’s buck naked into the trout stream for an old-fashioned Kath bath, scrubbing with soap for fully fifteen minutes until he was sure the little devils were gone. It got him a few long looks. Climbing out of the pool he dressed in his spare clothes while a small group of spectators gave a lusty round of applause for enduring the freezing water so long. Nag Kath smiled and waved as he collected A’mash at the stable.

They would travel due west until he veered right around Dol Baran, the furthest tip of the Misty Mountains. There was not much merchant traffic since the area was only recently repopulating after the dark wizard’s predations. And this was not the time to get goods across the Isen. King Elessar was already considering building a bridge across the span. Had Nag Kath known that, he would have wondered if they would bring one of those huge oliphaunts here.

Two days later, they reached the town of Forthbrond. It was in better shape that Grimbold’s Camp by virtue of falling outside orc range but the Dunlendings were not natural shop-keepers either. He had another delicious trout dinner and a better ale but slept in his bedroll where A’mash could graze on new spring weeds.

Dolthanan would not find a lot of people in the area to civilize. Government here was a tribal business. Nag Kath got a few hard stares from small groups of idle men but none thought him a likely target, at least, not within sight of Forthbrond. Even though he still looked like a greenbottom, he was young, big and probably knew how to wield the sword strapped conspicuously on top of the mule pack. Another defense was that his hair was now long enough to cover his ears if he didn’t push it behind them. That was a trick he would use many times. Defenses they would never know were that he could see, hear or smell someone approaching long before they got there and could move very fast when they did.

Perhaps his best defense was that beardless boys leading empty mules were poor targets for villainy.

______________-------______________

Leaving Forthbrond was leisurely. Nag Kath decided he should learn to fish since he would be crossing uncounted streams on his way along the Misty Mountains. Part of the shift towards comfort came from a quick inventory. When they stopped for lunch after the louse infestation, he unpacked A’mash’s load to see what clothes he had left. Nag Kath primarily used his own backpack that was lashed to the mule frame but his longer-term supplies were in a larger bag he hadn’t touched since leaving Isengard except for mule oats.

There were a couple surprises. The first was that the purse Gandalf gave him totaled fifteen Florin ranging up from copper groats, silver tenth’s, nippers to several full gold Florins. That was a lot of money in Gondor and a fortune in Dunland. Nag Kath knew there was money in the bag but he had been spending down his three silver tenth’s and hadn’t looked until now.

The second surprise was the elvish hair circlet. Gandalf put it in a padded box and tied a card with his rune around it with heavy yarn. It was pretty but he had no idea why he would use it. He tried it on in Gandalf’s study but it was too small for his head – a woman’s ornament. It was also quite rigid and he didn’t want to break it by bending it outwards. Nag Kath did not know this then but the diadem was worth more than everything in a dozen Forthbronds. It was a good thing those rough fellows giving him the eye didn’t think much of their prospects, not that they could ever sell it.

Since he wouldn’t be pressed for finances or time, Nag Kath approached a lad of about 14 who had already pulled some good-sized trout from a stream on the western edge of town using string on a cane-pole. Without saying anything, he sat down ten paces from the angler and watched. The boy looked at him and nodded, appreciating that the stranger had left his mule downstream and had the good manners to be quiet. A few minutes later, he hooked another fish. It was a small fry so he tossed it back in the water.

That broke the need for silence so Nag Kath said, “You are a good fisherman. I am trying to learn.” The boy looked him over a bit more skeptically. Who didn’t know how to fish and what was this fellow fishing for? The Elf continued; “If you are free, I would like to hire you to tell me how you do this” rummaging in his pocket he flipped a five groat coin with his thumb so it spun loudly to the unerring hand.

Now the boy knew who this was; a paying customer. The tall man had just bought his undivided attention.

“I am Nag Kath from Minas Tirith and I travel north. We do not fish in the city but now that I am here, I should know.”

The tall man had a funny accent but his cash was bright. “I am Elmand Tir-Dional. Pleased to meet you.” Nag Kath stood and they shook hands in the normal way. Elmander was tall for his age and would grow to a handsome man. 

The Elf wondered, “Three names? You must be a lord.”

“I am the lord of trout!” Elmand grinned. “Mother tells we are descended from high persons many years ago but I can’t say I’ve met any.” Looking back to the mule and then to Nag Kath, “Have you fished before?”

“Once, in Rohan. I put the worm on the hook but no fish bit it.”

“Sometimes that’s just because there aren’t any fish there. You see this pool cut in the mud of the bank? They like these to rest from swimming to the mountain. Little ones swim to the Isen. Big ones swim back.” Pulling his hook to his fingers he asked, “Did you use a hook like this?”

“It was bigger.”

“That’s a problem with trout. When the hook’s too big, they can’t get it in their mouth.” Elmand reached into his bag and extracted a medium-sized worm. Running the hook through twice, he flicked it upstream to the full reach of his 10-foot line tied to the end of a cane pole. When it floated even with them, he walked downstream to keep pace until he reached the end of the eddy. It took five tries before a fish hit the line but didn’t set the hook. Most of the worm was left so Elmand kept repeating the motion.

When he stopped getting bites, the lad cut the hook from the end of the fine string and pulled a small hook from his lapel that was wound in colored threads and pieces of what looked like wool. Tying that to his line, he cast out again and watched the hook float slowly with the current in the stream eddy.

“Trout like to eat bugs, but usually not until later in the year. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Other fish don’t care much for these.”

“What kind of bugs?”

“Oh, all kinds. I have different hooks tied to look like whatever’s flying about at the time. Ain’t none now, but maybe our fish doesn’t know that.”

After a few more casts, a larger than average fish decided he would dine on wool and thread. Elmand tugged on the line lightly but didn’t yank him in. He backed up keeping the line taught until the fish reached the bank. Nag Kath lifted it onshore.

“If you leave the line slack sometimes they wiggle off.” The boy gave Nag Kath the pole and patiently advised as he tried his luck. He hooked a modest trout after twenty minutes. The lad looked at the fish and several others with a piece of twine through their gills swimming in the pool. “That one’s yours. Mine should be enough for dinner. I should get to my chores now.”

“Very well, young lord” said with a smile. “Where can I find such hooks and stout line for myself?”

“For another of those fivers, you can have mine.” Sure he was being swindled but not minding to help a promising young man, Nag Kath said, “Sounds rich! But, all right. If you promise I’ll catch fish!”

“That’s up to the fish.”

The Elf reached in his pocket and tossed the lad another copper. Looking back to town he said with gravity, “Let’s keep this to ourselves, eh?”

“You got that right, mister.” Elmand looked to see if anyone was watching as well. “There’s them as would beat you for these fish.” A’mash had wandered to ten paces away and was waiting patiently.

“Safe travels Mr. Kath” 

Nag Kath stowed his new strings and hooks in his bag and wrapped his trout in a wet towel. From Forthbrond, he had the option of cutting more northerly across the lower edge of the mountains but the footing was worse and there was no telling how hard the little streams were flowing. It wouldn’t save much time either since he planned to move up the center of Eregion. Flat ground was better.

It was a pretty day and they made good time – so good that they caught an older couple going the same direction. The farmer was leading a one-eared donkey pulling a small cart holding his wife and a few bags. There wasn’t room for the gent too and the poor donkey was already doing her best.

Nag Kath pulled even with them and said good afternoon. The man introduced himself as Tiller Syles. His wife Moli was in the cart. They were going to visit their daughter and her husband’s farm which they hoped to reach by lunchtime tomorrow. The Elf introduced himself and nodded to the Missus. If she had ever smiled, it was long ago.

Tiller waxed voluble on all manner of subjects and before long it came out that he had just sold his small freehold and they were moving in with the happy couple. Moli now knew this unknown person would certainly rob them of the farm proceeds. Oh Tiller! Why must you blather so?!

Her worst fears weren’t realized. Nag Kath slowed his pace and continued with them for another few hours until they reached an oft-used campsite fifty paces from the road. He started a fire, took their jenny and his mule for a drink and tied them where they could graze. For dinner he produced his trout hoping Moli might volunteer. He had never cooked one before. There was no such female touch but Tiller had a few suggestions that kept the fish edible. The entire time, Moli glued her eyes to the left wheel of the cart where the little bag holding their money was lashed beneath the frame. Twice she saw Nag Kath following her stare and swiveled her head to imply the cart was no more interesting than the rotting stump next to it. But the wheel always drew her back.

They stayed together the next day as well. A’mash was tied to the back of the cart and happy to move at whatever pace it went. Tiller kept up his friendly stream of banter which gave Nag Kath the chance to work on his language skills. The Syles underestimated the distance to their daughter’s home and it was nearing dinnertime when they arrived at the farm. 

To Moli’s mortification, Tiller asked the Elf if he would like to join them for the high-meal. A venomous stare did not get the offer rescinded. Tiller figured he had earned the right. Some of his cash helped the young couple buy the place and the purse strapped under the cart would be buying adjacent acreage to expand the freehold. He also knew that having an Elf at the table would be the most interesting thing his family could do tonight. Nag Kath knew little of dinner protocol and gratefully accepted before they all turned left towards tended fields.

“My goodness, look at how big you are!” beamed Tiller as he held four-year old Meaglie in the air and turned around. She giggled brightly. Not far behind came her parents. There were hugs and handshakes between the couples. Moli almost smiled. After a decent interval, Tiller said, “Children, I hope you don’t mind but I’ve invited Nag Kath to dinner. He was a big help to us on the way.”

The man of the house came over with a slight limp offering a hearty handshake. “I’m Torrold Blayne. Glad you could join us.”

“I hope it is no trouble.”

“No trouble at all. Hope you like stew.”

Meaglith Blayne came over next. She was more affable than her mother but women of the area did not shake hands. Nag Kath offered a bow and she returned a country curtsy. He would learn in his travels that was a rural custom almost anywhere in Middle Earth. City women were more independent. “Come this way, Mr. Kath. Torrold will see to your animal.” Nag Kath unstrapped his pack and carried one of the Syles’ bags into the Blayne’s cozy home.

Meaglie was delighted at the attention but gave the tall blonde man a very sober review. She couldn’t take her eyes off his ears any more than her grandmother could her money. Nag Kath obliged by reaching behind his ears and wiggling them with his finger. She squealed in approval and all was well.

Dinner wasn’t a disaster either. There was very little meat or fat in the stew so Nag Kath didn’t look like he was picking. Fresh loaves were still warm and excellent with butter. Not to be outdone by his wife, Torrold poured mugs of homebrew he had laid-down a month before that complimented dinner nicely.

As with the last night’s dinner, the Elf didn’t have to carry the conversation. Tiller and Torrold discussed every possible way to put seeds in the ground. Planting would be late this year because of the snows – maybe two weeks off now. Meaglith got a few words in edgewise between trips to the stove and trying to keep her mother involved. Nag Kath thought the older woman had more to say, but not in front of him.

Spring planting exhausted, eyes turned to the Elf. “Where are you headin’ Mr. Kath?” asked Torrold with a toothy grin.

“Arnor, but I am taking my time.”

“I’d’a thought you’re going to Lorien to visit your people.” Torrold Blayne had only ever seen one Elf and never spoken to one so, as Tiller thought, this was new. He was as sociable as his father-in-law and not intimidated by breaking bread with one of Arda’s oldest children.

“I am only part Elf. But I may see some on my way.”

Maegligh asked, “Which part?”

“The poor part” which brought laughter from everyone capable of it. “Friends told me to visit there to learn more about my family.”

Torrold kept the initiative, “I think you’re best staying to this side of the mountains. There’s talk of queer doin’s in the eastern forests.”

“I heard so. The trees are angry. Better fishing on this side!”

“You got that, my friend!” Tiller added. “What is your road?”

“Isendale to Lich-Bluffs for now.”

“Hmmmm” Torrold wondered. “It might take you out of your way but I’ve hear’d tell of troubles in Gravenwood too. Some of the wild bands have not taken to the peace and venture out of their hiding places in the mountains. Fellow came through two weeks past with naught but his clothes after bandits helped themselves to his horse and purse. Said he was glad to leave in one piece.”

Nag Kath reevaluated, “I am trying to follow King Aragorn’s progress.”

Blayne drawled, “He had a hundred men at arms. Bad ‘uns get out of the way. Man alone, you might see the wrong sort.”

“Can you show on map?” He corrected, "Can you show it on a map?"

Now that was going to be interesting. Nag Kath had accurately copied a half dozen of Saruman’s old maps as an artist, not a cartographer. Rivers and towns were accurate as of three hundred years ago but he couldn’t actually read the names. Torrold, on the other hand, knew the local area like the back of his hand but no further and couldn’t read either. The elf fetched his leather tube and pulled out the roll of papers. The maps were on the inside. 

Tiller saved the day. He could read a little but didn’t know anything about north of Forthbrond. At least he could identify the right map. The two men between them dragged their fingernails further west through the forest to a place called Trum Dreng. Neither had been there but it was supposed to be a living crossroads town, as big as Galtrev; the regional capital. It was further out of the way but further from hillmen.

In discussing dangers it seems Dunland had two distinct populations on either end of a spectrum with intermarriage and foreigners mixed in-between. The hillmen were a rougher breed who some said had a little orc in their blood. They were smaller with close-set eyes and pronounced jaws -- a bit like the scratcher with the blade. They had allied with Saruman’s forces and were paying the price for that now.

To the west and here in the south, folk were more like those of Gondor, but shorter with dark hair. The common tongue was similar. These were the farmers and merchants of the province. A fair percentage of this group fought for the dark ones and those differences were still festering in the absence of central authority. If Gondor actually absorbed this land, there would be definite winners and losers.

The route was all the same to Nag Kath so he memorized the turns and rolled the map. Meaglie had never seen paper of any kind and she asked, “What’s that?” pointing at the bigger sheets. Nag Kath unrolled them and picked an unfinished mountain vista drawn from the fourth level at Minas Tirith. 

“This is far away in Gondor.” The child was concentrating. She could see mountains by walking out her door but here they were as if you could pinch them between your fingers and lay them flat. The Elf reached in the tube for a pencil and did a quick sketch of Meaglie with a big smile in the lower right corner. Like at the Falcon’s Lair, the diners all watched closely – even Moli.

When he was done, Nag Kath signed with his initials and said, “Here! This is for you. Remember our dinner.” He handed the sheet to Meaglie who took it almost reverentially. Any other toy would have been carried around the room at top speed but this she just studied.

That ended the festivities. Like farmers everywhere, the Blayne’s retired early. The Syles were shown what would be their new room. Meaglith showed Meaglie how to roll-up her picture and she was tucked in her bed in her parent’s room. The guest room taken, Nag Kath laid his bedroll on the floor and closed his eyes.

And as with farmers everywhere, the family rose before dawn. Meaglith did herself proud with a hearty breakfast. After goodbyes and offers to come back anytime, Nag Kath returned to the road. 

______________-------______________

It was an uneventful four day walk to Rhuvel-Cadlus. Nag Kath thought he was dawdling compared to the pace he and the fast Uruks set crisscrossing Rohan but as men walk, it was brisk. He would stop to rest and water A’mash but he never tired.

Rhuvel-Cadlus was bigger than any of the towns he had seen on this side of the Gap, but not by much. What made it different was that it was the first settlement that looked older than a generation. Buildings were usually repaired based on weather, not war. Four days seemed to be about right for a soft bed and grain for the mule. Trout was getting old. Every inn had the same sort of ale. Locals would tell him that theirs was superior to the brews in the immediate area but they tasted the same to him. 

One proud townsman told him that they called their home “Rhuvel” only. It seems the Cadlus clan disgraced themselves some generations back, but not so badly that the council saw fit to replace the inscription on the stone well. Rhuvel was also where the trip became more interesting because it was a short and strategic distance from the provincial capital of Galtrev – the only city of note in this part of Dunland. Much of this he got from a party of Dwarves. They had a small enclave in Galtrev that saw to their east/west trade. That included a smithy that crafted beautiful objects from pig silver mined in the safer areas of Gravenwood to the east.

Knowing the Dwarves’ preference for red, Nag Kath had a pair of pitchers sent to their table which brought profuse thanks and good wishes. Nag Kath told them of meeting their Erebor brethren at Orthanc which was fresh news on this side of the Gap. It seemed these Dwarves, and many like them who had been forced to live as artisans and tradesmen after the sack of Erebor centuries ago, stayed with that life even after their home was reclaimed. They seemed friendlier and less clannish than the stern representatives of the great Dwarf cities. They were also less leery of mannish towns. It helped that they could punish red beer to shame any man alive so the Elf kept that coming. None asked questions only a true Elf would know and Nag Kath’s Westron had gotten good enough that he could hold his own in pub conversation. The Dwarves secretly wondered if an Elf truly drank a Dwarf under the table in Edoras. The Elf wondered if it was true that there were no Dwarf women.

Nag Kath gently sipped his brew which wasn’t noticed by his new comrades. They only fared each other well when the innkeeper started clearing full mugs from the tables well after townsmen and other travelers found their beds.

The Dwarves were on their way back to Galtrev so Elf and mule made their way to the former regional capital of Dunland. Traffic on the road did increase since northern traffic from Galtrev had to go through Rhuvel and then either right to the mountains or left towards Trum Dreng. 

** Thieves of Dunland **

The next day brought him to the town of Dunland. The namesake of the region did not impress. Still, it was no different than Rhuvel and looked fine for the night. Nag Kath had taken to inspecting rooms for bugs. The room offered was clean so he returned downstairs to pay. Two new drinkers were sitting on either side of the front door. Nag Kath thought little of it and talked with the innkeeper while counting his coppers. Then he heard A’mash heehawing in distress from a distance. As he dashed for the door, the two men closed in.

One barely saw the blow that broke two ribs. The other saw nothing at all.

Outside there was no sign of the mule but he could only be in a small barn on the other side of the paddock. Nag Kath honked through his nose and A’mash brayed again. Quietly and quickly, the Elf went to the edge of the building. The door was open. He crept into the dark and saw his mule looking rather unconcerned. If there was anyone here, they were very still.

An arrow flew into a stall post four feet from his head. It was either shot by an expert or a greenbottom. The tip barely penetrated the wood so it had not been meant to kill. From the loft a man’s voice warned, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll find another mule.”

Nag Kath returned, “Don’t expect any help from the two in the tavern.”

“Leave now or the next one won’t miss.” A moment later the same voice hissed in panic, “Where’d he go? He was standing right there!”

He was. But now he was sitting on a straw bale behind them holding his sword. The archer was a young girl. Nag Kath figured her for fifteen. She was tall and very pretty. Beside her was a good looking man cut from military cloth but with only one hand.

The Elf couldn’t help but smile. “My, aren’t you a couple of villains!”

The girl dropped the bow and squeaked loud enough to be heard back at the tavern. Her father turned quickly and realized the fish knife in his belt was no match for Rohan steel. If Nag Kath was any judge, that was a Gondor longbow like the ones used to kill his Uruks. The man was probably a worthy fighter before the wound. He was helpless now.

“Listen Mister” the man said with his last vestige of pride, “She didn’t shoot to kill. You take your mule and go.”

“I will. But you are going to answer some questions first. Who are you working for? Lie to me and I’ll cut your throats before I burn your house.”

“I don’t work for nobody … but Lev Corsann takes a piece of everything that happens here.”

Nag Kath leaned forward, “How about the toughs in the tavern?

“They work for him.”

“What do you say, young lady?”

The young lady said nothing. Her lips were squeezed white. She had a pale face with a few freckles and long, wavy hair that was almost black, tied back in a ponytail. Properly cosseted in a city of the realm she would be a celebrated beauty in a few years. In this miserable place, she was probably already of marriageable age – not that there were many suitable grooms. Most men in these parts would be more interested in temporary arrangements. As the aggrieved party, he could have his way with her and be within his rights. Her father could do nothing to protect her, and he knew it.

Fortunately for her, Nag Kath’s tastes ran to more experienced women. And he remembered Gandalf’s counsel that mercy was a gift beyond price. He growled to the girl, “Come here.”

She looked at her father who nodded tentatively then took an age shuffling the fifteen feet to his straw bale. Nag Kath took a silver tenth out of his pocket and put it in her palm. He had thought of flipping it flamboyantly like he did with his fishing teacher but she would probably drop it in the straw.

“Go back to your da.” That took less time. “Now, you are going to tell me how to avoid this Corsann fellow. And remember, if he gets me, you’ll have to explain why you didn’t share that tenth.”

“His men work the road between here and Trac-Plas.”

“Don’t know it.”

The man still felt the noose and stammered, “It is the right turn towards Cartrev.” He cleared his throat, “I swear, Mister. You stay on the road to Trum Dreng, they won’t bother you.”

“Will anybody else?”

“You still have to get through the forest. Can’t help you there.”

The soldier was not a bad man. He was a wounded man. Nag Kath spent three weeks washing wounded men. In doing so he had been forgiven. That would stay with him the rest of his life. He asked them, “If I stay in the inn, is this where they will keep the mule?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to take my pack and get an ale.” Looking at the girl, “Bed him down for me.” And to both in his Elf-Lord voice, “Best not to follow me out of the barn too soon.” Raising his eyebrow, they nodded in accord. 

Nag Kath stomped towards the inn holding his sword in one hand and dropping his pack on the porch from the other before flinging the door open. One of the men he hit had vomited on himself and was sitting against a wall looking white as a ghost. The other hadn’t twitched. Nag Kath stared at the innkeeper who quailed; sure he was suspected of complicity.

In an orcish tone he asked the room, “Anybody know these two?”

An old fellow at a corner table with a splinted foot propped on a chair called fearlessly, “Never seen ‘em before. But they’re from the Cartrev, and no error!”

Nag Kath froze the innkeeper with another glare and walked over to the man who answered. Without trying to stand the man asked, “Buy you a beer? That was fine work just then.”

The Elf looked back to the innkeeper first and curled his finger for him to come over. Drying already dry hands on his apron, the poor man scuttled across the room and waited for something bad. Nag Kath jerked his head slightly towards the assailants and asked softly, “Seen them before?”

The innkeeper nodded violently, “Came in two days ago. Said they’s waiting for someone. Paid cash but didn’t drink much. They don’t say so I don’t ask.”

Keeping his gaze level, the imposing Elf said, “What do we do with them?” As someone who had nothing to fear from anything less than a crowd, he had no need to kill them. But Nag Kath wanted to see how the locals felt – and if they were worried about these boys’ employer.

The innkeeper, who was sweating in a cold room, called to a younger version of himself, “Steph, drag them out in the road and pour water on them.” The men would leave alive. The innkeeper could not improve the situation but he could make it worse so this was the course with the fewest comebacks.

Nag Kath softened, “Could you find us a couple ales?”

The man nodded violently and dashed behind the counter. His host adjusted his leg in the chair slightly and said, “Ha, you saved me the price of a red. I don’t think these will come with a bill.”

Nag Kath sat on the side of the man’s good leg and put the sword on the table. The old boy gave it a long look and pronounced, “Fine weapon you got there. No blood. They must have got clear. Hope you got your donkey back. I’m Geras Toombs, by the way.”

Their mugs arrived. The Elf raised his and said, “Nag Kath. Good health!”

The innkeeper had to help his son haul the larger villain out the door. The man moaned so he would eventually leave town on his own power. The room was filling with what must be every citizen of Dunland Town. They brought their own mugs and once filled, tried their best not to be looking at the Elf when he looked at them.

It was time for facts. Nag Kath asked his new friend, “You must be from here?”

“Dougsh no! Galtrev. Turned my ankle and my partners left me here to complete our deliveries. They should be back in a week or so with a fat, slow horse to take me home.” After a gulp, “The skinny robber had a tattoo on the side of his neck. They do that in the Cartrev. Let’s folk know to stay away.”

With genuine interest, Nag Kath wondered, “The foothills seem the hard way to go.”

“I’d say so. The militias are breaking up. For a while their leaders could keep them together but them days is past. War’s over. What is your road, Mr. Kath?”

“Dale, I think. But I keep getting further away.”

“That’s probably wise. Maybe Trum Dreng is the safer way to get there.”

“You are the second man who’s told me that.”

“Nice little place. Pretty girls!” He leered after tasting his red.

Getting back to business, Nag Kath asked, “I was hoping to travel with a merchant train but haven’t seen so much as a goat cart in three days.”

“Wrong season. They grow fair barley in these parts ... something to do with the dirt. Brewers and stillers can’t get enough of it. My partners and me handle that trade too. Late summer is when you’ll see the carts. Maybe this year we’ll take it to the river barges if we can keep dougshs like these two from plinkin’ arrows at us.

Nag Kath asked, “Where do I go after Tum Dreg, is it?”

“I’d make for Tharbad. Now that was a real city, sun and sky! Ain’t never been south but there’s them says it was like Osgiliath.”

The Elf remembered drawing the ruins from high up in Minas Tirith. “Not much left of that either.”

Geras shifted his weight again with a groan and fortified with a fresh gulp. He took a closer look at Nag Kath and said, “Wait here, you’re an Elf! I took you for a farm-boy. What are you doing here with us flea-bitten traders?”

“I’m only part Elf.”

“Which part?”

No one had asked him that in so long he did not have a clever retort at hand. “Let’s just say I had a misunderstanding with important people.”

Geras drained his mug. “Haven’t we all, son. Haven’t we all.”

______________-------______________

Geras was right. 

The only wagons he saw for the next week were farm carts preparing for planting. The weather continued to warm but two heavy downpours at night slowed their progress. Even muddy, the roads were in fair condition considering no one kept them repaired. There were places where hard ruts would have brought wagon travel to a stop. Nag Kath thought back to the injured Rohirrim enduring bone-jarring potholes on their way home. At streams he took Kath baths, washed his clothes and caught a few fish when the sun came out.

Five days after Dunland he reached a crossroads with a rude sign pointing west to White-Hand Camp. He still couldn’t read but Geras, he thought it was, read the name on the map and he remembered it. Nag Kath wanted nothing to do with white hands of any kind and since the only feature of note on the way was the Bone Quarry, he ruled it out altogether.

Three days past the crossroads brought him to the village of Lhan Gogled with its back to the Bonewales Forest. Village was perhaps a generous description but it was a pleasant place. The ground had risen from the plains of Dunland. Better grain lands were to the south but the fertile ground supported herds of goats and sheep. In each flock was a donkey which told Nag Kath there were wolves or wild dogs to mind. He gave the air an extra sniff.

More a guideline than a policy, Nag Kath sought the headman for information. The headman here was also the blacksmith and looked the part in every way. A big, bearded fellow with thick arms, he was wrestling with a wheel rim when Elf and mule came calling. 

They waited patiently because Nag Kath knew from experience that this was a touchy moment. That hoop could spring loose causing pain and a stream of uncharitable language. But no, the man tacked the lap just right and looked up at the visitors.

“Good day, sir. I seek shelter for both of us. Can you suggest the place to go?”

In a deep voice to confirm his smithy appearance he replied, “There’s only one place and I own it.” With a flip of his arm, “It’s the big building on the left. My missus will see to you. You can leave your mule here.”

With that he put a handful of nails in his mouth and started tacking the rim around the wheel. Nag Kath took both bags from A’mash but left the frame on. Scratching behind the mule’s ear let him know this was safe before tying him to the paddock rail.

The missus was considerably younger than her husband unless this was an unmentioned daughter. She came out from the kitchen the kind of smile that neither offends nor invites. 

“Your man said I could get a bed and a meal here tonight.”

“Four groats for the room. Two more for supper and to break your fast.” Not one to waste time with banter; the missus. Nag Kath sauntered to a long, high table that must serve as a bar and laid down enough coppers for both. The young woman deftly scooped them up and said, “Room is down the hall, second door to the right. Ain’t got no key but that wouldn’t stop anyone no how. Supper’s an hour before sundown.”

There were no bugs – at least not the little ones that bite. Spiders saw to that. He would take his chance with dinner.

The smith must have found a water barrel because he was clean and wet when he came home for his meal. A half-dozen denizens of Lhan Gogled came for food and a pint. It seems Nag Kath had finally found a place too small to make its own beer but towns not far away brewed enough to sell.

“Sorry to be short with you at the paddock.” said the big man sitting down uninvited. “Rims are ornery.”

“Give you a good scar if you don’t keep them pinched to the round.” Nag Kath had never done that himself but he’d seen several wheels rebuilt on the way to Edoras.

“I’ve got a few.” The smith smiled with a good set of white teeth. He was better looking than had showed at the stable. That may or may not have anything to do with his plain young wife in a land where any virtuous man was scarce. 

Nag Kath decided he had to trust him. People coming from the south were only going into the forest so there was no use hemming and hawing about his course. “I purpose to visit Trum Dreng. What news of the Bonewales?”

“Safer than through Trac Plas ... fewer wildmen. On this side there’s still small groups of bandits. The last several groups coming through saw nothing worse than mosquitos.” He looked his guest over more closely and continued, “Elf like you shouldn’t attract much attention. Your mule won’t be as quiet. I could make you a good price on him.”

“I’ll need him where I’m going.”

“Just asking. You may have some company. Three men got here before you with laden horses going the same way.” The smith held his chin just like King Elessar and ventured his next comment cautiously, “I expect you can handle that Rohan cavalry weapon. They might be glad of an extra sword.” The big man paused and looked around the room. “They’ll be here soon enough. Say hello.”

With that he rose and went back to the kitchen. Not sure when an hour before sunset would come, Nag Kath ordered a pint.

As he was nursing his ale, the three travelers scraped their boots off on the front step and walked in. They were as the storytellers would have described them; one thin, one middle and one stout with the dark scraggly beards of Dunlendings and all wearing heavier clothes than the season required. They looked him up and down before finding their own table.

Dinner was cooked goat with potatoes and some kind of green Nag Kath hadn’t seen before. It was good. With warm bread there was enough to fill him. The smith must have eaten in the kitchen. He walked out and approached the threesome. They talked for a minute and then the thick man stood, clutched his mug and approached the Elf’s table. Nag Kath motioned for him to sit.

“Pieter says you are going to Trum Dreng. Mind if I ask why?”

“Family”

“Long trip on a bad road.”

Nag Kath shrugged. 

The man continued, “He also said you carry a sword. Can you use it?”

This called for an answer, “When I have to.”

“We leave tomorrow, early. Might see you then.”

Nag Kath caught the eyes of the other two and nodded.

That might have settled things but the three men started an animated conversation which included several looks his way. There were plenty of flying hand gestures but they kept their voices too low for even an Elf to hear. Before he had finished his meal, the thick man came over again but remained standing. “It seems we will continue on by ourselves. Safe travels.” 

______________-------______________

Since his company wasn’t needed, Nag Kath went fishing before breakfast. He had his choice of streams and landed three keepers. One he gave the missus and the other two were wrapped with a wet towel in the big pack. That gave the three men a two hour head start. They made good time. Nag Kath could see the hoof and foot prints. The men traveled like him by walking and having the animals only carry cargo. 

The trail was muddy and still covered by last fall’s leaves but there were signs of commotion shortly after the lunch hour. Prints from different boots and mounts entered and then there was a more-or-less orderly progress that led off the main road. Bandits! Nag Kath and A’mash kept walking but slowly and cautiously. 

After another fifteen minutes, the Elf heard voices. One of them was in pain. He left A’mash untied and crept forward. There was a guard sitting on a rock not paying much attention behind him. Even a greenbottom tracker would have had no trouble finding the tell-tale wheeze of a former miner. The man sensed something and turned in time for an elbow to the jaw.

Moving on, the Elf saw a small clearing. Two men were lying motionless on the ground. A third was sitting tied to a tree bleeding from his nose or mouth. Two more were searching the packs on the merchants’ horses. A bald, burly fellow was standing by an oak poking one of the stricken men with his boot.

Confident only these three were left, Nag Kath walked into the clearing holding his sword and ordered, “Leave now, while you can!”

The two bandits searching the packs turned quickly but not in panic. The big ruffian straightened and glowered, “Here’s another for the pot.”

He may have had more to say but he slowly looked down like a man who just spilled wine on a new shirt. His head kept dropping until his lips sliced open on the edge of the Rohirric sword pegging him to the oak. The eyes never closed. The two accomplices turned and ran through the nastiest brambles Nag Kath had seen in this forest. The natural barrier for trapping unwary travelers would give them scars they would take to the grave.

The Elf released his grip on the sword and ran over to the two down men. The thin one was already dead. The thick one had a broken lower leg with a bone poking through the skin. He was still breathing. Nag Kath went to the bound man but the ropes were too tight to untie. The fellow mumbled, “Boot knife” and jerked his head towards the impaled leader. That turned out to be a stabbing weapon with no edge so the Elf had to use his little quill knife to saw through the bonds.

As soon as he was free, they scrambled over and knelt beside the injured trader. He opened his eyes and moaned as he tried to regain his focus. His friend said, “Lebel, Lebel! Look at me. We’re free. You stay calm.”

Nag Kath still had his pocket-knife in hand and started cutting the trouser leg around the break. The man next to him winced but did not blanch. This was a bad place for a bad wound. The blonde man’s next motion was too fast to see but in a blur, the broken leg had been stretched from the body and the bone was back in flesh. An instant later, the head on the other end screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Then he fainted away.

His companion walked on his knees for a closer look at the damage. He did not know how it was done but setting that break out here was going to be torture with an uncertain outcome. It was cleanly done. He looked closely into the blonde’s eyes for the first time and then hurried over to one of the horses.

The villains had sliced a hole into one of the bags which leaked a white powder. The merchant cupped his bloody hand against the breach until it filled his palm. Stuffing a kerchief in the hole he came back and knelt where he had been. Eyes back to Nag Kath he said, “Good thing he’s out or he would really yell.” Then he smeared the substance against the ragged wound. Even dead to the world, his associate flinched. 

With a huge sigh of relief, the man turned to Nag Kath and said, “Time for proper introductions. I am Tyron Durgan. This unworthy creature is my cousin, Lebel Durgan. We are greatly in your debt.” 

“I am Nag Kath.”

They turned their attention to the other man. He must have been killed early on because he was already cooling. Tyron looked back to their road and said, What about their sentry?”

“Sleeping comfortably.”

Purpose rose in the man’s face. Grabbing the boot knife he said, “We’ll see about that.”

Nag Kath firmly but gently took his wrist and said gravely, “We should get your cousin on a horse and gone.” Looking at the torn briar branches, “They might be back with friends.”

Tyron was stock still for several seconds and then hurried to his dead associate. Rummaging through his vest he found a small purse and dropped it in a pant pocket. Then he flung the man’s sword as far as he could into the brush. “Let’s go, Mr. Kath.”

Two of the four bandit horses ran back to the main trail. The other two shied but were tied to brush and gentled after the initial violence. The merchant horses looked bored. Nag Kath turned towards the trail and whistled loudly. Tyron was already gathering several strong branches to make a splint. He piled those next to his cousin who had woken again and seemed alert. Then he went to a different horse and took a shirt out of the saddlebags to splint the leg. He had done this before.

Nag Kath had the unpleasant task of retrieving his sword. It was deep in the stout tree and he had to mangle the ruffian to free it. It was no time for jest but he couldn’t help but think of the miner’s foot. The story was that the knife could not be freed straight up from the ground. They had to unwrap the handle and pull the man’s foot past the tang.

About this time, A’mash sauntered into the clearing in time to watch his master and another man lifting a third onto a nervous horse. To his dismay, they then loaded him with several heavy leather bags. Tyron looked at Nag Kath and said, “You take the bandit’s gelding and I’ll ride mine.”

Oh my goodness! It was finally time! 

The world had seen this extraordinary creature perform heroic feats beyond imagining without betraying the slightest fear. For the first time in this life, he tensed. He had to climb on a horse. Tyron thought him lost in thought. After a decent interval he added, “We should be on our way, Mr. Kath.”

The Elf put his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over the animal’s back as he had seen Rohirrim do thousands of times. The horse did nothing. After carrying the big bandit around, Nag Kath must seem like a child. Lebel was conscious enough to sit upright but his cousin took the reins. Tyron sounded, “Chik chik” and they walked out of the clearing onto the Great West Road.

According to Tyron, if they could keep this pace, they would make the northern edge of the forest by dark. Nag Kath or Tyron, sometimes both, would ride next to Lebel when there was room in case he fell over. The man stayed alert but said nothing.

Darkness was closing and they had not cleared the trees. Then the forest just ended and opened onto rolling horse lands. Lebel was wearing down and wincing. Tyron reassured him. “Nuther half mile, cousin.”

Nag Kath’s horse seemed to have no problem with him. After a while, the Elf felt confident enough to ride off to their right following what he thought might be the prints of the two bandit horses. They would be going home. He wanted to know if anyone was coming back. Returning to the cousins, they rode for ten minutes on the road and another ten off to the left where Tyron knew of a rock overhang for shelter. 

Dismounting Lebel was delicate work. They had to hoist him down on the wrong side of the horse because he couldn’t put any pressure on the left stirrup. When the horse shifted, he cried out but did not lose consciousness. The fitter men held him while he relieved himself and carried him to flat ground. He sat up for a minute and looked at the Elf. Words came slowly. Almost smiling he said, “Suppose we should have had you come after all.” Then he fell into deep sleep. 

______________-------______________

Lebel slept for a few hours but woke-up sweating. Nag Kath had perched himself on the rock shelf overhanging the men’s sleeping area to watch the approaches. Tyron called him down. The Elf hopped to the bedrolls and felt Lebel’s forehead. He thought for a moment and said, “Let me try something.”

Nag Kath and Tyron shifted Lebel so Nag Kath could kneel behind his head. Then he placed his hands on either side of Lebel’s face and closed his eyes. Nothing happened for a minute. Then, slowly, his hands shone a silver, iridescent glow for another minute and faded. Nag Kath rocked back on his bottom and sweated himself. In the moonlight only he knew that, but his breathing was short as well.

Tyron wiped the sweat off Lebel’s forehead with one hand and felt with his other. Lebel seemed cooler. Tyron looked at the Nag Kath’s moonlit profile and said “That’s another thing you can tell me about.”

Both men tried to sleep and Nag Kath climbed back on the rock.

At first light, Tyron yawned, stretched and leaned over Lebel. He was resting peacefully now. Then Tyron rolled on his back and looked up at Nag Kath silently peering down from the overhang. Saying nothing, the salt trader rose with another stretch and walked towards the horses and mule. They had left them all saddled and packed through the night against a quick departure. Reaching into his duffel-bag he extracted a small cloth bundle and came back to the overhang. Lebel groaned and shifted but did not wake.

In the bundle were way-bread cakes. Nag Kath had his own in the pack but they had gotten harder by the day and weren’t appetizing. He took the piece Tyron offered as a courtesy. It was a significant improvement on his. “Good!” he mumbled through a mouthful. 

Tyron said, “It is an Elvish recipe. Mostly the same ingredients but we don’t know how they make ‘em.”

“Mine are better for skipping on ponds.”

“Then I know something you don’t. Let’s see if we can get Lebel on his horse.”

Tyron went down to Lebel and woke him none too gently. Nag Kath walked to the horses and untied Lebel’s mare. By the time he reached the sleeping area, Lebel was already on his good foot. The color in his face seemed normal above the heavy beard. As they wrestled him up, Tyron said, “You should eat less of Kalie’s cooking!” Both men laughed but Lebel’s changed to a wince when his bottom hit the saddle. This time, Tyron handed him the reins. He could guide himself but no pack animals would be tied to his saddle. Another few minutes to arrange the beasts in order and they made towards Trum Dreng.

Tyron said expansively, “Mr. Kath, we are in your debt several times now. But I still want to know how you pegged that ruffian to the tree and nobody saw it.”

“Many people would like to know, including me. At times of unease I can move very fast for a few moments. It is like everyone else stands still. Gandalf says I may be part wizard but even he is not sure.”

That was more of an answer than Tyron was expecting. Lebel hadn’t missed a word either. He ventured, “Gandalf the Gray?”

“He is white now, but yes, same fellow. I was with him all winter. We left Isengard a month ago.”

Lebel did not see the glowing hands but Tyron pressed his curiosity, “And bringing down that fever, did you learn that in wizard school?”

Nag Kath cracked one of his mannish grins. "If there are schools for wizards I am a poor student. I am mostly self-taught. That is probably Elvish but I am only part Elf.” Neither man asked about the other parts. 

The conversation turned to the salt in their bags, mostly because Lebel needed to take his mind off his throbbing leg. “People take salt for granted but it’s hard to get far from the sea. Maybe that will change now that the orcs are gone, but as long as there’s thems like those rebels lobbing arrows at the river barges; men like us will carry it out of the hills.

“Trum Dreng will probably buy all we have. The last shipment didn’t make it – at least, not sold by anyone who came by it honestly. I think them brigands just dumped it rather than peddle it to folks who could recognize them. Thems with fresh supplies might be asked where they got it.”

Tyron added, “We handle other things too. The wildmen are too close to the south mine. The Meados family mines the north and is known for fair dealing.”

Nag Kath asked, “And you put some on the wound. Does it heal?”

Both men answered, “Oh yes.” Then Lebel finished, “It helps stop the infection. Honey will also but that’s harder to get. I heared some folk be raising bees in boxes near the apple orchards. It might work. You have to get the female and the rest follow her.”

Tyron chuckled, “Everyone follows the females!” More quietly, “We live a little southwest of Trum Dreng – section called Vandery. With the early start we’ll be there mid-afternoon.”

Lebel said pointedly, “Less, of course, we make time for cakes and water!” He had had neither since being hoisted on his horse. It was good that he had an appetite.

Tyron slapped his forehead in mock anguish, “Dougsh! I forgot the cask of red ale!” All laughed at that. Lebel ate his cakes, was hoisted back in the saddle and lapsed into concentrated silence. Nag Kath rode closer to his right side in the event he lost consciousness. Tyron watched from the left. Five or so hours later, Tyron announced, “We’re here.”

_____________------____________

A path on the right ran to several dozen brick or stone houses arrayed in a circle. Villagers crowded out of their homes to watch. The blonde man must be the guard. The three riders and pack-beasts walked slowly as locals gathered to watch. All were smiling and glad to see their men returning. As they got closer, townsmen saw Lebel’s leg was straight and not in the stirrup. The first building they reached was a storehouse and paddock. Tyron and Nag Kath dismounted and led their mounts to tie-posts. Lebel wavered in his saddle. 

A woman with two small children trailing close behind walked down the lane said roughly, but clearly in jest, “Late again, Lebel! What mischief have you boys been in now?” She was on the right side of the road and couldn’t see her husband’s leg.

The good natured Tyron would usually give as good as he got, but he wanted to set a more serious tone without alarm, “Bandits in the Bonewales, Kalie. We lost one man. They lost two. We need to get yours home.” 

Kalie was cut from the same cloth as Annas. She walked around to the left side of the horse, saw the splint and said to the gathered townsmen, “Up we go. Boran, bring the small bed into the main room, would you? Ander, Bethanis, go put the kettle on and pick some Kingsfoil.”

Lebel reclaimed some of his bonhomie and said to the assembled folk, “This is Nag Kath. He saved the day and was more use than others I can name!” Tyron smiled. In their little world, that was the highest possible compliment. 

An elegant woman with a shawl around her shoulders had just reached the group and embraced Tyron. It earned her a full kiss which warmed the hearts of older neighbors and made the children cringe. Tryon told her, “Lebel’s hurt. Let me see to him.” She nodded and joined two other women a few feet away.

There was no need. Lebel had plenty of help. They led his horse another hundred feet and he was carried into a pleasant home with the capable Kalie directing. Other people were already at work. The two bandit horses were unsaddled and placed in the paddock. The laden animals were led to the side of the building and unloaded. Then they joined the others. This was a business community. The salt in those sacks would be weighed and sorted into tightly woven bags for sale by morning. Two large dogs sat patiently near the door.

Tyron put his arm around his woman’s waist and said, “Emalie, this is Nag Kath. He gets a special place at the table tonight.” They walked another hundred feet past Lebel’s house to a larger stone home. It had a small garden inside the front gate. Looking about, most of the homes had gardens that included vegetables and flowers. The Elf felt warm here. His host told him to just drop his pack by the door and make himself at home.

Emalie was not from here. Nag Kath wondered if she might have some of the tall, northern Dunedain strain in her blood. Folk from elsewhere were common in a community of traveling merchants. Wives were where you found them. No doubt a few children along their road looked like salesmen too. Emalie was accepted here with open arms, unlike more clannish enclaves with no outside experience.

She had a pot on the side burner and moved it over the fire for tea before rejoining the two men sitting close together in the main room. Tyron explained to Emalie that Lebel’s leg had been broken when he was thrown from his horse in an ambush. Nag Kath happened along and sent them packing. He looked at the Elf and back to his wife saying, “Nag Kath is a healer. He pulled the fever out last night. I think Lebel will be fine if Kalie can keep him from chasing those kids about.”

She smiled gently and thanked Nag Kath for his pains. The Elf was a little surprised that no one had mentioned the dead man when Tyron said, “Em, fraid we lost the guard. Name of Temandath, from around Galtrev. First time we’d used him. He defended bravely but they overcame us. I should see to that now.”

He pulled his chair to a small writing desk and opened the purse he had taken from the guard. There were coins, some personal items and what he was looking for; a thin wooden roll, sealed in wax. Cutting the wax back with a pen knife like Nag Kath’s, Tyron extracted a small piece of paper containing the man’s name, where he lived and who should be contacted in the event of exactly this. Men who couldn’t write would have this done for them. Tyron wrote it down in his own hand with a quill pen on a scrap of his own paper and put the wooden tube back in the purse along with two silver tenths pulled from his drawer. The next time one of his company went that direction, the man’s possessions would be returned with condolences. Not everyone was this honest, but folks here valued their reputations.

After the flush of his arrival, Tyron talked more quietly with Emalie. Nag Kath wrinkled his nose and started rifling his pack. The fish were much the worse for wear after two days on the road and being crushed by bags of salt. He carried the towel outside and tossed it over the fence. Cats would enjoy it. After rinsing his hands in a watering bucket outside the door he walked back in saying, “Don’t think we will want those tonight.”

Emalie said, “I’ll think of something” with a smile her man drowned in. Dinner was good although there was no ale. It wasn’t that these folk did not partake, as he knew from Lhan Gogled. 

Tyron explained, “There is a festival in Trum Dreng in a few days and all of the local supply has been bought at whatever price. Happens every year." After dinner, Nag Kath excused himself for a walk. It was good to stretch. He had never ridden before. A greenbottom man would have walked bowlegged for days and even his Elf frame had new pulls and sores. They would heal by morning but he felt them now. Along the short path he met two couples out for their evening stroll. Spring was in full bloom and folk enjoyed not being trapped in four walls. 

Returning to the Durgan home he heard the couple enjoying a private moment after Tyron’s long absence. He chuckled quietly knowing folk would be shocked if they knew how much Elves can hear. In what became a long wait, Nag Kath sat on a knoll across the street and wondered about Kataleese. He briefly thought about the slim archer but put that out of his mind. It had been a while. When the moans and bumps inside were over, he slipped in the front door and sat in one of the comfortable chairs to catch a few winks. 

_____________------____________

Morning life arrived later in Vandery than in pure farming villages. Merchants travel by day but they usually make their deals after men who work the soil are in bed. Emalie walked out in a thick robe looking very relaxed. Nag Kath kept his smile to himself. She started a fire in the stove and set the kettle on. Tyron walked out in his woolens and socks a few minutes later to survey the place.

The couple had no children after five years of marriage. If it bothered them they certainly hadn’t stopped trying. Nag Kath wondered if longed-lived strains like northern men were less fertile than more common folk. Elves could be married for thousands of years with only a few babes so maybe that was nature’s rate of replacement.

Ander, Lebel’s young son, knocked on the door as Emalie was scrambling eggs. He let himself in. “Mornin’ Em. Da wants to know if Uncle Ty and Kath can stop by.”

They intended to and told the youngster they would be along directly. “How’s your da” asked Tyron. 

The lad was taking things well. “He’s in a foul mood now that the shock is gone. Ma says the wound is knitting and not red or fouling, but I didn’t see.” Looking at the Elf, “Heared you spitted that rebel right proper.” With that he nodded and added, “See you then.”

After breakfast, Nag Kath took his pack and made the short trip with Tyron to Lebel’s. The door was open and they walked in. Kalie was by the stove and brought them hot tea.

“Good, you’re here!” roared Lebel who was in a large chair with his leg stretched on a sitting stool. He shifted slightly and howled, “By the bearded balls of Durin!” His small daughter smiled at her da’s silly outburst. Looking back to his guests, Lebel lowered his voice slightly, “I apologize for the tea.” Realizing he had insulted his wife’s hospitality he added, “Not that Kalie’s tea isn’t the best in Vandery, but I can’t offer you a drop of drink! Whose idea was that?”

Ty said calmly, “It’s all been bought for the Progress. I brought you a little something” and pulled a small, flat silver bottle from his jacket.

“Ah, I knew there was a reason you’re a relative. Your da was the smart one.” Lebel pulled the cork and took a swig. Then he rolled his head against the padded chair back.

Looking back at Nag Kath, who was smiling and staying above the fray, he added softly, “I owe you more than I can ever repay, Mr. Kath. You are going on to Trum Dreng?” Without waiting for an answer, “Nice place. Our little valley took less damage from the war than most and we’ve been quicker to heal.” That effort called for second sip. “They’re having a big do soon. We avoid that like the croup but you may enjoy yourself.” His eyes glazed-over, “I’m going to sleep for a while. My worthless cousin will see to your horse and mule.” His head leaned back again followed by a gentle snore.

My horse?! 

Ty and Nag Kath stopped at the paddock. The cousin walked to the tack room and brought the saddle and bridle. He would have replaced the tattered blanket but there wasn’t a spare. Without a word, he expertly prepared the horse while the Elf loaded A’mash. The next time “his” horse was saddled, he would have to do it.

Back in the sun, Tyron said, “Lebel is right. We can never repay you. May the Valar smile on you wherever you go. Come back and visit us someday. They gripped each other’s forearms in the salute of the region. 

Looking at the beast, Nag Kath asked, “What is his name?” 

Ty considered that with his chin in his hand. “That’s up to you. We have been fortunate in Vandery. Vandery seems fair.”

Nag Kath wished him good fortune and led his two animals out to the Great Road. 


	9. Trum Dreng

** _Chapter 9_ **

** _Trum Dreng_ **

When they were out of sight of the village, Nag Kath dismounted and stood eye-to-eye with his new steed. “Listen, horse. Your name is Vandery.” The changeling grimaced in mind of his mount’s gelding, “I am sorry for wrongs done you when you were young. I will treat you better than your last owner. A’mash will support my claim,” he nodded to the mule. “And in return you will not kick me, bite me or bear false witness. Do we understand one another?” Vandery leaned forward slightly to sniff Nag Kath’s face. The Elf took that as assent. If reason failed, wargish persuasion would not.

Despite his feeble protests, horse-travel made sense. One of his boots had a hole in the sole. Longer-term, he had seen as many abandoned farms as he ever needed to. More months of the same had lost their appeal. And if the north was little different, he wanted options before the snows fell.

He climbed back up and the trio made their way towards Trum Dreng. By most accounts, the town was much larger than any he had seen in Dunland so far, hopefully large enough for a cobbler and tailor. This was another crossroads. His route kept going to the historic ruin of Tharbad. The crossroad south went to the Northpass. To the right were the Cartrev cities he had just avoided. Either northern rout would take him to the forbidding Mournshaws.

Two miles from town he met a mounted party from the Northpass road. Four men and two women were on horses equipped and caparisoned as cavalry. With them was a gaily painted one-horse wagon driven by a salty old fellow with a straw hat. A fair day, the panels were rolled up and five children waved and squealed which did not bother their elderly minder.

“Hail and welcome! Are you going to the Progress?” That was called by a stately man of about thirty who reined over while his company continued on.

The blonde youth admitted, “I know little of it. It seems from your excitement that good times are in store.”

“Oh indeed they are.” The man pulled close and noticed the Rohirric sword on the mule’s back, of no moment, and oddly out of reach. The horse was another matter. That was a rebel mount and kit or he was a fool. Something was amiss and it was his business to inquire.

“I am Tenneth Marchand, Captain of the Northpass. We are going to the Progress.”

“I am Nag Kath, bound for Arnor.”

“That is a fine horse. I could make you a good price on him.”

With a chuckle, “Ah, I just came by him two days past. He would think me disloyal.”

Marchand said evenly, “I hope the former owner did not take advantage then.”

Nag Kath knew he was being appraised. Vandery was better than walking but no match for Marchand’s handsome mount. His strong card was that this man was certainly a blood enemy of the bandit he killed. The Captain would get his answers so the changeling chose sides, “I had to run a sword through his chest to secure the bargain.”

Marchand did not expect that. Nag Kath often forgot he was a baby-faced lad to hard men of the windward. Everyone knew what Elves looked like because they all looked the same. Same clothes, face and, especially, hair. To change the dynamic, he leaned forward to whisper in the horse’s ear. “You see, boy. You are in high demand!” The motion made his locks fall away from his pointed ear.

The Captain realized this creature could be thousands of years old. That would explain the unplaceable accent too, if not his tailor.

“Then you are indeed welcome. Join us for the short ride into Trum Dreng.” Nosing their horses to follow the wagon, “We are come for Naedrath’s Progress. It is a yearly festival commemorating a famous return from battle.”

“I know not of Naedrath. A leading light by the honor done him.”

“I’m told quite a villain, but he did save the city from troops of hillmen some generations back. And you, Mr. Kath?

The Elf replied, “I am up from Gondor, but more recently Isengard. Reliable friends said my people came from far north. I travel to Arnor in hopes of seeing them ere they sail west.”

Well, Marchand thought; this is getting interesting. “Isengard … was the wizard in residence?”

“That depends on which wizard. Saruman is dead. Mithrandir was to journey south a few days after I made for the Gap so he is well into Rohan by now. His work was done when he passed the keys to Gondor.”

“Gondor and Arnor? Arnor has been its own land for an age. People here look to themselves.”

They continued on for another fifteen minutes chatting idly. Nag Kath said, “I see others arriving. Where might I find a room and stalls for my mounts on such an honored day?”

Marchand had never heard of an Elf staying at an inn. “A single man might still find lodgings. The high-street is Thomald. There or where the square turns left to Quigley. How high you climb depends on your purse. Ah, we are here! My company goes left. Good luck, Mr. Kath. I hope we meet again.”

“Thank you Captain.” 

________________------_______________

Trum Dreng was a nice place and larger than he was expecting by several times. The high street was nearly as wide as Edoras' and could accommodate wagons in both directions. Buildings were mostly two-storied with shops on the ground floor. Nag Kath noticed one store with a large carved boot hanging from the porch roof. The town was busy with the old warlord’s remembrance. He reminded himself they had cornered the market on ale in the district. With any luck, it might be like the Feast of Tellerian in Minas Tirith. Ah, Kataleese … he wondered again what she might be doing just now. Flowers were everywhere. Children were stringing them on the fences and window frames along the procession route.

The trio wandered up the crowded street passing a few inns that were the worse for wear. Following the captain’s advice, they reached a large public square and turned left up Quigley Street. The uphill side of Thomald looked prosperous too. Another half block brought them to the Fair Maid Inn. Nag Kath recognized the word 'inn' by now. Tying his beasts to a post he walked to the front desk. 

The Maid was a three-story building with a fresh coat of paint. The interior was large enough that the inn counter was separate from the bar and restaurant. A tall, lank man of indeterminate age greeted him smoothly. “Good day sir. How may I assist?”

“A room for the night and stabling for two animals.” He said animals because mules were not always preferred guests.

“Oh this is fortunate. As it happens, Mr. Levanthar had to cancel his annual reservation, such a nice man, such a good family. It is on the third floor, well away from the commotion down here.”

Nag Kath had learned that was how innkeepers said it was a low attic up many stairs. After Orthanc, two flights were nothing. He was about to ask the price when the concierge continued, “That will be a silver tenth per night and ten groats for your horses.” Leaning forward with what he thought would be an irresistible bonus, “Cook is preparing her celebrated stew tonight.”

With that last news Nag Kath was on the edge of shouting, 'What highway robbery is this?!' But then he remembered he would be paying with Saruman’s stolen gold, of which he had plenty, and he really didn’t care much about money. Constant contact with people who thought of little else was coloring his reactions.

“May I remind the gentleman that the festivities will last the weekend. Perhaps there are other matters you can attend while you are here? Three silvers for three nights would include care for your horses.”

“Yes you are right. I need a few things.” Nag Kath counted out four silver tenths which would also cover meals and drink.

“Right you are sir. It is number 304 at the top. I’ll have a boy bring your bags and see to your horses.” At the second floor, Nag Kath could not help but grin when he heard heehawing from the street.

Impressive! Old Mr. Levanthal knew his onions after all. The Maid was the nicest place in town. His room was spacious with headroom enough and had a small balcony that overlooked the street. Nag Kath leaned back in his bed and took a mental accounting of chores he might accomplish here. Boots and clothes for sure, plus sundries for the road. His reverie was snapped by three crisp knocks on his door. The concierge’s “boy” was a strapping man his own size hoisting both bags with one arm. The door swung open and the fellow came in, placing the mule bag by a wash table and putting his backpack against the bed. Nag Kath gave him a five-groat copper.

Usually servants would nod gratefully and leave but the man said, “That’s a fine mule you got, mister.”

“He must like you. He is not always so friendly.”

“I just scratches 'em behind the ears and they’s alright.”

Since he was here, “I hear tell there’s a festival tomorrow.”

The man grinned, “Oh yes, sir. The Progress. High persons construe a blessing at the start and come back up the hill following the Lord’s return to Trum Dreng.”

“It seems people are already making merry.”

“Oh indeed, sir.” Thinking Nag Kath a young man, truer than he knew, he leaned forward confidentially, “The evenings are when unmarried folk make their acquaintance. After the reading tomorrow, the invitees will go to the Mayor’s home to celebrate. The rest of us disport ourselves along the route, in keeping with our station, of course.” Like most places, elevation meant status.

“Thank you. Oh, my animals?”

“Stable’s behind the inn and down two buildings. Amandrol will see to them.”

_____________-------_____________

“I’m just telling you what he said. It might be nothing, but we agreed to keep an eye on such matters.” Captain Marchand was neither concerned nor complacent.

Mayor Delve Cathad sat at his desk and looked at the Captain and three other town notables. “An Elf, you’re sure of that? Dressed like a tinker, rode a rebel horse into town and claimed he killed its rider? What’s more, he said he was from Gondor but spent time with Mithrandir in Isengard?”

Marchand nodded, “That’s what he said.”

A man sitting by the window asked, “Did he have the look of a soldier or magister?”

“Nay, Vellend. I would have said he was a farm-lad come for the ale until I saw that pointed ear. He had a Rohan dress sword that has seen use strapped to his mule. He was affable and only seemed concerned about finding a room for the night.”

Mayor Cathad had things to do. It was his year to lead the Progress. But these were the leading lights of their region here on important business. Marchand was a good cavalry man and had kept the area clear of orcs and raiders as his fathers had before him. The other gentlemen seated around the room had significant commercial, property or farming interests. No man held sway. They worked together.

The core concern was that the Reunited Kingdom would be late arriving from both ends. Rohan was friendly. They, the Elves to the north and loyal companies like Captain Marchand’s had largely pacified the area so there was no pressure on the central government to interfere. But the political landscape was changing. These rivers were becoming safer for trade. Who knew if southern lords in high favor had been promised fertile land below the Glanduin for their fealty? And now, here was this Elf, come from Gondor by way of the fell black tower, with no plausible destination on a dead rebel’s horse! It was too much to be borne. 

Vellend said, “I agree. We should make sure the fellow has a good time and is on his way. I can’t imagine an Elf doing any more than minding Elvish business. What he’s doing here I couldn’t guess. There’s talk they’re leaving, but they won’t cede an inch of their ground before they’ve all sailed away.”

Danthan also agreed, "When do Elves care for us? I am more concerned with the Maedos clan. They have chased the Lendings into the hills and want a seat at the table. They have a point." 

Vellend nodded, “Danthan is right. Let us keep the Maedos in mind. They are wary, but this progress might help them see the advantages of civilization. Delve, what of the Elf?”

“Leave him to me.”

_____________------____________

Nag Kath slept until he heard the dinner bell. That was unusual except curing Lebel would take a while to restore. The restaurant was almost full with folk in their finest. He was already seated when he remembered; Stew! 

A comely maid came to his table and said, “Dinner will start with our own fish stew followed by beef, potatoes and lennas greens. Can I start you with something to drink?”

“Perhaps you can recommend an ale.”

“I will see to it sir.”

Well, fish stew was better than any other stew. The lennas greens were good too, not a southern crop. He gave dinner high marks and went back to his room. It was time to take stock. First, he emptied his purse on the bed. He had long since stopped using oats to muffle coin rattles. They molded here in the wild. Less than a nipper was spent. There was not much to buy in Dunland. Even bribes were cheap. If he counted right, silver tenth’s were forty to a full Florin in trade.

Then he opened his leather tube to inventory his art supplies. Other than fetching maps, he had not used it since drawing little Meaglie. On his way out of Orthanc Nag Kath commandeered one of Annas’ cubbyhole dividers to use as a backing board for small sketches. He put that under his arm, collected paper, pencils and a charcoal and walked downstairs onto Quigley Street.

What came next was what Gandalf called ‘a learning experience’. Here in the north, ale and wine (when you could find it) were beginner’s drinks. The same barley for ale could be boiled and distilled for much greater potency. The first tavern he visited catered to such tastes.

Sitting at the end of a busy long-table he looked not very high up at a short, sullen wench. She wasn’t long past attractive, what Lentaraes called; ‘Rode hard and put-up wet.’ The woman said nothing. Evidently he should know what he wanted. “What do you recommend?”

The gal answered, “We serve a light brown malt some prefer.”

“One of those.”

She left without a word. While he waited, he spotted two elderly gentlemen flattering themselves they could amuse their own serving woman who was young enough to be a daughter. The tall man had the perfect face for a charcoal sketch. Nag Kath’s drink was a long time coming and he made good progress on the drawing until the view was blocked by his humorless barmaid holding a tray with a small cup. She placed it on the table and waited.

It was the color of tea with a strong aroma. Nag Kath laid down a five-groat and took an ale-sized gulp. To his credit, he didn’t wheeze like a greenbottom. He managed to rasp, “And an ale to follow.”

“That’s another two groats then, isn’t it?” He produced them and she turned on her heels.

Elves pass alcohol through their systems quickly but they still feel the flush. When he caught his breath, he finished the charcoal study and waited for the beer to wash away the brown spirit taste. 

A man wearing the traditional kerchief of a Progress invitee approached his end of the table and said, “That’s a good likeness of my father. We have been trying to have him sit for a formal portrait for an age. Too vain, I fear. Would you consider selling this?”

Just then, his waitress sloshed his mug in a puddle as she flew past. Nag Kath ignored the gent for a moment and gently brought his ale to his lips so it wouldn’t drip in his lap. Placing it on a dry spot he apologized, “It is not one of my better works. Please take it with my best wishes on this auspicious day.”

The man rolled it properly instead of folding it and said, “Thank you so much. Enjoy the Progress tomorrow.”

The ale seemed bitter in his mouth. It was time for air. Nag Kath strolled across the street to what looked like a rooming house and flopped in an empty chair on the porch. The timing was flawless. An ancient cart and horse driven by a more ancient man was crawling up Thomald. The old boy was replacing spent lamps along the procession route. Torches to either side of his seat showed his features perfectly. At the rate he was climbing, Nag Kath had all the time he needed. It was one of the best works he had ever done – something a patron would pay for.

The local brown spirit must have affected him more than he thought because he hadn’t heard a man come to within ten feet of him. “That’s old Lieff. Been here since I was a boy.”

Nag Kath was glad he didn’t squeak like the girl plinking arrows at him. The Elf turned and said, “He must have earned that face.” He showed the picture to the fellow and remembered a man’s eyes could not see it in this light so he motioned his reviewer closer to the fresh lamp.

“That is him as he lives and breathes. I’m afraid he will not buy it, though. He is nearly blind.”

“I do these for joy.” Nag Kath handed him the sketch. The man admired it gratefully. He was stocky, powerful and well dressed, somehow managing to keep his black boots clean on the dusty street. He also wore a blue kerchief. Nag Kath guessed a local invitee, unless farmers here were more fashionable than Forthbrond.

“Thank you, sir. Enjoy the celebration.” He was gone in the night.

Nag Kath collected his things and started strolling towards the Fair Maid but kept going to clear his head. It wasn’t long before there were no lamps. This was the district of success and they liked their privacy. Walking up the hill, houses got larger. Fences got larger. The dogs behind those fences got larger. When they stopped barking for a moment, Nag Kath heard something; something like a well-polished pair of boots.

He had been overestimated. How flattering!

The changeling carelessly turned and slowly bumbled his way down Quigley, leaning on walls or posts every so often to check his balance. Reaching the Fair Maid, he stubbed his toe on the last step and flew by a couple leaving after dinner. When the door shut he vanished out the kitchen. Running back up the hill in the alley, he emerged in darkness two buildings away. 

There was his new friend admiring the sketch as he walked back up the hill. The man had no need of silence now. Nag Kath followed him to a home a block off Quigley with a pleasant garden in front. One bed was in full bloom. The Elf stole a blossom for his buttonhole.

_____________------____________

Well, his head was clear now. It was time to discover his secret admirer. 

Nag Kath strolled down Quigley and turned left onto the remainder of Thomald that eventually led to the north gate of town. He could not read the sign but one little restaurant had a flower much like the one in his jacket on the well-painted sign above the door. The place was busy. The lady seating guests thought he might be under-dressed for the Primrose but took him to the only empty table. He ordered tea and watched. 

A few minutes later, the woman approached him and asked, “I’m sorry sir, would you mind sharing your table with the Morthlands? They are a very respectable couple.”

“Not at all. I hope they don’t think my drinking tea dispiriting on this festive evening.”

“I think that will be just fine sir.”

She was back shortly with a man and woman in their forties who looked slightly askance at the disheveled blonde stranger. The Primrose catered to a local clientele. The man was dapper with a fine mustache. She had not missed many meals. The wisdom of Lentaraes surfaced again. He could not ask them anything. He would make them ask him.

Nag Kath took the flower out of his buttonhole and placed it on the table, fussing over positioning until it was just right. Pulling his pad and paper out, he drew a flawless sketch of the blossom. Not happy, he groaned and turned the paper over, scribbling furiously at another attempt.

It worked like a charm. The couple stopped their conversation and drank-in every line. After drawing another perfect image, he tossed his pencil on the sheet and looked up. “I declare, my feeble talents are no match for this beautiful flower. I don’t even know what it is. We do not have these in Minas Tirith!”

The woman wondered if she should say anything to this threadbare vagabond but after a nod from her husband she informed, “That is an Elf Slipper blossom. 

Her man quickly added, “They are very difficult to grow. That is the first flower of the season to be judged by the committee.” 

Nag Kath guessed they were on the committee. “I hope a name will give inspiration to my next effort. Are they common in these parts?”

The husband again; “No. Only a few gardeners have the patience to grow them from seed. Do you mind my asking where you got yours?”

“A gathering up the street.” Nag Kath made the exaggerated motion of a man in his cups trying not to seem so and pointed towards Quigley. “A fine fellow was celebrating with friends. Very well turned-out, he was. I needed air and walked into the garden and picked it. I hope it won’t be missed.” He beetled his brows, “I’m sorry, his name was …”

The woman answered flatly, “Rogad. Geman Rogad.”

“The very gent! Fine pair of boots, I should have thought.” The stranger wracked his brain again, “In the grain trade, was it?” 

The man this time; “Not hardly. He runs the Guardi.” 

_____________-------_____________

The next morning Nag Kath was up with the birds. The rest of Trum Dreng would take longer. A young lad was snoozing at the desk when he walked down but woke up quickly with a clear head. 

“Too early for breakfast?”

“Why no sir, if eggs and muffins will serve.”

“And tea, thank you.” The desk clerk walked the man (his hair was over his ears) to the best table on the empty floor but Nag Kath asked, “If you don’t mind, I’d like the table next to the column.” It was all the same to his host so the clerk nodded and went to wake the cooks. The Elf chose the seat after peering through his drapes upstairs. The only place on the street across from the inn that wouldn’t be exposed by the sun at anytime of day was an alley between a notary and the chemist. 

And there he was; a hulking soldier in uncomfortable party clothes trying not to be obvious. If his boss ran security for Trum Dreng, on this of all days, the fellow would be well down the pecking-order. Nag Kath could not be seen where he sat because of the glare on the real glass window panes. He broke his fast quickly and walked into the kitchen.

Just as in the Provin galley, a large, square woman was giving orders to a young lass trying to keep up. The older one gave him a challenging look. His rakish smile had no chance with her so the poor man asked, “I’m told the stables are just in back here. Hope I didn’t take the wrong turn.”

Must be a guest. She managed the minimum smile and offered, “Of course, sir. Just out the door and to your left. Can’t miss it.”

“You are a dear.”

He wandered to the stable being sure to peep down the space between buildings in case his shadow was better than he looked. There was always the possibility that the troll was a decoy and his real tail was a man with a face no one ever recalled.

The stableman was already in. A lean fellow about forty, he wore a knee-brace like Eomander and bore a thin scar along his ear that could only have been caused by a blade. The fellow said without a trace of hangover, “Morning. Can I help you?”

Nag Kath answered, “I’m at the Fair Maid and came in with a horse and mule yesterday. Just thought I’d check.”

“Had to put them together in a big stall. Short notice, I’m afraid.”

“They won’t mind. I’ve just come by the horse, thought I’d ask you to look him over.”

The stableman spit something brown and said, “Already did. The horse has a bad shoe and the other three aren’t far behind. His back left hoof has some rot. Been kept near a bog or I’m simple. The mule leads a charmed life.”

“Don’t tell him or I’ll never hear the end of it. Please change the shoes and do what you can for him. I won’t need him for a few days. Now, do I settle with you or the Maid?”

“Either. I own the place. Name’s Amandrol.” As Nag Kath started to leave the man added, “Horses in bogs usually need a good purge.” The Elf nodded and made his way to Thomald below Quigley.

Almost to the gate he found the shop with the large boot hanging from the porch rafters. He knocked. The door was locked. On this day, at this hour, that was likely. Nag Kath peered in the small window next to the entrance but the rooms were black. He started to leave when the door swung open and an old, bald man barked, “I already told you I’m happy with Troxald!”

He started to swing the door shut when Nag Kath cried, “I’m sure you are, but I need new boots!”

The old boy stopped in mid-slam and fished a monocle out of his shirt pocket. Adjusting it to his eye he said, “Thought you were that Groather boy trying to sell me his family’s leathers. Though what either of you would be doing up at this time of day is beyond me. Haven’t you got anything better to do?”

As the Elf fumbled for a response the man said, “Well, don’t just stand there.”

The cobbler wandered back through the cluttered front to an even more cluttered workshop. “Sit down and take off your right boot … no, not that chair. The rung’s busted.”

Nag Kath did as told and handed his boot to the man who sat in a more comfortable chair six feet away. The old fellow put his monocle in his pocket and took one from the opposite pocket for his other eye. The examination took several minutes. He put that monocle away and said, “This boot is too big for you. The wear patterns inside don’t reach the edge.”

That boot fit perfectly in Minas Tirith. He wouldn’t tell the cobbler but his feet had gotten smaller, Gandalf’s spell probably. The man leaned forward, “Now, what do you need from me?”

“I would like a new pair of boots for riding and a pair of shoes for walking. The trouble is that I’ll be leaving in two days and I don’t want to take you away from the celebration.”

“Paghh. I don’t commemorate the old villain’s feast. Most of the pieces are already made on those shelves. I can have them for you. It will be two silvers for the both of them. Your boots aren’t that far gone. Throw in another eighteen groats and I’ll resole them. Half on deposit is customary.”

The man measured his feet and they talked for another fifteen minutes about color and thickness. Then the customer asked, “Don’t suppose you can recommend a dry goods store open today?

“Chanderie and Family. Block short of Quigley.”

The Elf pressed his luck after paying in full, “I saw a fine pair of black boots last night on a fancy gentleman. Your work?”

“Nah. Vandellos serves the gentry. I cater more to soldiers. There’s enough work for both. I’ll see you in two days.”

_______________-------_______________

It was time to give the Guardi something to do. Nag Kath walked back into the kitchen and got the same stares. As if relieved, he shared the glad news; “The stableman tells me the hoof will heal!”

Well, that was good. 

Nag Kath walked through the hall and right out the front door figuring his shadow was still waiting. He turned right and went back down Thomald a block to Chanderie. 

In the country, folk made everything they wore themselves. Who else would do it? In the cities, upper society had everything custom sewn. From there down to fair-sized towns, hopefully this one included, the wealthy still had things made but some stores would carry apparel in common sizes or garments that could would fit many, like shirts, underclothes, socks and the like, usually made by the same tailors serving the carriage-trade when business was slow. 

The door was unlocked. A very plain young woman with a white cloth cap tied to her hair walked up to him and asked, “How my I help thee today?”

Thee? That was ‘you’, right? Gandalf was a stickler for grammar in every language he spoke. This was the Westron version of old Elvish. That explained the plainness and why this woman was awake when everyone else her age was still snoring. She was probably in the local chapter of Valarans. It also explained how the boot maker knew they would be open at this indecent hour. His was not the ideal first question to ask a conservative young woman but he did, “Do you have delicate garments?”

She beamed a smile of perfect white teeth and said, “If thee will follow me this way.” Towards the back of the store stood a rack of cubbyholes like in Orthanc, filled with underclothing for men, women and children. With unexpected boldness she looked him up and down and said, “I think thee will find the medium size most comfortable.”

“Fine. I’ll take ten of them.” 

I fear, sir, that we only have seven here. But I can have the others brought to thee later today.”

Nag Kath was sorely tempted to tell her to have his handman, who was busy studying horse droppings across the street, bring them up. No, let them have their conspiracies. Before he left he ordered ten pairs of socks, six white blouses, a brimmed hat, a good buy on a pair of large leather gloves and a vest. All of that would be delivered to his room this afternoon.

Two doors down he bought a new leather halter to replace the worn rope lead for A’mash, six steel fishhooks and a frying pan with a proper handle. Satisfied with his shopping, Nag Kath went in the front door of the inn. The desk clerk from yesterday was back on shift. Nag Kath approached him and asked, “Can you recommend a tailor who can help me with fitted trousers and a jacket while I am here?

The clerk thought a few seconds and said in a soft voice, “That will be difficult with the holiday. There is a man near the gate, off to the east, a foreigner. Not where our better families go, but I understand he does good work.”

Nag Kath slid him a fiver. “Don’t suppose you heard who?”

“Jugesh or Jujeth … How does one pronounce such names?”

The Elf slipped out the back this time and made for the south gate again. At the boot makers he turned left and made his way to a section of town where many small homes were also businesses that did not need or could not afford high-street frontage. The third boy he asked pointed to a modest house with two real windows to catch the southern sun. 

He knocked and a dark, middle-aged woman cracked the door. “Excuse me, ma’am. I’m told you can help me with clothing.” She said something he didn’t catch as a hand opened the door wider and a spare, wise-looking man appraised him. The Elf asked, “Good morning, sir. I’m looking for Mr. Jugesh. I was told he could help me with garments.”

“I am Juegesh. Please, come in.”

Nag Kath thought he remembered the accent being described as from Khand. He hadn’t heard it himself but people mimicking it badly emphasized the same syllables. The man led him to a small sitting room and motioned towards an ornately carved chair of dark wood. 

“My name is Nag Kath and I would like to have three pairs of trousers and a light jacket made to fit. I’m afraid this would need to be in a hurry since I will leave in two or three days.” 

The man looked lost in thought for a minute. Then he rose and said something down the hall in his own language. Moments later, a younger man Nag Kath took to be his son walked in. They spoke in their tongue briefly, looking at the Elf twice and the son left.

“Mr. Kath, that may be possible. A man as tall as you, but heavier, ordered two pairs of trousers a year ago. He never returned. We fear the worst. If the fabric meets your approval, they could be taken-in much faster than cutting new garments.” The young man returned with two pairs of trousers and unfolded them for his father. The father handed them to Nag Kath who said they would be fine. “The third pair will take the full two days. Now, tell me about the jacket you desire.”

They talked and measured for half a bell. Mrs. Juegesh returned with tea. Nag Kath smelled deeply and smiled, “Telandren, northern I should think.” Mr. Tallazh sometimes brought his own tea to the lessons.

The Juegesh’s were heartened. “A little stale I confess. Mr. Kath, the three pairs of trousers and your jacket will be ready by the time you leave. I fear I must charge two silvers for all three pants and the jacket. That includes a premium for placing your commission ahead of all others. Half of the balance is customary.” He must be in-league with the cobbler! Nag Kath paid him in full and asked if they were completed early, could they be brought to the Fair Maid?

The cooks didn’t even bother looking when he came back in.

_____________-------_____________

Mayor Cathad’s handman was fussing over the correct knot for his kerchief but his master would not hold still. “You tell me the Elf got stinking drunk last night and this morning he bought underwear?”

“Yes sir. And a frying pan.”

The same men were sitting in the same room. This time the mayor’s elder son was with them. They could see the vein in the mayor’s temple throbbing. 

Chief Rogad was unafraid. The mayor told him to keep an eye on the motley Elf and he had. Rogad had other duties today for the safety and security of Progress. “And there’s this, sir.” He produced the picture of Lieff scowling up Thomald. The knot was progressing so Mayor Cathad gestured to show the other men.

All thought it good. Vellend thought it very good, “I see some Lentillar in it.”

The mayor frustrated his man again and turned to his associates. “It is of no moment. How does this affect Isengard and Gondor?”

Captain Marchand wasn’t afraid either. He had the soldiers. “I make it thusly: The Maedos have consolidated as far as the foothills. We control from the river down on our side. We can come to an accommodation. With our mutual border in accord, they can finish the hillmen by the next snows which gives us both free access to the Dusenorn. 

“Now, we have a contingent of Gondorans who are in Orthanc with safe passage by Eomer, for all the good that will do them. Our concern is Gondor coming up the Isen and Greyflood from the sea. As long as they do not think to impose governors here, all is fine. Enedwaith along the coast is a wasteland so they have to get here from the rivers. Perhaps they are looking for Arnor to close the vise from Eregion."

Laster Cathad sneered, “Arnor? There is no Arnor. They could not muster enough troops to quench a barn fire.” The mayor’s elder son and heir was a comely, proud and haughty young man of questionable intelligence. He led a troop of cavalry badly against the Dunlendings when the latter tried to hold their ground after support from Isengard collapsed. A dead man was blamed.

Now he and a small group of wealthy men’s sons were positioning themselves as the new power in Trum Dreng against Laster’s inevitable elevation. Sobriety was not required. That the mayor was only middle-aged and in reasonably good health did not matter. Laster was generally loathed and wise men excluded him from their councils.

The mayor’s handman asserted himself. “Sir, may I remind you that your lady wife will already be waiting for you in the carriage?”

Mayor Cathad looked at him and softened, “I am sorry, Pertand. And I am sorry my friends. I will see you at the granary. Now, Pertand, tie your best knot! Mrs. Cathad deserves nothing less!”

Naedrath’s Progress was based on the return of its namesake from a successful battle against eastern forces three hundred years ago. He made Trum Dreng his capital and marched up what is now Thomald Street with his knights. Town Elders announced him at different stations along the route. Then he was forgotten for the next 250 years. As a recruiting ploy during an unpopular border skirmish, the Progress was reenacted three generations ago. 

Commerce being what it is; the original stations for the readings had changed hands many times. The starting point for the walk was now occupied by the city granary. Access to the loading dock from Thomald Street was blocked by temporary wooden viewing stands to seat dignitaries and guests for the opening readings. The harvest was months away so the granary was closed this week.

For the first year of the new Fourth Age, the mayor would stand-in for Naedrath just as he had nine years ago. There were fifty honorary knights who would make the walk behind him and a varying number of invitees who could also walk or just enjoy the festivities. Everyone else lined the streets to cheer but had to wait until the final reading on Quigley before the public houses could serve refreshments.

The procession following them was less solemn. Carts and mummers and carriages of important persons would also enjoy the festivities. People threw sweets and presents to children who painted their faces with flowers. An honor guard of eight horses rode behind the knights. The honor guard used to ride in front of the marchers until suspected Dunlending sympathizers crept into the stable a few years back and fed the horses pugus roots. 

The mayor and his knights made it to the viewing station on time. After opening remarks, the Progress continued up Thomald with readings at four stations. This took a while. In total, some 70 people, few of them young, walked uphill for a long quarter mile. None of the knights expired this year but one old man called his son in to finish the route. 

Nag Kath positioned himself two blocks up from the granary. His height gave him a good view wherever he stood. He especially enjoyed the painted carts with children throwing sweets to other children lining the route. The taciturn lamplighter shuffled behind the pack until some of the youngsters shouted, “Mr. Leiff! Mr. Leiff!” His face blossomed into a beaming smile and he gave them candies.

Nag Kath liked children and copied others around him handing them coppers. As that wave passed he raised his eyes and saw two women on the other side of the street. One was a tall redhead with pale skin in a festive skirt and white blouse. He fixed his eyes on her and saw her turn towards him just as the second sweet carriage passed between them. Another flock of squealing lads and lasses chased behind and he moved to make room. When he looked up, she was gone. 

Oh well! The day was young and filled with promise. Hadn’t the bag boy said evening was when young people made acquaintances? A horn would sound when the taps could pour so now everyone in the wake was biding their time. Many private homes had their kegs primed but usually respected the tradition with a ceremonial horn of their own. Nag Kath returned to the Fair Maid and started climbing the stairs when the desk clerk saw him and said, “Excuse me sir. There is someone here who would like word.”

Maybe it was time to see what the guardi wanted. A well-dressed man walked over and shook hands. “Forgive me for bothering you on this special day. I am Davet Maedos. My cousin told me you drew a picture of his father last night. I would like to commission a picture of my father and wanted to know if you do that professionally?”

“Yes I do. I’m afraid I will be leaving in only two days, though.”

“I was hoping you might be available tomorrow afternoon. We have obligations in the morning but they should be finished after lunch.”

Nag Kath was flattered. It had been a while since someone wanted to pay for his doodlings. He had given some nice pieces away but this was different. And he was glad this wasn’t the old lamplighter sketch. The wrong people had that. “I would be glad to.” Nag Kath asked Mr. Maedos many questions about light, subject, did they have their own paper or should he use his? The man answered as many as he could but told the blonde man that they would trust his judgment and gave him the address. Nag Kath walked up to his room in a good mood. 

His clothes were waiting on the bed.

_____________-------_____________

Davet Meados rode into the circle and dismounted. A groom took the reins. Here for more than the Progress, his family was staying in three houses originally built by a single owner for himself and two married daughters that formed a ring with enclosed grounds. They were now individually owned but during progress week, people with desirable homes often rented them to out-of-towners and stayed with relatives. Servants stayed, hoping to hear valuable gossip, but the Maedos brought their own people so the servants had to find beds like everyone else.

Davet walked down the main corridor and into a small dining room to meet a man who looked a great deal like him. “He agreed, first brother.”

The man looked up from his toast and said, “Excellent! It is nothing to our purpose here, but I take this as a good omen.”

“He will be here at two. The fellow asked a lot of questions about how this was to be done. He seems to know his business.”

“He did that little sketch in five minutes in a barley room. Yes, good.”

The first and third sons of Shurat Boronos Maedos were here with their father as formal invitees. A Maedos had never been here before, in that capacity anyway. Their clan was one of several that had fought for generations over the ground leading from the foothills of the Gravenwood to about fifty miles from here on the south bank of the Dusenorn. It was fertile land with timber. Men close to the mountain had to make practical choices about allies. Being with or against hillmen did not necessarily mean in league with Saruman. A few years ago, the Shurat decided that nominal loyalty to the Steward was the better choice which set them against their two most traditional rivals. Things looked bleak until by some miracle, the wizard marched his entire army to Rohan where they were massacred to last the orc. The Maedos quickly settled scores with Trac Blas and the Wintornes after their support from Orthanc vanished. Lesser families were forced to terms.

Now they were preeminent but not supreme. Only five generations deep, the Maedos were lately arrived. They needed to anoint their power with gravitas. Their ancestors did not have paintings or tapestries commissioned in the style of the Stewards but they made a practice of formally drawing the reigning Shurat for the family legacy. Boronos had not done that after seven years of rule, largely because the most capable artist of the area died well before he inherited the sword. Now that they needed to be an old family, those portraits hung in a gallery room so visitors could appreciate their heritage.

While here in Trum Dreng, First Son stumbled across a man who should be able to draw a passable picture as they prepared to leave, a fortunate coincidence and a chance to respect their honored father. Boronos thought it an excellent idea after they concluded negotiations with the local powers tomorrow morning.

That meeting was their real purpose. Each side had much to gain. It seemed a logical move. There was no one of note above the river. Maedos leadership to the east and Cathad’s consortium in the west was finally stable. The problem for both was that there was no reason for this new King to worry about either of their claims. Now that the Umbar pirates along the Anduin mouth were being swept away, Elessar could send as many ships as he wanted to order folk around in Dunland. Boronos already knew Orthanc was now in Gondoran hands. That was fine. If they wanted to cart food up that rock, let them. Gondor had never done anything for this part of Dunland. The Maedos had no trouble being part of the Reunited Kingdom as long as they held their lands. If Trum Dreng felt the same and they could offer loyalty and constancy, there was no reason for the central government to meddle.

The next year was critical. The Shurat wanted crops planted and babies put to suck. If they could pull a full militia company off the vale between this region and his, the eastern hillmen could be driven to more congenial ground by winter. That meant ceding several square miles of contested farmland but the compromise would free Marchand's rangers to manage bandit gangs to their southeast. Yes, they could do this.

One would think the eastern clans less sophisticated than those closer to Gondor but that was not always the case, particularly when it came to intelligence. The Maedos had friends in Minas Tirith. They also had a few friends here, including one in the mayor’s household staff. Cathad was mostly concerned with trade but he had let a few things slip at dinner.

“That is good, First Brother. Will you be here to supervise the portrait?”

“Better not. I told him the man in the bar was my father. If you can handle that, I’ll see to the rearguard home. Marchand seems a decent sort, but he is also a good soldier and we are exposed.”

“Thank you, First Brother. I will tell father when he returns.”

“Third Brother, you should know; Olan Gangmir was slain. It seems he ambushed the wrong peddlers. One of his men died from a blow to the head. What was left of two more was found in a brewery with tales of horror.” Another bite of toast, “I let them live.”

The younger man poked at the wall of his mouth with his tongue before saying, “Gangmir served his purpose. He would not have fit in the new way of things.”

Above them on Quigley, Mayor Cathad, Captain Marchand and a few other knights sat down in the pavilion after a long lunch with most of the invitees. Rogad was also there. In private, he and the mayor were on first-name terms. The mayor said to all, “That went well. No one keeled over. I remembered my lines, save us! My kerchief did not betray me. And the Maedos looked content. What say you?”

Rogad added, “Fewer pickpockets too. I have nothing new on the Elf. He went to the Progress, gave groats to the children and returned to the inn.

The mayor looked at the faces. They did not include his son who was celebrating with his own friends. “Geman, I think we can leave him be, unless anyone thinks differently.”

No one spoke so he finished, “Good work today, I will see you here in the morning.”

Laster Cathad knew none of this. He was with his followers. They were not singing and making merry. They were plotting. The band called themselves the Revanthars after a warlord several generations after Naedrath. Some were too young to fight in the war. Some were conveniently elsewhere. Some fought, including two in Laster Cathad’s ill-fated raid. They fancied themselves a vigilante militia that would someday enforce higher codes of conduct than the Guardi. More than anything, they desperately wanted to be important. Each was a privileged son. They could afford fine horses, kit and lifestyle. Some could afford more than others but none had to work. Six of the twelve were at the long table of their favorite tavern. 

Laster was holding court, “Men, there is a problem we may be able to repair for Trum Dreng. I understand an Elf has come to town after consorting with elements of the crown in Rohan and Isengard. I cannot imagine he means us well. We should keep an eye on him.” He turned to obsequious Tem, “He is staying at the Fair Maid. I want you to drop by before we join our friends tonight at the Brimmam’s party. Rogad probably has one of his trolls watching. If he is there, just take it up in the morning. Gol, you be there tomorrow too. Let us plan to talk again after midday.” 

_____________-------_____________

Nag Kath had no plans but he had an excellent vantage point thanks to poor Mr. Levanthar’s cancellation. The streets filled with singers, puppeteers and jugglers. Loud vendors with carts hawked hot meat pastries. Flowers were everywhere. The common folk were out in force. Farmers from far and wide came to celebrate. They were still two months away from the harvest but had saved their coppers for tonight.

As darkness fell, Nag Kath went downstairs and had dinner with another visitor who was in the wool trade. When he wandered out the door, his shadow was gone. Good. Perhaps they let the poor man go home for supper. He felt refreshed after washing in his basin and donning a new shirt, socks and undergarments. Turning right on Thomald the crowd became less affluent but more enthusiastic. About halfway between Quigley and the south gate he heard music that reminded him of the Catanard.

This would be a farmers' bar. Men and women were dancing with heavy boots to a reel played by a fiddler, flutist and a man slapping an assortment of drums. Most of these folks knew each other. Nag Kath took an empty stool at the bar and was served an ale. No barley-spirit house; this. You had your choice of red beer or red beer. That was more than Vandery could say. It was loud between the musicians and abuse the wooden floor was taking. He liked it though. There was no pretense here. Every other song, one of the farmers was reluctantly put forward to sing with the trio. They were good. Nag Kath wondered if they had practiced knowing their friends would badger them to perform.

Dancing here was like the lower two levels of Minas Tirith. That changed as you climbed in the White City. At the highest end of the scale were celebrated artists who traveled with their own musicians performing historical pageants. Those usually cost money so he only saw the free shows supported by the Merchants Guild.

It was private dancing that fascinated Nag Kath. On the fifth level were small clubs where couples would dance with each other in sensuous rhythm to no more than three musicians. These were dances of mature love. They swayed and caressed as if preparing for more intimate moments to come. Musicians who could time their pulses to raise passions were among the best paid in the land. The fifth level was above his society but he was an attractive man and club owners liked pretty men as ornaments. They let him sketch as long he wasn’t in the way. He knew Kataleese by then and adapted those movements with her. 

Well down the order of precedence, country reels were dances of courtship. No one was ever alone with a partner very long. They were performed as teams of sexes by design. That wouldn’t stop occasional fights when lonely men who had planned to approach a woman all year found they were in line. For the most part, people had a good time and sweated the beer out of their blood. 

As the dancers spun around the room, a sturdy lass kept looking his way. She wheeled over to his stool and manhandled him onto the floor. Her friends didn’t object. Elf reflexes helped him learn the basic steps as well as most of the people in the circle. At the stanza, men joined palms with the men across from them to form an arch. There were at least five arches in a row that women would duck under to then pair with one of the last two men for the next reel. Towards the end of the song, his powerful gal landed with a big-nosed farmer who smiled from ear to ear. When it came Nag Kath’s turn, the woman in his arms was his tall redhead.

_____________-------_____________

It wasn’t one of his “fast” episodes, but time stopped. They stood on the floor looking at one another while the other dancers twisted to avoid them. The song ended and the musicians sipped ales of their own. 

The heat between them needed to dissipate slowly. The cleverest quip would surely fail. This was a time when one of Nag Kath’s best traits served him. Learning a new language from scratch meant he seldom started conversations. That meant he seldom started stupid conversations. 

The woman finally said, “I saw you with the children at the Progress. They were having such fun.”

“Yes, they followed the sweet wagon.”

“I’m Talereth. My friends call me Tal.”

“I am Nag Kath.”

“Where are you going now, Nag Kath?”

The changeling thought a moment and offered in his stilted accent, “I will go to Arnor.”

The tension finally broke, “No, I mean tonight, silly.”

The Elf was still not used to playful chiding from the fair sex. “Oh, I have no plans.” Other than glancing at his lost ale, they had not taken their eyes off each other. He felt like swaying in fifth level movements.

She licked her lips ever so slightly and murmured, “Come, I know a place.”

She took his arm and they walked out the door then left towards the gate. Neither found much to say. These were among the poorer parts of town east of the high street. A block before his cobbler’s, she made another left on the dirt road of a residential district. The night was still young and more people were heading towards the sounds and smells of Progress night than leaving. He could see but wondered how she did. They arrived at a small house with a railed porch. By the light of a single lantern, an old woman sat in a rocking-chair knitting. Tal called, “Hello, Mrs. Skilleth.”

The old lady did not want to lose her stitch count so she said without looking, “Hello Anorell.”

Climbing the steps with Nag Kath in tow, Tal corrected, “No Mrs. Skilleth, it’s Talereth.”

Pinching her stitches to remember where she was, the woman adjusted her gaze and said, “Of course, dear. You both have such nice voices.”

“Mrs. Skilleth, this is Nag Kath.”

“Bout time! Your year is over.” Turning to the Elf, “So you’re the fellow she’s to marry!”

Most men would have coughed through their noses but Nag Kath did not understand. Tal rescued him, “Oh no, Mrs. Skilleth. That’s over. We just met at a dance on Thomald.”

The old lady reached the end of her row and put her knitting in her lap. She had a long, hard look at Nag Kath. Her vision was poor and the lamp only helped so much. She leaned back in her rocker and made a face, “Tal, be a dear and go get us some tea.”

Tal rose and asked, “Is the water hot?”

Mrs. Stilleth rocked gently and said, “There is cold tea on the counter. Cups are on the first shelf.”

Tal walked into the dark hall and felt her way to the tiny kitchen. She had been here before but it still took a while to find things. She groped where a nearsighted person would leave them. As soon as Tal was gone, Mrs. Stilleth stared at Nag Kath and demanded, “Why are you here?” The question was from a much deeper and colder place than protecting pretty Tal’s virtue.

Again, Nag Kath did not understand. As he tried to respond to the sudden change in the old lady’s demeanor she added, “You have not been here for a long time. You should have stayed away. It is not right that you came back! Where are you from?”

That was a question he could answer, “Isengard.”

She was not expecting that at all. "You’re an Elf? But you’re not. You have healed someone recently. I feel it. What are you?! And what do you want with her?”

That was asked as Tal emerged from the house with three mismatched mugs. Her face dropped. “Mrs. Skilleth, what ever is wrong?”

“Ask him.”

Still holding the mugs, poor Tal looked from the fierce old woman to the handsome farm hand and held back tears. Mrs. Skilleth croaked, “Here, give me the blue mug!”

Tal sat down and tried to give a mug to the blonde. After a moment he looked in her eyes and took the mug but placed it on the planks. In anguish, Tal finally demanded, “Someone tell me what is wrong!”

Nag Kath knew it was his turn, “I am come from a dark and terrible place, a place that was mercifully wiped from the face of the earth. I am the last. I do not know how she knows, but she knows. I should go now.” He had been judged again and found wanting.

As if nothing had happened, Mrs. Skilleth rose and yawned, “I get so tired these days. Good night, you two.” With that she collected her yarn and quietly walked into her home.

This time the tears came, another good time to say nothing. Tal looked at him as if to speak and changed her mind. Nag Kath reached down and sipped his tea. It was strangely sweet. Looking into his mug he muttered, “I am not what I seem. This should have been your night to forget your worries and I have spoiled that. I am so sorry.”

Tal wiped her nose with her sleeve. Did poor Mrs. Skilleth mean he was an outlaw or villain or someone who took advantage? She was a canny old crone. Oh, this was terrible! Nag Kath saw her distress and said as calmly as he could, “You are so fair. I remembered you from the street.” He touched her cheek with his fingers.

Tal suddenly reached for his hand and held it to her face. Mrs. Stilleth was right. Her year was over. This tender man was here, now. Tal allowed herself one last sniffle and took Nag Kath by the hand to the spare room.

_____________-------_____________

He woke later than usual. The sun was already up. Tal was curled against him sound asleep. He held her shoulder and kissed her neck but other than a small “Hmmmm” she did not stir. Nag Kath rose and dressed then tiptoed with his boots in hand to the porch.

Mrs. Stilleth was sitting in her rocker, this time without her knitting. Maybe she had seen men sneaking out before. The blue mug was steaming. Had he missed her building the fire and boiling the water? She had secrets too. In his life, that was not the concern it would be for mortals. He eased over to the chair he took last night and started to put on his boots.

“Man up the street can fix that hole.” Maybe her vision was better than he thought too.

“Bald, with a monocle?”

“Two monocles.”

“He is making new ones.”

The old lady screwed up her face again and snapped, “She wasn’t ready! And you should have known that!”

“Not ready for what?”

“To heal, of course!” Your kind can draw poison and disease with no thought. At your age with no affect at all.”

“What age?”

Shaking her head in disappointment, “Not the sharpest sword in the rack.”

“What age?”

“I figure you for early Third Age. Perhaps older.”

Nag Kath said, “I was ten months old when Barad Dur fell.”

Mrs. Stilleth was not ready for that. She leaned forward and said softly, “Tell me.”

He did. She sipped her tea quietly for several minutes in deep thought and said, “She has just finished her mourning, you know.” 

“It is still morning.”

The old woman didn’t notice, “Yes, yes, the boy was killed in a skirmish. Not much was said. It is her time to return to the world.” Gathering her thoughts, “Come back here tonight, young man. I will talk with Tal.”

Her gaze shifted behind his head and he knew the conversation was over. Pulling on the other oversized boot, he walked back to the stable. 

Amandrol was repairing a bridle. There were nine horses and A’mash who had been moved to another stall as the Progress visitors left. Most of the man’s trade was boarding animals for residents who had funds but not the inclination or space to keep them at home. Two carriages were under cover as well.

The man looked up as Nag Kath walked in. “Good morning, sir. I must say, you rise earlier than most this week.”

“Habit of a lifetime, and good day to you Mr. Amandrol. How is the horse?”

“I think that hoof will heal fine but you should not ride him hard for two weeks. There aren’t enough nails in that shoe to hold on rough ground at any sort of pace. I replaced all four and gave him the purge after you left.”

“I could use him this afternoon if he is fit.”

“The purge will take another day but he can ride.” The man offered the closest thing he had to a smile, “You might tell others not to follow close.” 

The Elf knew nothing of past Progress’ but appreciated courtesy, “I will keep that in mind. Thank you for taking such good care of Vandery. I’ll collect him after lunch.”

He slipped in the kitchen. His harridan must be off today but yesterday’s maid and another giggled when he stepped inside. The new one was comely and held her hand over her mouth so as not to betray a smile. The night man said, “Good morning, Mr. Kath. Nothing like a brisk walk to start the day.”

They knew he hadn’t returned last night. That must happen often at inns. It was better to pretend ignorance than embarrass guests with efficiency. Nag Kath appreciated the man’s discretion and smiled. “I’ll just go upstairs for a bit and come back for breakfast. Can I have my same table?”

It was later than yesterday’s meal. More people were eating but giving him the worst seat in the room would not be a problem. “Of course, sir. Shall I have your meal prepared?”

“Yes, but just fruit and loaves today, with lots of hot tea.”

From his room he peered out the drapes to the street below. His watcher was gone. He must have bored them. Nag Kath rinsed himself with a towel and fresh water before more new clothes and breakfast. After eating he organized his art supplies. This was a genuine commission and he shouldn’t shamble in with moldy paper. Everything seemed in good order. He had to sharpen the pencils that had banged around inside. The paper and charcoal were fine. Nag Kath walked over to the window and looked through the drapes again. People were up and about. This was a normal business day even if some of the shoppers nursed pounding heads. He stayed to his room.

_____________------____________

At the mayor’s home, negotiations had gone well. The Shurat, his two sons and the Shurat’s uncle had come with a small honor guard who were under strict instructions not to pick at old scabs.

They and the Trum Dreng contingent agreed on the major items that had been discussed by their representatives. Uncle Advernath Maedos summarized, “Gentlemen, now that we have come to honorable terms, I believe the next step will be to send a contingent to the White City and show the King that we are capable and dependable vassals. We have it on good authority (better than he wanted to share) that his Highness is not using his position to extract tribute even from enemies, much less friends.

"I propose that the Shurat’s Second Son and myself join a like number of your representatives along with staff and servants to visit Minas Tirith shortly. There we will make the case that this region is very much as King Elessar should want it while we consolidate our positions within the lines we have just drawn.”

Vellend spoke for the region, “We have discussed this among ourselves and agree that an embassy to the White City is appropriate. Perhaps even a permanent presence as barge traffic improves. It may also be in our best interests to have representatives in each others’ districts to avoid misunderstandings.” Everyone there knew that essentially meant hostages against good behavior but that was a time-honored practice. Lackluster cousins would be promoted in short order.

Mayor Cathad said in good spirits, “Formal documents are being prepared for our signatures.” Nodding to the scribe, “If you gentlemen could join us for a light lunch, they should be ready when we have dined. I understand cook has done wonders with the first blueberries of the season.”

After his own light lunch, Nag Kath went out the front door to Chanderie and Family to see if he could replace his gum eraser. These were made of sap gathered from the baelus tree. The same girl shook her head. There were no such trees in Trum Dreng. His old ones still had life and they would have to do. He did get a nice leather satchel to hold his hard board, smaller papers and supplies more manageably. For this commission he still brought the full tube.

The Elf walked back to the stable. No one appeared but Vandery was already saddled and fit for travel. He scratched the horse behind the ear and got a muzzle in his face. Nag Kath was secretly relieved. He still hadn’t saddled the horse himself and winced remembering the Rohirrim kneeing their mounts cinching the belly strap. 

Nag Kath rode down Thomald and turned right about even with the farmer’s tavern on a road that soon crossed a hundred yards of jagged rocks before opening onto a modest area of homes. He followed Mr. Meados’ instructions and was there in another ten minutes. Vandery caused no outrages. Slowing into the courtyard, a man in civilian clothes but with undoubted army countenance took the reins and asked him to present himself inside the double doors. Before he got there; the doors opened and a similar man said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Kath. Follow me.”

He was led down a short corridor to a dining room where he found his employer reading a note at the table. Mr. Maedos rose immediately and shook hands. “I am so glad you came. I hope you enjoyed the Progress.”

“Very much, thank you.”

Meados said, “Let me introduce you to father.” They went a little further into the corridor to a living room on the other side. At the window was a powerfully built man of average height looking over the grounds. Neither of the two younger men disturbed him but he quickly turned and walked over.

The man was an artist’s dream. He had a complex face with a beard and full head of black hair that was enhanced by a shock of white brushed back from his widow’s peak. The man was younger than Nag Kath expected given the maturity of his son. He shook hands with the grip of a bear, “I am Boronos Meados. Thank you for coming. Has my son explained what we want?”

“Nag Kath, sir. We discussed that but I would like to get your thoughts too.”

The elder Maedos gestured to a small table with four chairs. The Elf started, “I understand this is a formal portrait to match those in your family hall. I hope you can tell me if I need to follow the style of former portraitists or if you are free to make your own decisions.”

The men looked at each other and the younger said, “They are quite different. Some are pencil and others ink. One was painted some time ago but, I confess, not well.”

Boronos added with a laugh, “Not a single smile among them! Mr. Kath, I’m sure whatever you suggest will be fine.”

“One last question sir. Do you have a size in mind?” He took the top off his tube. Both men watched intently but kept their hands on the table. Nag Kath pulled the roll of papers out and said, “This is the largest size I have but not the best. This one is the largest I have in the quality I think you need.”

Boronos immediately pointed to the smaller, whiter stock.

Nag Kath said, “Fine. If I have liberty to choose, I think the light would be most flattering in the corner by the window. Mr. Maedos …” looking at the younger, “… if you can you help me move this table to the center of the room we can begin.”

The Elf did not know these were the lords of the lower Cartrev. They moved their own furniture as if born to honest labor. That shock of hair! Painting would be even better but for ink over pencil on the white paper, it was still there for all to see. Maedos senior held quite still in a good pose not knowing Nag Kath had already remembered it. The portraitist got it on the first draft.

Fifteen minutes later he looked up, “Sirs, if you would care to look, I can continue or start over more to your liking.”

They peered over either shoulder. It was certainly better than anything hanging now. Nag Kath had kept the fierceness of the man’s eyes and a small scar as they were. Maedos junior observed, “That is you for the ages, father.” Maedos the elder was about to say something when the attendant who showed Nag Kath in entered and stood patiently. Both men walked over to him. After a moment, the younger man said, “If you would excuse us, Mr. Kath, a matter needs our attention. Please continue and we will return shortly.”

Nag Kath filled in the rest of the shading and started to ink the major lines. Only a few would need it. And that shock of hair!

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, Shurat, quite sure. He is just outside.”

All three men walked out the front doors to the artist’s horse. There could be no doubt. That was Olan Gangmir’s saddle and probably his horse too. And they knew the man had been spitted like a Syndolan pig barely a week before. What their friends could get out of the rattled survivors was that the tall, blonde man was a tough customer indeed. It was time for answers, but the blonde man had been too obvious to disappear just after concluding their agreement with Trum Dreng.

The portrait was done. It was better than they hoped. And now they might find out a good deal more before the ride east. The Shurat said, “Mr. Kath, we were about to have a drop of wine after a successful day. I would be honored if you joined us.”

“Thank you, Mr. Maedos. Yes, I have nothing pressing.”

They went to the dining area where he met Davet Maedos and a servant brought a small pitcher and matching cups of thinly thrown clay with a blue glaze – Elvish he thought. After the wine was poured, they were left alone.

The younger Maedos asked about the fine horse Nag Kath was riding, an error. He could not have seen that horse from the house. They had a purpose here. This must be part and parcel of how he had been overestimated by everyone else. 

Nag Kath said in his Elf Lord voice, “Sirs, I came by that horse a few days ago. He is sweet tempered but a very plain nag indeed. I have nothing to hide and would be glad to share what I know, but in return, I need a few answers also.”

Boronos answered for both of them to confirm his assent to his son, “That is the fairest proposal I have heard all day. We have terms.”

Nag Kath went through rescuing the salt merchants and killing the villain, though not how the sword got through him. He also said he was traveling north from Gondor and stayed in Orthanc over the winter with Mithrandir’s tutoring. He did not mention his origins and neither man asked. There was not much to the story. It also confirmed some of what the Maedos already knew so, presumably, the rest was reliable.

Boronos said, “That is a fair account. What you do not know is that the fellow you killed was a famous bandit in the region and was allied with the enemy during the war. You sit on his saddle.” There was no need to say the man Nag Kath hit never woke up. 

“My son and I are from just east of here at the invitation of Trum Dreng to make amends after long grievances. If you are here from Isengard, you already know some of the history.

Nag Kath said, “I do. Was it your men who brought home the silver tray?”

Another confirmation of truth, “It was, thank you. And now, through no fault of your own, people want to know why you arrived from such an ominous place at the same time so much was occurring here. Your tale sounds innocent enough.”

Nag Kath thought a second then asked, “I don’t suppose he has anything to do with another bad ‘un named Lev Corsann? I had to settle a couple of his trolls getting here.

Boronos smiled. “You do our labor for us, Mr. Kath. Now, you came here on business. What do we owe you for your fine work?”

The Elf considered, “It seems I need a new saddle.”

Both Maedos gave genuine laughs. Davit said, “I think we can manage that. Before I forget, you said you helped salt merchants. We have salt in our home region.”

“The Durgan cousins. One broke his leg but he will live. It was they who told me to keep the horse.” The Durgans were known as fair dealers in the Gravenwood. 

The Shurat rose to conclude the meeting. Again, the bear grip. “I do not know if your travels will bring you our way again, but if the Maedos can ever be of assistance, you have but to ask.”

_____________-------_____________

Intrigues were cooling. Mayor Cathad, the Captain and leading lights of Trum Dreng were pleased how things had gone with the Meados. The Elf seemed to be harmless so surveillance was dropped. He could purchase all the underpants he wanted, bless him. The Meados clan felt the same way and had received valuable information along with a good likeness of the Shurat in exchange for common knowledge and a saddle that wasn’t branded by a dead outlaw.

Those were added to the long list of things Laster Cathad did not know. At their chosen tavern, “It was him alright” toadied Tem. “Tall, blonde, man. He snuck in to see the Meados at their hired houses on the west side.”

Laster inquired, “How long was he there?”

“Two hours at least. Rode a rebel horse. Carried things in with him.”

Consorting with easterners little better than the hillmen! “Good work, Tem. Who else knows this.”

Tem considered, “Gol was with me. No one else. We managed to give Rogad’s men the slip.” He did not know that Rogad’s men had been reassigned. If they hadn’t been, they would have certainly seen Tem and Gol crashing through the bushes.

“Has he changed his location?”

“Still at The Fair Maid. Keeps the horse and a mule behind.”

Laster said evenly, “Amandrol will be no help.” The stableman was ex-Northpass Irregulars. He belonged to the old way. Laster now spoke in august tones. Unless you knew him, he had the gravity of a leader. “Keep an eye on him Tem. I will tell the others to prepare.”

Nag Kath had the afternoon to burn. His boots should be ready tomorrow and the cobbler would replace his current soles while he waited. The trousers and jacket should be complete too. His new saddle was a deal better than the old. Now that Vandery had been pampered and he had fresh togs, both cut finer figures than on their arrival.

He took Vandery back to the stable. Amandrol’s man was washing a new horse in the small paddock. “Hello there, I’ve brought him back for you.”

“Right you are sir. If I remember rightly, he gets his oats at supper time.”

“I don’t know, but that should be fine.”

Nag Kath handed the young man the reins and turned towards the Fair Lady when he heard, “Yes sir, your mount has admirers, he does.”

A hair stood up on the Elf’s neck. “You don’t say.”

“Two fine young men, gentlemen from the hill, they were. They were here this morning before you left. I think, no … wait … well, one of the horses we board belongs to a cousin of theirs if I understood them rightly, beggin’ your pardon for not paying better attention. I had a surly mare who hain’t eating right. Her …”

“He seems such an ordinary horse.”

“If I might make bold sir, he won’t win the Gate Run anytime soon. But they looked. Thought poorly of the saddle, though. I see you have another.”

A friendly businessman, Nag Kath calculated, “Well if they are interested in him, perhaps we could come to terms. Do you recall their names?”

“Oh yes sir. Everybody knows them. I just know them as Tem and Gol. Right proper fellows. Friends of Laster Cathad, that’s the Mayor’s boy. He and his fine blades will be important someday. Not that they pay me no mind.”

“Well, that gives me something to go on. How will I know Tem and Gol?” 

“Tem is short, dark haired, sports a hat something like yours but black. Fine boots. If we can keep this to ourselves sir, his beard is not the manliest. He would be better shaving like yourself.” He stroked his own respectable whiskers with his thumb and forefinger. “Gol is tall. Not as tall as you but taller than me. Sandy hair on the curly side. Not as well dressed. Good rider, I’m told. May have seen service in the east. Has a small scar below one eye, not that he hain’t a regular gentleman, mind.”

Nag Kath handed him a five-groat copper, “Let’s keep this between us” said with his finger alongside his nose, “No need to let others change their minds, eh?”

“Right you are, sir. I’ve already forgotten.” Nag Kath ate supper early. Almost nobody was in the restaurant. It would be a slow night as residents of Trum Dreng aired the alcohol out of their systems.

_____________-------_____________

What did he know? It seemed the two political factions got what they came for. If the guardi was still following him they would know about the Meados visits and the dry goods. They would not know about his boots or his new britches since he went through the kitchen on that trip. He wasn’t sure but he doubted he had a tail meeting Tal or the old healer. The clumsy trooper in the alley would have been obvious.

Now there was this next generation of lordlings. They may only want to buy a horse but he could not imagine anyone who could afford better walking through horse drostsh in fine boots looking at poor Vandery. 

Tomorrow he would be shot of Trum Dreng. He had had an excellent time. Soft bed, no meat stew, a lovely encounter, hmmm … and the last of Quastille’s wardrobe. Now, about this Laster fellow … It was time to visit a drinking hall where men the Mayor’s age would complain about things they had no intention of fixing. The Tradition was just the place. Those already here would be the last to leave too. He would hear their grievances!

He walked in and looked about the room as if he was to join or be joined. A well-preserved woman asked, “Is sir expecting someone?”

Nag Kath fumbled through, “I’m not sure. I …” turning to the woman he whispered, “Could that be Mr. Rastemulth? No, that’s not it. It has been so long …”

“The one in the gray sweater? That is Mr. Fandelving, sir. He is one of our regulars.”

“After my father died … let me just pay my respects. Could you have a pint of red brought to the table next to him?”

“Certainly sir, or perhaps a fine barley spirit?

He grinned, “After the Progress, I need to pull back.”

“Of course, sir.”

Nag Kath chose a chair that was in view but not directly facing the two men. He placed his tablet and papers to the side and rubbed his temples with his fingers. And he listened.

“I tell you, a tax to build that foolish Naedrath monument is a waste of money. People only come here to drink!”

Mr. Fandelving couldn’t agree more, “And we would need a new granary as well. Had they even considered that?”

“That bothers me less. It is a poor place for a granary now. I would prefer somewhere protected up the hill in case the lower orders get hungry!”

“Good point. Now what of these young people drinking before the procession? A man needs sustenance but …”

A maid brought Nag Kath’s ale with a smile and a curtsy. This was a tavern for folk who remember how things should be, by the Valar! When she was gone, he peered towards the two middle-aged men and said, “Forgive me but are you Mr. Fandelving? You might recall my father.”

“I can’t say I …”

“I take after my mother. I thought I remembered you owning property. We left here long ago but, well, I’m sorry to bother you.”

“That’s no trouble. Are you alone? Why don’t you join us?”

“That is most gracious.” He took his beer and tablet and slid the chair over. “I am Nag Solvanth,” one of the scratcher's names he pulled from memory.

Handshakes all round including Mr. Temid Lustical who asked, “What brings you here, Mr. Solvanth?”

“I helped some gentlemen offering fine salt from the mountains and stayed to enjoy the festival. It has not changed much … but I was so much smaller then.” He paused and made a show of considering his words carefully. “Though, I confess, I saw some fellows about my age making rather free with the townsfolk. Mounted, well set-up, seemed to own the place. Forgive me if I sound rustic, but my upbringing was in the old way.” He had to bite his lip to keep from smiling when he remembered Uruks beating each other senseless with wooden swords. That now seemed long enough ago to put in perspective.

He had hit a nerve. Mr. Lustical had comments at the ready, “That would be the Mayor’s son and his hangers-on. Bad lot. Or what’s left of them. They took the bait for the basest of ambushes when the Lendings pushed west.”

“Aye!” Fandelving exclaimed, “My cousin’s boy got an arrow in the gut. Took him two weeks to die!”

Nag Kath fanned the flame, “But the war is over. What business have they now with horses and arms?”

Both men started with, “They are playing at soldier.” Lustical continued, “The boy, the older boy I should say, is the crown-prince. His father is a good man and will probably live to a ripe age. But Laster is not content to bide his time. His fellows all have money and idle time. My own son thought to join their company until I declared I would name his idiot cousin as heir unless he attended to manly pursuits!”

Nag Kath weighed that, “Rich boys sometimes tend that way.” He smiled, “I had no such temptations. Do these young men actually meddle in Guardi business? I would see them taking a dim view of that.”

Fandelving this time; “Mayor Cathad gives his men a long leash. But Laster is his son and spoilt as old milk. Wise men avoid him in their councils. But a couple times since the war, his riders, ten or so …”

Lustical corrected, “A fair dozen with the Neth Falamn brothers, another bad lot! Fancy themselves the Revanthars, after another warlord, probably.”

Fandelving again, “Call it a dozen then. They decided the town fathers weren’t moving fast enough to remove undesirables. One time it was a family from Cartrev. Another it was … help me here Lustical.”

“Something to do with a traveler who claimed congress with dead relatives. Just a petty swindler selling ointments. The Quigley boys weren’t having that, I dare say. Roughed him up a bit on the way out the gate.”

Nag Kath let a little envy bleed into his next comment, “Though I must say; they have handsome horses!”

Fandelving agreed, “A fine breed from the coast. Don’t you think Temid?”

“Aye, temperamental, though. Better suited for open war than chasing around the city after each others’ wives!”

They all laughed at that.

“Well Mr. Lustical, Mr. Fandelving, I shall distain their society, not that they would keep company with a tradesman’s lad. Where should I avoid them?”

“The Loadstar. Up Quigley.”

_____________-------_____________

Unusually for Nag Kath, he was trying to think of several things at the same time. That had not gone well before so he took them in their turn. He looked forward to seeing Tal again, ever so much. But he may have caused her lasting pain. Healers in the style of the old woman were so rare. A few Elves could pull ailments from their patients and dispel them as easily as he passed the strong barley malt. But men suffered and women more. Gandalf had explained as much with the miner’s little daughter.

Nag Kath remembered feeling unsteady after pulling her fever away. That was why the old woman was so upset. Tal could have had a life and family before her calling was revealed. A woman with child was in grave danger. Now it was too late if she embraced the touch.

And then there were the Revanthars, led by the Mayor’s arrogant son. A brave man by accounts, but a fool. And a fool could get far more men killed than a coward. Well, if they were as hapless as the two gents in the pub said, they would show their hands soon enough.

Both women were sitting on the porch. Mrs. Stilleth was rocking and knitting a garment that had not taken shape. Tal had her feet curled under her as she gazed at in the distance. She had a faint smile. Both noticed him at the same time. He was a big man but made little noise when he climbed the steps and invited himself to the last chair.

Tal said softly, “I knew you would come.”

The old lady was counting stitches and looked at him after she had pinched the row on her needle. “I wasn’t so sure! You made rather bold with the poor girl!” 

Nag Kath looked at Tal, smiling with his eyes, “I did indeed. Tell me of your conversation.”

Tal only had the first syllable out when Mrs. Skilleth announced, “She knew. She knew all along! I’ve been wrong twice in one day and I don’t like that.” 

Tal continued, “I have always known I was different. That is probably why we had to move so often. Mother could heal too. Our cuts and chills were always well before the other children’s. I just didn’t know why.”

Someone needed to say something. Mrs. Skilleth had just started another row so it was up to the youngsters. Nag Kath took the lead, “I also have healing skills …”

The old lady was still listening and rasped, “You’re an Elf! That’s nothing to your kind!”

“Part Elf.” No one took the bait. “And part orc and part wizard. The Queen thinks I am Sauron himself waiting to beset free peoples again. Take your pick. Did you tell Tal my age?”

“Haven’t gotten to it.”

Tal’s face turned white. Had she joined with an ancient being who walked the earth when her own kind were unimagined? She knew her legends.

“Two weeks ago was my third birthday.” With a fair grin, “It was a modest celebration.”

“Mrs. Skilleth never looked up from her work. She had to turn a heel or elbow so this was not the time to waste what vision she had on these two. “So, you are a monster. What are your plans for my poor girl?”

The poor girl defended herself, “We haven’t gotten to plans. We met at a dance last night. My year was over. I brought him here and I knew what to do with him.” She smiled demurely at the changeling, “I hope you didn’t mind overmuch, Mr. Kath. You smelled so nice.”

“Just Nag Kath.”

“Well then, what are both of you going to do?” snapped the old lady.

The Elf considered that, “I fear I have no better answer than Tal, Mrs. Skilleth” who had suggested no endearing diminutive for herself. “I was cast out of Minas Tirith by the King, mostly so the Queen wouldn’t kill me. I traveled to live with Gandalf, Mithrandir as you know him, for seven months. He didn’t kill me either but instead told me to visit the lands of ancient Elves now long dead or blended into other lines. And he told me to heal, because there is so much healing needed in this land. 

“I will do as he said.” He looked at Tal wistfully, “But there was no plan to take anyone else into harm’s way. And now I have met her and am bound to her on short acquaintance. I fear I am at a loss for solutions.”

The old crone put her knitting down. Nag Kath thought she must do it to occupy herself. They were discussing matters of more moment than baby socks. “That was a good answer, young man. What about you my dear?”

“I will both heal and love. And I will take what the world will deal.”

“I will have to teach you, else you’ll pull a sickness out that will kill you instead. You accept this as your fate?”

“My destiny, Mrs. Skilleth.”

“Haven’t both of you got anything better to do?” Nag Kath and Tal rose without any idea why. “Nag Kath, I will probably never see you again. You are an honorable young man. Much too good looking for the women of Dunland” she cackled, “but you’ll be gone soon. I wish you well. Gandalf was right. Heal this land. Heal as many hurts as you can because you can.

“Tal, come see me soon. You have much to learn.”

_____________-------_____________ 

The tall couple wandered wordlessly back towards the high-street. The sun was setting. They wanted to be alone. She roomed with three other women after her late husband’s family claimed their home. Tal took him in hand to a small restaurant a block west of Thomald. Not all in Trum Dreng drank alcohol. The proprietor at the Wending was one such. They served plain fare with tea. Though he looked local, there were some who thought the owner might have foreign blood for he seemed to find spices and flavorings that made his dishes more interesting than up or down the street.

Tal called to the kitchen, “Hello Mrs. Lembert. I’m famished.”

“Then you came to the right place. Hendrith has some lamb stew left.”

Nag Kath had already eaten which made it easier to ask for just tea. The cheerful Mrs. Lembert said, “I’ll be back in no time, dear.”

At the Wending you sat where you liked. They took a table in the back. It was getting later than most folks stayed out now that the festival was past. Mrs. Lembert returned with a bowl of stew and two mugs. There being nothing else the young couple needed, she disappeared into the kitchen.

Tal said softly, “Whatever will I do with you, Nag Kath? ... Nag Kath?!” For such a personal discussion, he was utterly distracted. Well of all the …

He whispered, “Stay here. Do not move. I must see to something. I am afraid I have attracted unwanted attention. I mean it, stay right here!”

Tal had never seen anyone move so fast. All she heard was the back door click. Two minutes later, he returned the same way he left.

She said thinly, “You didn’t keep going!”

Nag Kath had not learned the subtlety of gentle taunting from the fair sex. “No, you are here.”

Three years old, and only just that! Had she had been indiscreet with a mere lad? “What was that about?”

“I am being followed, but not very well. What do you know of the Revanthars?”

“Rich boys. Some nasty, some dull, some do what they’re told. The mayor’s son is their leader. Why?”

“They seem to have taken issue with me. And I fear for your friend now.”

Talereth recalled, “Mrs. Skilleth helped one with an arrow infection some time back. I think she would have let him die but she is poorer than she’ll admit.”

“Do these lads know you?”

“They have made … suggestions. Some would be a fair catch but I don’t think they stick. They don’t know who I am, no.”

“Then enjoy your stew. Just follow my direction when we leave.”

“I will not be told what …” 

Nag Kath put his finger to his lips. “You must trust me.”

She would trust him. Tal had burning questions but hadn’t eaten since last night. Ransacking Mrs. Skilleth’s lean larder yielded crumbs so she ate every bite of her stew and wiped the bowl with the last piece of bread. 

Hand in hand, they left the Wending and walked slowly up Thomald, hugging the building fronts. A block up, one storefront projected further into the street than next. An instant after passing that, Tal found herself in Nag Kath’s arms in the alley behind the stores fully a block north of where they were walking She tried to squeal but he had his hand over her mouth. He put her down gently whispering, “This way.”

They slipped in the Fair Maid kitchen and up the stairs to the top floor. By all accounts, old Mr. Levanthar would have approved. 

“What are you?” Not asked in fear, just wonder.

“When I learn, I will tell you.” He kissed her. He kept kissing her.

At dawn, he woke and looked out his balcony window to the street below. There was nobody in sight but the fool left his horse tied to a post one door down. Nag Kath climbed back in bed with Tal and caressed her.

“Ummmm.” Her eyes opened. The Elf wondered if old Mrs. Skilleth had slipped something in their tea mugs the first night to keep her close. 

“What are we to do, you and I?” he asked tenderly.

“You have to go and I have to stay.” A solution Lentaraes would like. “At a different time it might be other than that, but we must both find ourselves.”

The Elf offered practical advice, “You needn’t stay here, you know. Go to Minas Tirith. They are more modern there.”

“I will fly there after breakfast.”

“My but you have a saucy tongue.”

She showed him. Half a bell later, “Fly or walk, that’s a long way for a poor girl.”

He jerked up on his elbow. She remembered thinking; this could not possibly be the grin of an Elf or orc or dark lord of any sort.

_____________-------_____________

“I tell you, Laster, the dougsh visited the old healer. Sat there talking with her and a young woman. Not hard to look at, the other. She seemed quite stern with him. He was not there for herbs.”

Laster Cathad had to think about this. He knew of the old woman. She had healed one of his comrades. But the man had drifted away from his loyal group so he owed no quarter to someone who might be a witch. “Tell our men to prepare. And DO NOT let him out of your sight. It is time to make ourselves known.”

It all depended on timing. 

He told Tal his plan. It was absurd, of course. Nag Kath took her downstairs and through the kitchen to the alley. She would have to walk from here. He went back into the inn and had a hearty breakfast. Then he went out the kitchen to the stable. “Hello, Mr. Amandrol. I need a favor.”

From there he walked so he could not be followed southwest through parts of the town he had not seen before, not far from the Meados compound. An hour later, it was time to get his pants and boots ... boots first. His new friends did not know anything about them. The door was unlocked. “Good day sir. Are you here?”

“Where else would I be? Oh, it’s you. Good. Step inside.” 

On a small table next to where he sat the last time were a pair of boots and a pair of shoes. He picked up the boots first to admire them and started to sit down.

“Not that chair. The rung’s still loose.” On the good chair he unlaced his boots and tried on the new ones. They were stiff. He had never worn new footwear. The old man knew what he was thinking, “They will loosen-up with wear. Rub the outsides with tallow to keep them supple. It will take me a day for those.” pointing at the boots Nag Kath just removed.

“My schedule has changed and I must leave today. Why don’t I just take the new soles and attend to that further along?”

“Fine by me. You’re paid up. ”

“Where is the Loadstar?”

The cobbler put the far monocle in his eye and asked softly, “Now what would you be wanting there?”

“They have taken an interest in me.”

Even a hard look through his monocle couldn’t find why the blonde man would be interested in that troll cave. “You’re at the Maid … only half a block up then make a right and down that lane to an intersection. It is a large building with the bar in back where the Mayor’s spawn holds court.” 

“Would it be fair to say you don’t supply boots to the Revanthars?”

“It would be fair to say.”

Nag Kath wore his new boots and put the shoes and his old boots in a sack. His next stop was the tailors. The lady of the house opened the door and invited him in. Tea was served immediately. They thought highly of his praise for their native blend.

“Ah Mr. Kath. I was just about to have Deloush deliver your goods. You have saved him a trip.”

“Splendid, Mr. Juegesh. Now, could I ask you to translate something into Khandian for an old friend?”

There were only a few errands left. It was time to be noticed. Nag Kath went back to the Fair Maid, inspecting some of the alleys between buildings along the way before slipping in the kitchen. Only pausing for a mug of cold tea, he left through the front door. 

After being burned the night before, his new friend would be vigilant. Good. Nag Kath kept in plain sight two blocks down Thomald and then ducked obviously into the gap between the Charter Company and Mama’s Linens. Only this time, he was still there. The little man cautiously rounded the corner and was instantly hoisted to eye level by the meanest Elf he had ever seen. The only Elf too, but this was no time to compare. “What’s your name?”

“Tem?”

“That’s not it or you’re not sure?”

“Temolan Neth Falamn. Folks call me Tem.”

“Sweet dreams, Tem.”

Nag Kath headed left two blocks on a side street until he saw the right lad and called him over. He might be twelve, almost old enough to be apprenticed. This was not the poorest district but still a place where a boy his age should appreciate the value of money. A couple groats secured his cooperation. The lad insisted on staying in the open. That showed good sense. Fancy gentlemen flashing coin had left here with boys who were never seen again.

Elf and lad trudged back up the street parallel to Thomald then turned left to the square. Past the Fair Maid, they stopped on the corner leading to the Loadstar. Nag Kath said, “The two was just to start.” He produced a silver, two month’s wages for the boy’s father, and laid it in his palm. “Now listen carefully.”

Half an hour later, the boy walked into the Loadstar and asked for Mr. Cathad. The barkeep pointed him to the room where said young Cathad and six of his bucks were sipping their ales slowly, keeping their wits sharp.

The lad was not naturally timid but the tall stranger with cash said to seem so. “Are you Mr. Cathad?” as if he didn’t know.

“That’s me. What do you want boy?”

The lad stammered, “I’ve got a message from Tem. Gave me two groats too.”

“And what does Tem have to say?”

“He said he couldn’t come because he is with your friend. Said the Elf was planning fell sorceries with a witch to spoil the grain stores. Some Lendings were involved … sorry, I didn’t get that part. Said you should be there after sundown.”

Laster Cathad grabbed the boy by the front of his shirt asking, “Why should I believe you?”

The boy opened his hand. In his palm was Tem’s ring. “He’ll give you the sign.”

Laster Cathad, son and heir, leader of the Revanthars who would cleanse this district on their way to bigger things, produced a five-groat coin of his own. The lad thought the Mayor’s boy could have done better than a fiver as he skipped to the rag man’s. The tall stranger told him to get new clothes and a haircut that very day.

_____________-------_____________

Laster Cathad showed unusual discipline. A leader of men should be patient. All eleven remaining Revanthars slowly rode around the eastern side of Trum Dreng until they reached the side street leading to the loading dock of the granary. This was a tight area of town dating to days when streets could only accommodate a small cart. When he ran things, Lord Cathad would remedy that. In the darkness behind a rooming house they waited for Tem’s signal. 

The men were well fitted; boots and saddles polished. Their fine mounts were in fine trim but a little touchy. After ten minutes, some started snorting and pawing the dirt. Just then, a blinding flash silhouetted the granary from the Thomald side followed by the thunder of trolls. Laster Cathad had been born for this. It was time to show his quality. No more Mayor’s boy. He had men at his call and a destiny! This wasn’t Tem’s signal. This must be the foul sorcery of enemies he would settle.

“Swords! Charge!”

The horses had to run single-file in through the narrow lane. The larger entrance to the loading area on Thomald was still blocked by the temporary viewing stand for the Progress. Black smoke filled the space which was now in full darkness. 

Where the devil were the lanterns!

Nag Kath watched them from the roof of Elath’s Farm and Feed. When all eleven were choking and swearing, he raised his face to the moon and howled like a pack of tsitsi warags at the top of his voice.

The effect was instant. Horses reared and bolted in all directions trying to leave this horrible place. Five or six riders were thrown instantly. Cathad landed on one leg with a sharp snap. The rest of the Revanthars were scraped off on walls and posts or flung into trash some fool had piled in the alleys.

His work done, Nag Kath jumped off the building and walked south. None of the townsfolk opened their doors. He wondered if Chanderie and Family would sell out of underpants again. Making the plan perfect; a terrified mare careered straight at him. He caught her reins and gentled her as only an Elf can. Hopping on, they made for the south gate, the only one manned after dark. The horse picked her way north until the ground became uncertain. Nag Kath climbed down and waited until dawn. 

Half an hour after first light, they rode to a country crossroads. Tal and Mrs. Skilleth were making breakfast in his new frying pan. Captain Marchand was already eating his. The Captain’s horse, Vandery and A’mash were grazing together in a flat just beyond.

The Captain shouted through his eggs, “We could see it from here!”

Nag Kath dismounted and looked over his shoulder. The smoke had cleared. It took all of the match powder Gandalf gave him. Walking towards the Captain and ladies he said, “I’m afraid the Mayor’s son will be walking slowly for a while.”

Captain Marchand said heartily, “I shouldn’t worry. There may be an opening for lamplighter soon.”

Drawing closer Nag Kath joked, “This is a hard town to buy boots!”

They shook hands as old friends. The Captain glanced at the watching women and said more seriously, “I think we both got what we wanted.”

“Rogad too?”

So he knew about that. “Especially Rogad.” The Captain looked over his shoulder and said, “At the speed you’ll travel, you’ll make the river tomorrow afternoon. The barge chief’s name is Arcadlan. No need to mention me but you will find him …” searching for the perfect word, “… accommodating.” 

“And barges out the Grayflood?” 

“The river is low enough for those and the ferry. You might have to wait a few days, but I don’t think anyone from the Northpass Brigade will follow.”

“You were right Captain, we did meet again.”

The next evening, Nag Kath, the women and his three animals arrived on the banks of the Dunsenorn. Not as important a river as it would become, it flowed from Lich Bluffs through the Mournshaws and into the Grayflood. They had to stay three days for a westbound barge that would take the women to a ship and then to Gondor proper. 

Nag Kath could have taken the ferry across the river anytime he wanted, but he and Tal found things to do while waiting.


	10. Remnants

** **

** _Chapter 10_ **

** **

** _Remnants_ **

**Helpful maps are Eregion, Tharbad, Greyflood Basin. [https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8 ](https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8)**

Nag Kath stood at the water’s edge and watched the barge make the bend. Then he walked to a grassy knob above the log scars and sat. He had never felt like this. He was in pain. No one explained this. In Edoras there was pain and also redemption. Not now.

On the way here he thought Tal might stay with him but by the time they reached the barge camp, her mind was set. In the end, the safest place for the women was the most dangerous for him. He kept asking Tal to stay until she broke down and begged him not to mention it again. They would talk about other things in the time they had. They also took walks or rides out of sight of the camp to be alone. Bless her heart; Mrs. Skilleth kept her peace about their union. She had something to say about everything else, including sharing the sharp side of her tongue with leering bargemen wondering aloud about the couple’s absences. She even managed to sew the new soles on his boots. On the morning of the fourth day, the women loaded their modest possessions on a sturdy barge and waved goodbye. 

He was sad. So this is what that meant, why there were so many songs about loss. And he wondered about children. He liked children. He and Tal had been close for a full week and he knew even one joining could produce a child. Would she have a baby? Would he ever know? 

Nag Kath’s pain was derived wholly from the world of men. It would be years before he discovered the vast differences between how men and Elves viewed bringing new life into the world. For Elves, a child was a communion. Rare fertility was anticipated knowing that acceptance meant a commitment lasting thousands of years. The babe was not only a child of the parents; he or she was also of the community. Their upbringing and understanding of their world was as important as conception.

In the brief, uncertain world of men, the fleeting confluence of opportunity, fertility and attraction was seized whenever it happened. Men had fields to plow and loads to lift and aches to tend when their lifetime of labor wore them down. Joining was inexpensive pleasure when the sun set. Babies born to parents paired by local custom fared better than others, but in the scantly populated world they inherited, all children had value. High or low, love depended on the people in their lives. Communities took care of them as well as they could and grandparents were honored for their guidance.

Marchand was right about Arcadlan the barge chief. The burly waterman explained what to expect, the time it would take and what a reasonable charge would be up the Anduin to Osgiliath. He also said Tal and Mrs. Skilleth could use his name with several captains who would keep an eye on them. Two women on such a trip were rare and Nag Kath would have worried except he was fairly sure old Mrs. Skilleth had more than healing spells in her quiver. Arcadlan knew the spirited mare would bring a good price with his partners at the Greyflood, enough to cover the women’s passage to the sea and then some. Alas, the distinctive Revanthar saddle and tack was accidentally dropped in the river. 

The barge chief was a hearty man with a good sense of humor but was respected by the twenty-two men, give or take, who worked the river. They paid well here and expected it to be earned. He was also a smart man and quickly decided these were not idle travelers. The old woman did not have a local accent but her daughter did. And the Elf, if that was what he was, did not act like an Elf. Elves were never alone. The man said he was part Elf, but not which part. Most curious; he, Arcadlan and his acquaintance Captain Marchand all wore the same make of boots. So Nag Kath would have spent time in Trum Dreng. It was none of his business, but he could tell the young couple’s pain and like the old lady, stared daggers at anyone who snickered.

The crew was part of a timber operation. Associates upriver cut pine and fir trees along the banks of the Dusenorn to float downstream. This was the point where the river became relatively calm. That was good because larger barges could be built and floated more safely to the big river. It was bad because without the momentum of the current, logs tended to stick in the banks. One of the main jobs here was to herd them into booms that would be guided downriver by barges. 

To work both sides, a ferry had been constructed with a horse winch on the south bank that would pull the ferry barge across, much like the iron bucket in Orthanc. On the north was a pole sunk deep into the ground with a greased capstan to reduce friction. The winch had a pawl just like in Orthanc so runaway logs or barges snagging the line would not kill the horse. At dark the line was left loose on floats to catch logs for the morning boom.

Men labored from sunup to sundown. Since logs coming from upstream were sporadic, these fellows also made barges and sawed trees into planks. They hated sawing but they liked eating more. Several deep pits were dug just above the waterline and crossed with squared timbers. Logs were dragged by the horses lengthwise and sawed with a man walking the log and another in the pit pulling the other end of a two-handled blade. New men got the pit.

Arcadlan told Nag Kath he could take the ferry any morning the men went over, or any time he wanted thanks to that fine horse, but the Elf wanted to stay with the women, the girl in particular. Who wouldn’t? Some of the bargemen were envious but the pretty Elf also practiced combat drills with that Rohan tooth-picker to wile the time and no one wanted to be on the sharp end of it. 

A new barge was ready on the third evening. The women boarded with their modest bags the next morning and watched the camp fade with Nag Kath standing at the water. Arcadlan did not know they had five Florins sewn into their skirts and another Florin in nippers and silvers for spending money to reach the White City. They were embarrassed when he gave them so much. He insisted. It would not go as far in Gondor as it did here but it was still enough to live comfortably for quite a while.

Arcadlan sat next to the Elf who hadn’t moved for hours. Usually when he wandered off by himself he took something to draw on. This time, he just sat there. As a younger man, Arcadlan he had to leave a sweetheart behind so he knew how the blonde whatever-he-was felt. Tomorrow it would be time to leave. The barge chief said, “Now, are you sure you want to go north? A man is all alone out there.”

“Nag Kath simply replied in his strange accent, “Yes, everything I need to do is there.” He had a pleasing voice and the accent was the sort women might find appealing. Arcadlan knew a few Elves and they did not sound like this one. He also knew there were half-Elven Elves. Maybe Nag Kath was a half-Elven man. Both of them rose and walked back to the river. The ferry was returning for the evening meal.

At the barge camp, you had better like fish. There were all kinds and they were easy to catch. Baited hooks were set out by Cookie in the morning and they were mostly full by dinner. Sometimes big fish ate the little ones caught on the same line. 

Tonight’s supper was no different. For the first three days, the Elf ate with the women. Now he was just one of the lads. Nag Kath helped them tap a new keg and told stories of the trip from Rohan. When they went to their bedrolls, he walked back to the grassy knob to watch the moon on the river.

_____________-------_____________

Men would have swum back from the far bank at dusk. North of the Dunsenorn was a graveyard. To the east were mass burial pits of Angmar mercenaries and Dunlending hordes. Anyone you asked would tell you their spirits were angrily awaiting resurrection by the next dark lord to wreak their revenge on living men. There was always another dark lord.

Directly across the river were the Mournshaws. 

Other than having been one, Nag Kath knew little of men’s terrors. They learned those fears in swaddling clothes. He had seen undead ghosts pass through the walls of his dungeon so he doubted a river would stop them, but the sawyers clung to that prayer and he did not gainsay them.

There was not much to the trip. The ferry was for logs, not travelers. Both animals were tied from either side to keep them from slipping overboard if they fell. Vandery never relaxed. A’mash was alert but as long as the Elf was in sight, he stayed calm. Nag Kath spent most of the twenty-minute crossing looking over the bow at huge trout swimming east. When the nose eased into the mud, men wistfully wished him well and set about their work.

South Dunland was crowded compared to here. The North/South road was a goat-track. Nag Kath could see it had been graded for wagons and troops long ago but now it was only visible because the grass was a little browner. Though hopeless for wheeled traffic, it was excellent for hooves. They made good time on the flat, featureless terrain. Trees were rare. There were no streams large enough to fish but the water was sweet. Berries had come into season and there were other greens Nag Kath could eat. The vista teemed with game since there were no men hunting. Some creatures he had not seen before included huge deer who kept their distance. If Nag Kath ate flesh, he would never lack for it.

Three hours after making the bank he saw a large arch off to the right. The two pillars were stone statues of stern, armored men staring north. Nag Kath supposed them Numenorean kings since that was all they carved. The kings seemed lonely. Perhaps they looked home in regret. 

They stopped for the night without having seen a soul. Nag Kath hobbled Vandery near some tasty weeds. A’mash knew better than to wander. With so few trees, Nag Kath had to search for enough wood to make a small fire. A warm mug of tea and a few bites of mock-Elvish waybread made for a pleasant end of the day.

Nights in the wild were dull for him. The animals needed two or three hours of sleep. After Gandalf's purge, he usually only needed a few hours of Elvish rest. He wished he could see well enough to sketch but there was only the barest crescent moon tonight.

As he saddled and packed at dawn, Nag Kath felt crackling in the air, as though a thunderstorm was coming. The sky was blue with a few fluffy clouds so he paid it no heed. His copy of Saruman’s map was outdated for town names but the lay of the land was accurate. They would reach a forest by mid-afternoon. Sometimes he trotted over to high points for perspective but only saw more of the same. 

On schedule they came to a blanket of trees. Four tiny houses were set along the bank of a small brook leading from the woods. There wasn’t a soul here. He saw no bodies or burning or signs of fighting. These people just left. Nag Kath stashed the bags in the house with the best roof and looked back at their road. There were straight borders to some of the fields, memories of being plowed. Beyond the last house was a paddock about ten paces square. It was rickety but still intact and full of grass. He put the horse and mule in and shut the latch.

After a week of travel and barge-camp he smelled ready for a bath with his new soap! It was just what he needed before clean new clothes. He thought he could get used to that. It was earlier than he usually made camp but this was a logical stopping-place so he gathered sticks to make hot tea in a well-used fire circle. As the flames rose he felt the crackling again, like the spark of touching someone’s skin in winter.

Vandery felt it and started to snort. When Nag Kath turned to look, A’mash was fidgeting too. His ears popped like they would when climbing in the mountains. From nowhere, a heavy mist formed to the east aided by no wind or rain.

Something was coming.

His beasts neighed or brayed nervously looking for escape. A few seconds after that, they heard the howls. No, not howls like wolves or warags. It was baying, dogs on the hunt. Eight huge wolfhounds, twice the size gentlemen keep for sport, poured out of the mist and surrounded Nag Kath. They came no closer than ten paces, neither snarling nor barking. But they never took their eyes from him. Vandery and A’mash were strangely calm. The Elf had to rely on his hearing for that because he kept his eyes trained on the hole in the mist the hounds had opened.

Now he heard hooves, one heavy horse. Through the same gap in the mist charged a rider who must stand at least ten feet-tall on a roan horse sized to fit. The steed reared and came to rest. In a rumble lower than the voice of any man, the creature barked a short sentence in an ancient language.

Nag Kath replied, “I am sorry my lord. I only speak the common tongue, and that, badly.”

The rider considered that a moment and swung down from his horse after taking a hunting axe from its strap. “I asked; who hunts my land without leave?”

“I am Nag Kath, thought I do not come to hunt.”

As the figure walked closer Nag Kath could see he was armored head-to-toe for tournament combat, not battle. He wore a helm crowned with huge antlers making him even more fearsome. Nag Kath could not tell if he wore a mask. His eyes shone bright white but shed no light. “Any who wake my hounds are here to hunt … or ...” with menace “… be hunted.”

Nag Kath knew he could not defeat the giant in combat even if his sword wasn’t in the hut. And his short bursts of speed could never outrun tireless immortal hounds. So he stooped to the most treacherous ploy imaginable; good manners. “I was just making tea, my Lord. May I offer you some?”

“TEA?! I am the Wild Huntsman, Maia to Oromë the Great Huntsman! I hunt and slay fell beasts and dark servants yet you offer me TEA?! Do you not know me boy?”

“I confess I am young and unversed in noble lore.”

The Wild Huntsman looked at his dogs and then was lost in thought for a moment. Nag Kath needed to do some thinking of his own, and quickly. Gandalf once told him the great Bilbo played riddle-games for mortal stakes with a dragon and some sort of wraith. The questions and answers didn’t matter as much as talking long enough to find an escape.

The Huntsman spoke, “You are not a man. My dogs do not wake for men. I must treat with wretched rangers occasionally. Hounds do not hunt them. I would have called you Elf, but you know nothing at all! The pack brought me to you and yet they do not rend or hold you for my stroke. What are you … and why should I not slay you?!”

Nag Kath could not ask grace to consider his plea more carefully so chose three guidelines: first; this creature was older than the ages. He would measure time in events, not years. Nag Kath would speak the truth in the broadest terms. Second; he would not beg for his life or offer excuses for trespassing. The Wild Huntsman had heard those for thousands of years, probably to little avail. And third; he said he was Maia to Oromë. Oromë must be one of the Valar whose name Gandalf failed to pound into his head. The Maiar were their servants. Well, he was on a first-name basis with a couple Maia himself so he would drop their names as shamelessly as the oiliest second-level bead-peddler.

“Lord Huntsman, I was Uruk-hai to Saruman of Many Colors.” A hound behind him growled. “When Sauron was destroyed, I became as you see.” Nag Kath was skating on thin ice here. Those two were Maiar as well and traitors to Oromë’s house. “I was remanded to Mithrandir’s charge and he discovered I had been created using Saruman’s own blood. I can heal the hurts of men so Mithrandir and Radagast (bless him, this was a good cause) ordered me to care for the world of men until I proved my honor.”

The Huntsman growled, “That still doesn’t say why I shouldn’t take your head, changeling, lowly thought it is!”

That was it! That was the opening. The Huntsman was bored! He may be one of the most powerful and ancient creatures on earth but he was still in Dunland. Nag Kath had done some traveling and this was the most benighted land he had yet seen. The dark powers had been concentrating their trolls and orcs near Rohan, Gondor and Dale for centuries, only conscripting the wretched Dunlendings for hopeless frontal assaults. Nag Kath hoped the Huntsman didn’t have to eat the fell beasts. If he did, the poor man hadn’t bagged so much as a scabby cave goblin for the pot since the fall of Barad Dûr.

“I cannot say, my lord. Perhaps the wizards sent me here for your judgment.”

“I doubt that. We have not spoken in an age.”

It was time to set the hook. “The wizards will be leaving Middle-Earth now that their labors are complete. They know they will not be here to see if I fulfill my charge. They must also have known your hounds would feel even the shadow of my former self and bring me to your verdict.”

Nag Kath sensed a hint of sadness in the Huntsman now that his developing brain could understand his own sadness. The Huntsman said ruefully, “Nay. My guests and I would slay dozens of fell creatures and then repair to my hall to feast on deer and boar and fowl with the finest ales. My dogs would not have wakened for such as you.”

The Elf’s fate hinged on his reply, “Then they must have sent me to help you.”

The figure seemed to grow even taller. He hefted his axe with both hands at shoulder level, “You are too bold, little changeling! I am the Wild Huntsman. Why should I treat with an errand-boy for weak old wizards; meddling and poking and conjuring?! Tell me now; ere I separate your empty head from your shoulders!”

Nag Kath spoke softly; a trick of Quastille’s when it was time to secure the commission, “Radagast must serve a while longer. His care is for the birds and beasts and forests that will take several lives of men to repair … the blink of an eye in your measure, My Lord. Mithrandir will be welcomed in Valinor very soon. And when he is, will that not remind all of the Valar that their noble servants deserve noble labors?

“And yes, I know little. But I have courage and I speak truth. I go forth to heal hurts big and small, though some bring me harm. And if for that my head still offends, take it now and be done.”

For an agonizing minute, the Huntsman did not move. His face betrayed nothing. The dogs and steed were still. Nag Kath had forgotten about his own mounts. Very slowly, the Huntsman lowered head of his axe to the ground and let go the shaft. He reminded Nag Kath of the great kings holding the arch, frozen in stone, staring home. They had been forgotten too.

The figure removed his helmet. He did have a face, hardened and chiseled but not a monster. It was the face of one who had seen so much. The Huntsman walked directly up to Nag Kath – towering over him as the Elf did the Dwarves. “You are right, little changeling. My pride has kept me here too long. I will seek the counsel of those still willing to give it.” An afterthought, with the hint of a smile, “The wizards did not send you, did they?”

Nag Kath managed a hint of a smile too, “Not that they told me, noble Lord.” 

The Huntsman paused, “And what should I do for you? You showed the courage of the greatest hunters standing naked and alone. What would you ask of me for your pains?”

“I need nothing I do not have.”

The Huntsman removed his right glove and placed his hand on Nag Kath’s shoulder. “Take this, for my sake then. You may need it ere we meet again.”

The great hunter’s eyes changed from white to all the colors of the rainbow in a flash. Then everything went black.

Nag Kath woke on his back exactly where he had been standing. It was morning. The ground was dry but he had been rained on at least once. His lips were parched. He forced himself to his feet as he had a hundred times before and slowly straightened rebellious joints and muscles. Finally cricking his neck around in a circle, he surveyed the land.

A’mash and Vandery were in a field a hundred paces back towards the river. Nag Kath walked gingerly to the paddock. Two rails were kicked out. Every blade of grass had been eaten to the roots. The animals looked at him but went back to their weeds so he stretched and bent while trudging to his packs in the hut. They were dry. Pulling a match from a backpack pocket, he made his way to the fire circle.

It was time for that mug of tea.

______________--------______________

It was before lunch with plenty of time to travel but Nag Kath stayed at the abandoned village for the rest of the day. A’mash and Vandery seemed fine. The horse’s hoof had healed noticeably. Nag Kath was not hungry this time but forced himself to eat more waybread and berries. 

Every few hours, he would see the flash of colors from the Huntsman. It was not painful and he questioned if the Maia had placed a tool in his mind or just a powerful memory. With idle time, Nag Kath wondered if these Maiar came in colors. Saruman had been the White until he became of many colors. Gandalf was White now but had been Gray … a promotion? Radagast was brown. There were other Maiar. Was it a gift? Was it a test? Had he been colored? Time would tell.

The next day they made their way into the forest. It was much different than the Bonewales. The trees were of the sort that lost their leaves in the autumn – very stout and very old. The branches hung down like a father stooping to lift a child. And unlike the Bonewales, there was undergrowth of ferns, mosses and mushrooms. None of it looked appetizing so he ate from his pack and shared oats with the animals.

It seemed that these trees could have more easily been cut and tossed into the Dusenorn than far to the east. Maybe they were too hard, good for fine craftsman but difficult to work for beams and boards. They might also be the sort of trees that had strong opinions about men with axes. 

By nightfall they reached an established campsite that had been cleared with a fire ring and thoughtfully limbed logs as benches. Nag Kath started a fire for tea, oats and a fish he pulled from the stream on his idle day. The map showed them breaking clear of this forest about lunchtime and starting a slow descent towards Tharbad. That would be the longest stretch on his trip without expecting at least the vestige of a town.

This was about the time Nag Kath stopped measuring time in days. He still lived them in order, but for the next four days, nothing changed in his life. At the end of fourth day, they reached a small farming settlement on a sizeable creek leading to the Greyflood. In all that time, he saw no one on the road and only one hunter on the horizon. There were no rooms here so he spread his bedroll under the stars.

Rest did not come. After a day of calm, he was revisited by the Huntsman’s colors and thoughts of Tal. Would she always stay with him? A pocket in the pack had three pictures of her. Two of them were posed. He tossed those in the fire. The other was drawn without her knowing, slightly in profile, looking at the river with her enigmatic smile. He kept that. It still made him sad but there was something unknown that compensated. He felt very lonely. Old men said such things would pass. He would never be old.

Late the next morning they could see the ruins of Tharbad. The ground to either side became soggy with tall reeds sporting heads like bread sticks. Different types of birds flew about or walked on tall legs looking for unwary prey. 

Tharbad must have been impressive until it was brought it low. And this was not a merciful death in war. Great waters rose and leveled most of what stood. Wind and weather was chipping the rest to sand. He looked at walls and columns still standing and realized modern men, lesser men by learned accounts, could never build these again. Elves founded the city followed by Numenoreans who lived many lives of Fourth Age men. They could not abide imperfection for hundreds of years so they took what they felt was a reasonable period to fashion great works. No one today could conceive of undertaking a project that would not be completed in their grandchildren’s time. That also made Nag Kath sad. Was the best behind us? Had the wizards sent him forth in vain?

The walls were long gone but the trio walked in from what would have been the main gate. There were folk about. Most stared secretly but a few looked openly. Children marveled at A’mash’s impressive eyelashes. Despite the desolation, life went on. 

Nag Kath saw a small person standing next to a cart in the distance. It looked a bit like a man cart from the White City. Was this one of the Halflings who were said to have lived here long ago? He very much wanted to meet one that he hadn’t been ordered to capture. As he got closer, he saw that this was not a Hobbit and his little cart was on fire so he cantered over to warn him.

That was not necessary. It was a meat-pie wagon and he was cooking sizzling food on an old infantry shield hung over a burning square of peat. He was a man, about the size of a Dwarf but misshapen from birth. The carter welcomed in a booming voice, “Good sir! You are just in time for a fresh batch.”

Nag Kath had no interest in fried meat rolls but he did need information so he dropped Vandery’s lead and stood at the cart counter.

The cook pitched, “Singles are a groat or three for two!” That was probably three times what they were worth to someone who would eat them but the Elf was here for news. “Excellent! I’ll take three and tea if you have it.” The man did and gave him a mug along with a leaf holding the greasy pies.

Ignoring the unknown meats he wondered, “Can you tell me the day?”

The little man replied, “Wednesday. Wait, maybe, no Wednesday.”

Doing his sums, Nag Kath had been unconscious six days. He continued, “Thank you. How fares your city?”

“Grand, I’m pleased to say. Oh yes, sir. Barges are floating this way after many years. Tharbad is rising again!”

“Good. Have you lived here long?”

The fellow smiled joyously and walked around the counter. His right leg was shorter than the left so he lifted up and down as he walked powered by massive buttocks. The carter offered a hand wiped on an equally grimy smock and said, “Born and bred! I am Belfalas. Welcome to Tharbad!”

“I am Nag Kath and pleased to meet you. That is a noble name. Do you have kin along the bay?”

“Might have once. My parents thought I would die so they named me after an uncle with money. Never saw any of it.” 

“Tell me Belfalas, where might a man find room and board here?”

“If you walk up the trail to the south heights there is an inn called the Foundry. Ain’t never stayed there, but a man could do worse. Those of us below the second water line stay here, if you take my meaning. But that doesn’t matter.” With the same cheerful tone he continued, “Things are grand! People buy my pies and my children will be citizens of proud Gondor! Arnor will be across the river. It is a good feeling, I must say.”

Another emotional bolt fell from the sky. They never landed cleanly. 

Nag Kath was the perfect being. After a humble start, he was beautiful, not poor, had skills beyond mortal imagining and would live forever. And yet he brought his sadness and pessimism here to be shamed by a soul who, to all eyes, should have nothing to look forward to except hobbling painfully every day to sell his little pies.

It was love. Love was the redemption of sadness. Nag Kath had loved. Love was what kept him from burning the last picture. Love gave free peoples hope when they should succumb to darkness. That was the reason his side lost the war, why they would always lose. Men and Elves and Dwarves fought for what they loved, though it may turn them to anger and hatred. It made them stand when his kind ran. It made them build according to the limitations of their lifespan, but all built because they loved.

Nag Kath took two coins out of his pocket. With sleight of hand he stacked a five-groat copper on top of a similarly sized nipper on the counter to look like two fivers. “Belfalas, thank you for more than I can say. There is something extra for your counsel.”

He walked towards Vandery trying not to cry like a baby. Belfalas stared at the coins and called, “Come see me again!”

Nag Kath took Vandery’s lead and did not look back. He could not bear the gratitude of the little man who had given him so much in exchange for so little.

______________--------______________

He would have to consider this epiphany later. Several large fellows near the former gate had nothing better to do than stare and he needed his wits about him. From the meat stand to the top of the hill was only a twenty minute walk.

It must have been a magnificent view before being wiped clean. Tharbad in its glory housed about 20,000 souls inside the gates and thousands more around the perimeter. It was like a smaller version of Osgiliath except for a long island in the middle splitting the water flow in half. The famous bridge pylons were largely standing but the spans had all been swept away. 

The southern third was the oldest and highest point of the city and had quite a few buildings whose foundations survived the highest water mark. This was also the better residential area for town burghers. At one point the river island had most of the docking and commercial buildings but also housed a number of inhabitants. It suffered worse than the south but some of it had been rebuilt modestly. The northwest bank was erased, save occasional chimneys that stood like broken teeth. 

From the main road Nag Kath turned right on Rath Romen to a large stone structure that was built with defense in mind. You had to climb fifteen stairs to reach the only door in front. Windows were well above the street level and louvered for archers. The second story was just as fortified.

He left Vandery and A’mash tied to a wrought iron rail and walked up. It was dark by the door. No one rushed to him so he called for help. His Elf ears heard uneven steps coming up from the basement and a few minutes later a middle-aged and much put-upon woman approached. She looked him up and down but said nothing. He hoped he picked the right building. The sign out front did him no good. Nag Kath wasn’t bashful so he said, “I was told I could get a room and stabling for my animals.”

The woman had not trained at the Fair Maid, “Eight groats a night and three for your beasts, but we don’t feed them. You have to do that yourself.”

He held to his practice of wanting to see a room. She turned and climbed the stairs as though drawing movements from a finite well. The first room at the top was small but clean. He also got a better look at the windows. If there had ever been glass it was long gone. Heavy wooden shutters remained. If you wanted light, you could enjoy the breezes.

He asked, “Do you have any on the river side?”

Grudging steps down the hall and over one brought them to an identical room overlooking the island. He said, “Fine, I’ll take it” and handed her a tenner. Somewhat unexpectedly she declared, I’ll have a boy bring up your bags and take the animals around back. Check your key downstairs.”

He noticed no cooking smells. It seemed guests were in the same situation as their mounts. As dear as little Mr. Belfalas was, Nag Kath could not bring himself to eat the greasy pies. It was some time before the dinner bell so he took his art satchel downstairs to kill the hours. 

The right half of the downstairs had all the shutters open facing the river and a row of comfortable chairs pulled close. He walked over and saw a man in the garb of a traveling merchant reading a book near the far end. Reading was uncommon in Dunland, reading through a pair of half spectacles even more so. The man looked up at him and nodded before going back to his book. Nag Kath took the farthest chair but then moved one over for a better angle of the island. 

_____________------____________

This is a good place to mention that while he was not a trained military officer, Nag Kath had a good eye for ground. Some of that came from shortly after he started wandering around in Minas Tirith with his sketch pad. He found a bench near the wall on the fifth level with a good view of Osgiliath. It was a ruin too but he drew the long lines remembering Quastille’s admonition to only add detail for a vista where you wanted someone’s eyes to land. 

An officer, a lieutenant he thought, strolled by with his wife and saw the picture take shape. To her boredom, the man stayed almost a bell explaining the siege defenses as they had been in their day. Nag Kath spoke little of the common tongue and was more interested in drawing, but much of the commentary stuck. The picture suffered for the one-sided conversation. His wife seemed mollified when he gave it to her.

To know ground you must know speed. He learned some of that watching the Rohirrim form and part as they moved the wagons along, almost like a flock of starlings. Imagining how long it would take to close on fixed positions helped him with his ambush of the Revanthars. Fortunately, he never saw his Uruk-hai training in action. Those that did only saw it once.

Nag Kath tried to imagine what the island might have been like but could not divine the use of an installation on the upstream end so he asked the man two chairs over, “Excuse me, sir. Can you tell me what the five-sided building was on the west tip?”

The man put a paper bookmark where he was reading and looked at Nag Kath over his half-glasses. “Artillery. Swept away or salvaged now.”

The Elf looked at his sketch and muttered to himself, “Fire ballista, I should think.” Then he looked up at the reader, “Thank you. I might not have guessed.”

The fellow wondered, “Say, do you mind if I have a look?”

“Not at all.” Nag Kath moved next to him and handed him the pad.

The man elaborated, “There was a sister here and trebuchet here.”

Nag Kath muttered, “Hard to wind without trolls.”

The man was not expecting that. “Before my time! And only good at night! Under the planks was a winch for a team of horses. Me, I would have put in more ballista.”

About that time the hostess came through and the man said, “Ah, Mrs. Plum. Could you see if there are two ales with our names on them?”

Very deferentially she answered, “Certainly, Mr. Morannen. I’ll see to it directly.”

Nag Kath was impressed saying, “I don’t seem to have your charm, Mr. Morannen.” Reaching his hand, “Nag Kath.”

The fellow took the offered hand, “Frand Morannen. People here are slow to make friends. You are a military man?”

“At need. But yes, I have seen service.”

“I should imagine you travel north.”

Usually Nag Kath would not have volunteered his route but highway bandits with spectacles were rare. Some of the worst fighting of the war was just above the Glanduin so learning about his road was the first order of business. He answered, “Yes, I came from Trum Dreng.”

“Nice town. Are you with a party?”

“No, I had thought to join a merchant train well south but they are scarce. They would still have to cross the river. Is that a working ferry stretched along the pylons?”

“Ferry, yes. Working? Depends who is waiting on the other side. It takes stout men onboard to pull and pole it.” Their ale arrived and the two touched mugs before sipping.

Nag Kath’s next comment determined his path. “It reminds me of a smaller Osgiliath except for the center island.”

Morannen apprised the visitor who was looking out the window. “Mr. Kath, it is not my habit to give unasked advice, but you seem a good fellow. The best way for you to go north is on the far side of the Greyflood, and even there you find brigands. Not much profit upstream, but some merchants go with the militia. I know a man who knows a man. If you are interested, they might be able to use a fellow like you.”

Nag Kath took another sip of the mild, tan ale. He couldn’t stay here forever. And he had more skills than the trader knew. Licking the foam off his lip he said, “Thank you Mr. Morannen. That might serve well.”

The trader cautioned, “Mind, I am not sure I can find them, when they are going or if they want company on short acquaintance. But I will do what I can.”

They talked about siege defense long enough to finish the ale and Nag Kath returned to his room. As soon as he heard the door click, Franden Morannen, as he was known on this side of the river, dropped his spectacles in his pocket and walked out the back door. Morannen was the operational chief of the Swan Fleet Command and he was quite sure a cavalry company was going upriver.

______________-------_____________

Sergeant Vikkanold could be Sergeant Matelar’s long lost brother. The man was shorter with a deep scar on his lip but they were made in the same mold.

Vikkanold had been told not to seem too enthusiastic to take on the mysterious man. His Captain said the blonde was probably a fair hand in a fight but the decision was his. Sergeant Vikkanold arrived at the Foundry late the next morning and asked if Nag Kath would mind stepping outside. The blonde man did not so they walked to a stone bench too heavy to be moved by the flood.

The Sergeant was taking a twelve-man cavalry troop across the Greyflood to ride up the northern bank towards the Misty Mountains. They were not going far, just seeing to disturbances. Nag Kath knew the man would not share much but he had decided this was still his best bet on the next stage of his journey. He did ask the Sergeant if his mule was a problem. It was not, at least not the Sergeant’s problem. They were leaving tomorrow, early, so he paid Mrs. Plum more coppers and drew a few sketches from the hill. The Boatman restaurant down the street specialized in the huge lustigga fish from the deep river.

The next day, Nag Kath reported to the nearest bridge pylon. The ferry was a smaller version of what floated down the Dusenorn. With men and mounts, it took three trips to get them all to the center and another three on a similar ferry to the north. The first third there fanned with their bows at the ready. Unlike the Dusenorn barge, the men had to haul on the rope themselves or pole along the bottom in the shallows.

Everyone in the troop eyed him cautiously and said little. It was no accident he was here and that was good enough. The Rohan sword drew some gazes too. They gathered on the bank until a man from the first trip emerged from the far forest and waved. It was time to move through what had been the New Gate in better days. From there the ground was very much like he saw on his approach but drier. A’mash was comfortable with the pace and Vandery’s foot was fully healed.

Vikkanold’s troopers traveled differently than the Rohirrim. There was a single van rider and no rear guard. They rode two abreast when possible. Most men carried longbows and quivers across their backs with swords at the hip. They traveled mounted but fought on foot. That wasn’t necessary by midday when they took a breather beside a creek pouring into the great river.

Nag Kath fetched a piece of waybread from his pack when a trooper called over, “That’s not necessary. Here,” tossing him a chunk of fresh loaf. Nag Kath walked over and sat next to the fellow. The man said through a full Dunland, no, Eregion beard, “Name’s Lotho.”

“I am Nag Kath.”

“How far you goin’ Nag Kath?”

“The Mistys. Further than you from what I gather.”

“I should say!” 

Always eager for facts, Nag Kath said, “Though I do not know if I will take the Bruinen or the Hoarwell to the East/West Road. It always seems there is trouble in my path.”

“Ain’t that the truth! 

“And you, Lotho?”

“Not far.”

If they were going to keep talking, it would not be about the company’s objective. That was a fair exchange. He was going in the right direction. Camp at dusk was a familiar place to the riders but they did not talk much to Nag Kath because they did not talk much with each other. Dinner was more bread.

The Sergeant called them to ride after boiled oats the next morning and they continued along the smooth path. They did not see any other travelers, just a few wagon ruts left in mud now hard. The north forest had been several hundred yards to their left for most of the trip but about midday it closed to within arrow range. The van raised his fist. Two men handed their reins to the troopers next to them and stole into the grass with their bows. Thirty minutes later they were back with nothing to report and the column continued.

Three hours later the forest encroached again but not as close. The men warily watched. A dozen arrows that had been shot high to fall steeply rained down on them. No one was hit. The Sergeant barked an order Nag Kath did not recognize and the troopers peeled off in either direction. He followed the soldier closest to him into a small gully. Other than to make sure he wasn’t visible, the man paid him no mind. 

These were veterans. Through a series of whistles and hoots, they established each other’s positions in minutes. Their attackers had not thought this through. They were too far to be accurate. The oldest trick in the book would have been to hope the feint would make the company run into a larger ambush. These men would not do that which risked getting pinned-down while a larger force closed-in. 

The Sergeant scrambled low to each of the men who were all within a fifty paces of each other. He looked at the trooper, “Fellis, you fine?”

“Aye, Sergeant.” 

“How about you, Kath?”

“I am fine.”

The trooper barely spoke, “Sarge, I pulled this out of the ground.” He handed an arrow to Vikkanold. 

The Sergeant nodded his head grimly and murmured, “These are our boys. Kath, can you handle that sword?”

“Yes.”

“You two are the last on the right. If they are coming around, it’ll be here. Hold and the other flank will swing towards the forest.” He was gone.

The young trooper knelt and spread five arrows beside each other in the dirt on his right side and nocked a sixth. His sword was next to them. Nag Kath had already drawn his sword. The two horses and A’mash knew to be silent.

They heard a rush of footsteps towards them. By the time Fellis looked up, half a head was rolling towards his knee. The baby-faced blonde man was crouched and staring upriver with two bodies at his feet. He turned to Fellis and nodded before walking soundlessly further on. Fellis heard the cuts but nothing else. The blonde came back as silently as he left.

The two heard arrows flying and a few sword strokes further up the slight grade to their left. Twenty minutes later the Sergeant returned and whispered to Fellis, “Got three. Rest are in the forest. Seen any this way?”

Fellis nodded first to the top of a head and then towards the motionless blonde crouched facing east. Standing, the Sergeant saw two slain rebels. Walking past Nag Kath he found two more. They weren’t just killed. They were hewn. This was fierce work. He came back and said softly to Fellis, “You boys were busy.”

Fellis still had his arrow on the string. He glanced at his sword and whispered, “I never picked it up.” They both looked at Nag Kath. “Sarge, what is that thing?”

Shortly afterwards, the men and horses assembled on the other side of a hillock. One trooper had taken an arrow in the thigh. The wound would not be serious unless the arrow had been poisoned. This was no place to stop so they lifted him on his horse and cantered to a defensible site.

That night Fellis just stared at the fire. His friends had all seen the carnage too. Nag Kath did not say much. Finally, the Sergeant sat next to him. He said nothing for the longest time. Then, without taking his gaze from the fire he spoke, “Never seen one man do that. If it helps, those raiders did the same to a merchant party last week. Only, they took two days.”

Nag Kath looked at him and asked, “Who were those men?”

“The enemy.” 

_____________-------_____________

A clean wound would have been too much to ask. The arrow had been tainted. Trooper Andros could feel the burning start to move up his leg. Even a brave man can only take so much. By daybreak, Andros was ghostly white

The trooper with the most medical experience took a look and told Vikkanold, “Gangeos.” It couldn’t have been a hand or foot or something they could have amputated. This was already in his body.

Nag Kath came over to the stricken man. “What is it?”

Lothos said, “Gangeos, it’s a roadside weed on the south bank. They boil it down to a gum and coat the arrowhead.” They were within earshot of Andros so Lothos mournfully shook his head to explain the rest. They could wait or ease his passing.

Nag Kath bent to see the wound. The arrowhead had been pulled cleanly but the slice was black and what looked like purple bruising had spread upwards to his groin. 

Gandalf had told Nag Kath to heal, though it put him at risk. After slaying four men whose only crime may have been picking the wrong fight, he would take that risk. Everyone was looking at him. In his Elf Lord voice he commanded three of them to hold the man.

Andros was in the last stage of terror before his body stopped fighting. Nag Kath put his hands to either side of the wound and concentrated. The faint silver glow began through his arms and worked into the man’s thigh. Andros screamed and another man slid a leather belt in his mouth. He endured five minutes of agony and then lost consciousness. 

Nag Kath rose slowly and staggered to his bedroll before collapsing in a sitting position. He tried to rise again but couldn’t. Was this the cure Mrs. Skilleth said could kill? He looked at Andros and told anyone listening that the man should rest and to force him to drink water. Maybe Andros would heal, but the company still had the same problem; they couldn’t move him without killing him or they could wait. The rebels they came for were mostly dead so they decided to give their man another day. 

Nag Kath fluttered around his own consciousness like a moth. In less lucid moments, he imagined the colors of the Huntsman again. When he snapped back, he asked for water. He did not remember the day becoming night. At dawn there was a canteen next to him and he drained it. No one sitting around the breakfast fire heard him until he walked behind them and asked, “How is your man?”

One of the troopers answered with a wary look, “Still sleeping, but he should have died by dinner yesterday.”

Poison was different than sickness. This was more like Trooper Mendos’ hangover, only far worse. His boots were still on so he walked over to Andros. The man was awake. His friends tried to spoon some oatmeal into him. He could not keep it down but he had managed to stand with help for a few minutes. Nag Kath crouched next to him and said, “You gave your fellows a scare. Drink as much water as you can hold.” He would do the same.

Sergeant Vikkandold walked from behind Nag Kath and said, “We need to get him on his horse and out of here. Will you return with us or continue on?”

The Elf turned to the soldier and asked, “Can I expect more of the same upriver?”

Vikkanold exhaled through his teeth, “They’re out there. But these were the ones we came for. These groups tend to fight each other as much as us so there may be some space between. Can’t help you past that. You don’t want to stay here, though.”

“I will go on. Good luck Sergeant. 

On his way back to Tharbad, Sergeant Vikkanold decided that if Morannen ever ran across giant blonde swordsmen again, he would take as many as they could spare.

______________--------______________

Nag Kath rode on Vandery at a walk. They would be easier to hit with arrows but that was about as fast as he could manage. After a few hours, the converted poison passed through his flesh and he picked-up his pace. He hoped the animals had grazed well because they were not stopping until dark.

That gave him a lot of time to think. The troopers could not have seen his defense against the rebels but he relived every moment. Nag Kath had been born a soldier, born to do exactly what he just did. He did not like killing. But the hard fact was that people kept trying to kill him. He was unwelcome at the nice places he had been. Hopefully, that would change. That afternoon he decided he had seen as much of this side of the Misty Mountains as he needed for a while. The new plan was to make straight for the High Pass.

A few hours before dinner he came to a small town called Nidada. The usual loiterers stared him as he walked horse and mule up the only street. There was an inn and it was cheap. They had a stable. He didn’t bother to check for bugs before he flopped into the bed and slept until almost dark. 

Dinner was stew so he ate waybread. They did have fair ale but he could not finish his first. He did drain half a gallon of tea. For the first time since he lost count, there were merchants abroad. In retrospect, Morannen did not qualify. He walked out to check on Vandery and A’mash. They were fine but needed brushing. It could wait. 

_____________------____________

In the morning Nag Kath felt fine. His ability to absorb and convert weakness was improving. What was it Mrs. Skilleth said; that it was nothing to his kind? Assuming one survived. Downstairs he said hello to two men of business. They were like the Durgin cousins who walked and led pack animals. With a moment’s grace, they could drop the bags and ride away. Rather than ask them where they were headed and seem a spy for brigands, he volunteered that he was moving upriver hoping to put them at ease. It did not. They stared at him like he was still an Uruk-hai. Nag Kath looked down and saw four or five large blood splatters on his tunic and trousers. Raising his head back to them he said, “We saw trouble twenty miles downriver.”

One of the merchants countered, “I’ll say! And what was that to you?”

“I traveled with a militia from Tharbad looking for raiders. We found them. I think we took seven but I cannot say how many were left. The soldiers thought few so they are on their way back now.” With thought, “That is a hard road.”

They did not say their path and he did not ask. It did occur to him to change clothes. Five miles north of Nidada he found a stream for a Kath bath and to rinse his tunic and pants. A proper laundress might have removed the stains but in his hands, those clothes would have to be for soldiering.

The end of the day brought him to the town of Filimer. It was where the Greyflood received about a third of its flow from the confluence of the Nen-i-Sul River. Folk here knew water was both friend and foe, depending on the season. Most of the homes and structures were built like barges with stout ropes around tree trunks driven deep into the ground and covered with pitch. Buildings sat flat on the ground most of the time but if the water got too high, they could float up another twenty feet before reaching the end of their posts. And even after that, folk still had a boat, of sorts. 

By necessity, floating buildings were small, light and only one story. The structures were more diamond shaped than rectangular with one of the sharper points facing upriver to divert as much current as possible.

Nag Kath tied Vandery and A’mash outside and walked up three stairs to what looked like a tavern and inn. The inside was unique too. To one side of the central front door was the public room. It had a long, high bar for drinkers and two long tables nearer the entrance. Rooms were to the other side. The room nearest to the tavern had double doors that opened in to the pub in case drinking paid better than sleeping or after the crowd went home. Nag Kath thought that would be the loudest room too and would get something down the hall.

A short, curvy young woman with curly blonde hair sashayed from the bar past other patrons to greet him. She was a promising package until he saw the copper ring. A walk like that meant either her husband was to be reckoned with or worried a lot. Her demeanor was no less forward, “What can I do for ya?”

“A room and stabling for two mounts for two nights.”

“We don’t see many Elves, these days.”

That confirmed something Nag Kath had noticed. The further north he rode, the more people would assume he was an Elf, even with his hair over his ears and dressed in mannish garments. Elves were fresh in living memory as allies. 

“Ah, I am but part Elf.”

She languidly looked him up and down and asked the usual question, “And what part is that?” in a manner that made him hope her man was not the large, jealous type. That or long gone. He'd had enough fighting for the week.

“I am not sure.”

“Fair enough. Room’s six and one each for your horses. It hasn’t happened in six years but if they have to come in here, that’s another ten.”

Nag Kath rescanned the room. Yes, a full room and half a dozen horses would make this cozy indeed. He leaned over to be closer to her face and said, “Perhaps something down the hall?”

She swayed a few steps that way before turning her head to say, “Follow me.” The room was tiny but the bed was surprisingly long. This might be the place in the world where men were taller. It was clean and un-infested so he counted two tenners into her small palm. “I’m baking fish and potatoes. Should be ready in two bells.” Slipping back into her come-hither voice, “What do we call ya?”

“I am Nag Kath.”

“Whilmina.”

With that he went back out to stable the animals and collect his pack.

His luck was in. Regardless of how the later evening went, and that could swing widely, this woman was considered one of the better cooks on the high street of Filimer. People who lived here came to eat. Come the meal, folk lined long outdoor tables like the mess hall in Orthanc, first in small groups and then wherever they could fit. Not surprisingly, the space to either side of him filled last, but his neighbors did not seem awed by rubbing elbows with one of the Eldar.

Good! Maybe this meant he had finally escaped the tribal violence of Dunland. He thought back to the poor Wild Huntsman with nothing fouler to chase than swamp rats. The old boy to his left repeated his hostess’s comment through fewer teeth, “We don’t see many Elves hereabouts.”

“I am only pa …”

“Course, I heared you’s leaving. Going across the sea.”

This fellow was not a pure source but it was probably time to get a local feel for his ancient kin. Others nearby were either staring or trying to pretend they weren’t listening. That was fine. He had come from humbler beginnings than anyone in the room and he could now hold his own in pub conversation.

“My people were all killed down south a few years ago. I’ve never been here and thought; why not visit? I don’t suppose you know if there are Elves up the Bruinen?”

An older lady across the table saw her cue, “That’s where you’ll find all the ones on this side of the mountain.”

“Do any live here in Filimer?”

They had to think about that for a second. The man next to the lady said, “No, your folk came through in the war but they do not consort with us.”

Nag Kath thought to make some friends, “Well, that is their loss for not associating with such fine folk as yourselves!” With that he raised his mug to a chorus of “Here, here!”

A girl of about fourteen who wasn’t far on the family tree from the sultry innkeeper somehow balanced six plates at a time with a generous helping of the same kind of large pink trout Nag Kath saw crossing the Dusenorn. The kitchen was a separate building that wasn’t not on a raft. That made sense. They might have to rebuild the shack around the heavy oven but it would still be there when the water receded. Half a pint of ale was a groat.

Nag Kath watched the man with few teeth mash his fish to a pulp with his fork before shoveling it in. No wonder the Elves did not eat with lesser men. He ordered a pitcher for his new friends and asked, “Now, tell me …”

At about what would be the nine-bell, Whilmina rang a gong over the bar to signal that folk should drink-up. It didn’t take long. His little party all agreed he was the grandest Elf they ever broke bread with as they waved goodbye. That was probably true. And he learned a fair deal about his road ahead. 

Behind him was a capable militia that had made enough examples of raiders near Filimer that they stayed on their side of the Greyflood now. Upriver, things became more civilized, although he would find marshes three days after taking the ferry across the Nen-i-Sul. There were the occasional brigands, but not former soldiers cast adrift for losing. These fellows had always been thieves. According to the best-informed among them, the road stayed dry now that the flood season was over. He should expect mosquitoes the size of ducks.

The crown thinned to just him and another traveler. The girl was piling plates and mugs in a tub for washing outside. His hostess had a far-away look in her eye as she surveyed the room. This was a good turnout. Nag Kath never did see her man. She looked over at him. He nodded.

______________--------______________

Whilmina was the first lover who knew he was leaving. She urgently satisfied her needs well into the night and was gone in the morning. From the small-talk in-between he learned she and her husband owned this and two more floating inns. Since these structures had to be light, as your business grew you built more of them rather than add to an existing barge. Her husband (he was relieved to hear) was strictly a business partner. They lived apart on good terms. The woman probably wore the poor fellow out. 

The girl slept on a cot near the fireplace after everyone left. Nag Kath thought it dangerous for someone of her precocious development to stay in the public room but Filimer seemed a trusting place. Gandalf and Lentaraes told him of courtly virtues among higher persons. He hoped he was getting closer to that. Filimer was not there yet either, which was not all bad. Whilmina would not be welcome in stately halls, at least by the women. Here, her guests all greeted her warmly and hugged or waved as they left. And they would know Nag Kath was not the first guest whose door she had locked from the inside. 

He wandered out of his room. The girl curtsied and asked if he wanted a bowl of porridge. He did and she produced some cold tea and a glowing smile with it. No, they should not leave her alone much longer. He asked where to find the stable. It was behind the inn and one building over. Filimer was large enough for a stableman who was also a blacksmith/farrier and a couple lads to shovel, feed and make charcoal. A slightly Elvish-looking boy was spreading straw until a fiver landed in his palm to wash and curry Nag Kath’s beasts. As the mount of a bog bandit, Vandery was not used to personal grooming. He thought he liked it but wasn’t sure. A’mash loved attention, especially when it ended with oats. 

Nag Kath took his art satchel to a cane bank eddy off the upper river. It was fully a quarter mile away and slightly downhill from the inn. If the lowest building in town was fifteen feet higher than the level right now, water at your doorstep must test the nerves.

An advantage of being an Elf is that wild creatures come closer before noticing or even caring you are there. A small gray fox was silently creeping along the reeds looking for her breakfast. At this time of year she probably had a den of kits just weaned. A frog was too fast for her but the rat was not so lucky. She shook it sharply and then trotted back the way she came. Nag Kath captured her just before the frog pounce. 

He arrived at the inn as Whilmina was leaving on an errand. She gave him a lazy yawn. “Good morning, Mr. Kath. Hope you had a pleasant evening.”

“Very pleasant. Thank you” 

Nag Kath showed the girl his fox. Her eyes grew wide and she looked at him in wonder. These Elves were remarkable creatures. This one talked to her. As she watched, he whittled four sharp pegs from the kindling pile and tacked the picture above the bar with the understanding that her mistress could do whatever she wanted with it.

The Elf went to see how his animals were bearing up. Vandery decided he liked brushing. With the last of his winter coat gone he looked sleek. The boy pulled a lot more hair out of A’mash who had his usual placid expression. Nag Kath gentled them both. They always liked that.

When he returned, Whilmina was sitting on a bar stool next to her niece looking at the fox. This was her animal. Children of the north often identify with or are considered by others to have traits of animals. Sometimes they are nicknamed after them. Hers was the fox. There she was; ready to strike, frozen in perfection. Did the Elf know?

Nag Kath skipped up the steps. Both females turned to look as he smiled walking by. Whilmina held her head a little higher. He did not know, and she did not say, that he was the first person of her close experience who ever offered her something afterwards that did not make her feel cheap. 

That night he got no sleep at all. 

______________--------______________

From Filimer he thought he would be on the road for a week before reaching the confluence of the Hoarwell and the Bruinen that became the Greyflood or Gwathlo in Elvish. The first order of business was getting across the Nan-i-Sul. It was the basin for the Northern Uplands and still powerful but not full of snow still melting further east. 

There was a ferry, but not a ferryman. And the ferry was on the far side. He pulled the rope but it was tied fast so he sat down and waited on the bank for signs of motion. By lunchtime he knew they would have to swim. His only concern was for his paper. Everything else would dry. Nag Kath had not seen A’mash swim but he did not hesitate pulling his wagon across water. Vandery, by expert accounts, had been in bogs, maybe not swimming, but certainly wet.

Nag Kath emptied his satchel and put the contents in the tube. The cap was a snug fit and closed on the other. It might even float. He would swim himself and let Vandery only have to keep his own weight up. The tube he tied on A’mash next to the sword. Nag Kath took Vandery’s reins with A’mash tied on the usual eight foot rope to the saddle. They walked upriver until he saw a mud bank on the other side and kept going to allow two feet of current for every foot of crossing. It was a rough guess but he did not want to reach the Greyflood.

Finding a gentle sloping bank on their side, Nag Kath tied Vandery’ reins loosely into his belt but held them firmly in his hand while he waded out. The horse balked a little at a foot deep but then followed like he had done this before, letting Nag Kath use both hands to swim. A’mash had second thoughts too but he hated being left behind. Nag Kath was counting on that.

It took twenty minutes. They overshot their landing target by several hundred feet and had to hack through some brambles to get from the mud to solid footing. Neither beast seemed any the worse for wear. He checked his tube. It was wet on the outside but the paper was fine. It was good to know they could do this again.

After sorting the gear and giving his mighty steeds some oats to remember how this should work, they made their way back to the north river road. As luck would have it, an old fellow with a huge moustache rode up to the ferry winch and dismounted from a swayback donkey. He stood by the flat-bottomed boat (not a log barge) and stared at the approaching coffle. When they arrived he demanded, “Why didn’t you wait for the ferry?”

“I did.”

“Didn’t nobody tell yas I’m here after lunch?”

Nag Kath roared with laughter, “Must have slipped their minds!”

They got soaking wet and the old boy missed a fare but life would go on.

The road was easy from here. They made good time. It was summer now and this area was given to afternoon showers. They rode through the rain and found shelter from hail. In the foretold three days, they reached the marshes. The really low ground was across the river. 

The man was right about the mosquitoes. They landed on Nag Kath and would start to bite before thinking better of it. Vandery and A’mash suffered, swishing their tails furiously trying to reach their faces. That lasted two days and eased the next two as a range of hills spiking from the Mistys raised the banks high enough above the bugs.

Nag Kath took a morning off to catch a few fish and consult his last map. The next major goal, and obstacle, was the joining of the Mitheithel and Bruinen. They would have to cross the first to follow the second. If it hadn’t been destroyed since the map was drawn, the town of Fennas Drunin was in the fork.

They made that the next day. Nag Kath had readied himself for another treacherous swim but there was a ford with plainly marked stones. The river was rapid and shallow here over a rock bed so the footing was fine.

Fennas Drunin had been a city and probably would be again. It was a growing town now. In the flood plains of two rivers, the soil was fertile in most of what folk called the Angle. It flowed fast enough that water did not backup nearly as much as in the flatter ground downstream. 

What made this place different was that the war was truly over. Dunland was still torn by regional disputes that had killed men for centuries. They had the additional problem that surviving hillmen and other dark allies had been driven there because it was the last place in western Middle Earth worth defending. Here, the borders were not hostile. They had their squabbles, but the armies had disbanded and the fields were sown.

Nag Kath was ready for a proper bed. As much as anything, he was ready for people. They looked at him and saw an Elf, but other than a brief stint as an orc, he belonged to the world of men. And he was getting better at it. He found an inn like so many others on his trip that served plain fare and ale. Here it came from a brewery near the center of town that made it cheaper than they could themselves. 

Another change was there were actually people on the road. His inn had several merchants. The partners stayed indoors. Their men stayed outside. After a few strategic pitchers of brew, they weren’t as tight-lipped as the rightfully suspicious men of the western foothills. 

He was primarily here for directions. There were choices. He could follow the Bruinen. That was the most direct but the river was said to flow through steep canyons that had to be skirted on rocky trails. He could hold to the Mitheithel (Hoarwell) in a more northerly track but that meant backtracking to the west bank. Then there was a reliable trail between them. That seemed the best option.

The East/West Road was roughly a hundred miles north. With a clear path, they might make twenty miles a day. That was a guess. Nag Kath did not push his beasts hard and they held up well. There were no towns to speak of on the route but he did see several wagon caravans. None were heading in the same direction but there were people in the established camp sites who would share a fire and a yarn.

In the late morning of their fifth day out of Fennas Drunin they reached the East/West Road. It was no wider or smoother than the track that brought them here but it meant something. The great Bilbo had taken this path to the east. 

There were quite a few travelers. Most were merchants leading or driving their goods to and from growing towns here in the north. A few were simply visiting or following their hearts. There was a wedding party returning home. He saw a small troop of mounted Elves going the other way. They did not stop and he did not hail them. While he was obviously an Elf to men, he was obviously not to them. There were no Hobbits, which was a shame.

There was a piece of his favorite story to explore. Not far away was the site where Gandalf tricked the cave trolls into staying in sunlight and turned them to stone. Gandalf loved telling that tale for, among other things, how the Dwarves had needed the help of the little Halfling. Nag Kath smiled imagining the proud, powerful Dwarves trussed like Syndolan turkeys. The site was something of a tourist attraction now. It was a perilous journey not so long ago which was why the King and Hobbits didn’t stay to the main road. Nag Kath decided that since he was not going to Arnor, he was a man of leisure!

There they were, big as life and twice as ugly. The stone trolls were grown over with moss and nesting birds hadn’t done them any favors, but you could tell just how dangerous they must have been. Saruman would not keep trolls. He thought them stupid. And with his force built for daylight fighting, trolls would be limited to lifting things underground. Sauron did not share his daytime Uruk trolls.

There was a well-worn trail up to their hoard as well. He left his mounts with the trolls and walked up the hill with two men from Bree who had heard the story of fabulous riches hidden among the bones. That was where Gandalf got Glamdring. He was glad it hadn’t glowed twice! All that was long gone now, except for the smell. Orcs and trolls had pungent body functions and an aversion to bathing. Nag Kath supposed that odor would linger for centuries.

Now that he was on the original Erebor route, Nag Kath had some tactical decisions to make. Going to Dale would take him near or through two of the three most important enclaves of Elvendom. In their presence, he would be a curiosity at best. If the Lady Arwen was any gauge, maybe much worse. One of the places on the route was through her father’s lands. He kept a letter of reference from Gandalf written in their tongue tucked in his tube but the old wizard cautioned they might shoot first and inquire afterwards. 

There was nothing for it. He was still in the Reunited Kingdom and still under King Elessar’s banishment. No one up here would know that but the stories of Dale made it seem a better opportunity than the wastes to the north. Returning to the road he set his sights for the High Pass of the Misty Mountains. 

Avoiding Arwen’s da should probably be fairly easy. He lived with his retainers in a hidden city just off the trail. Gandalf said you could not find it. You had to be invited. That wasn’t likely. On the north side of the Angle there were folk about but when they reached the Bruinen, most of the traffic turned south. Nobody went over the Misty Mountains for weddings. There was a party coming his way from the pass that included a big man who was willing to part with his sheepskin coat for twelve groats. Nag Kath also strapped some dried firewood on A’mash along with extra oats. It was high summer but that pass was a long way up.

After fording the Bruinen, they steadily climbed for another three days. It was not so cold that extra rations for the animals couldn’t keep them moving. Of more concern was the rocky footing. Vandery’s hoof was healed but would never hold as many shoe nails as his other feet. Nag Kath checked it daily. On the fourth day, they made the summit.

**The day before was given this report:**

“Thank you, my lord. It is good to be back.”

“Was there any interesting traffic going past?” 

“No, Lord Elrond. We saw but two Dwarf trains and a few merchants traveling in groups. There was one man on horse with a mule in tow heading east, tall fellow with a brimmed hat. He gazed about him but did not seem to be looking for us.”

“That road is safer than it was. Thank you Eliandrith. I think it is time for you and Telarie to prepare for the Grey Havens. I still have a little work left here.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

** On the same day in Minas Tirith **

“You have the Mariner’s Guild at two, Gordessan from the farm at three and the gentlemen from Dol Amroth at four, Sire. And Minister Tallazh asked for fifteen minutes at your convenience.”

King Elessar considered that and said, “Put the Minister at two thirty. The Guild needs to make their case by then.”

“Very good, Sire. I’ll send a lad to let Minister Tallazh know. I believe lunch is ready. Shall I have it sent in?”

As a rule, Minister of Trade Tallazh said whatever he had to in their monthly meetings. He had only asked for time outside of appointments made by the King once, and that was for a good reason. As instructed, the attendant came into the King’s working office and announced his two thirty appointment. That was the Guild’s notice to bow and leave. They passed Amiedes Tallazh who walked in behind the attendant and waited until the King waved him forward.

“Hello Amiedes. Have a seat. What brings you all the way up here?”

“I need the exercise, Sire. I wanted to let you know I received a letter from Nag Kath.”

“I had not thought to that. May I see?

The merchant took a packet from his robe, “Of course, but I’m afraid it will do you no good. It is written in Khandian, and no, he did not write it. But he did dictate it, presumably to keep the text from prying eyes. It is written in the high style of Maresh. My Khandian is the worse for time so I had Mendies let me in the archives to refresh. Nag Kath wishes you and your Lady Queen well, along with his friends here.”

Aragorn wondered how things had gone for him. Tallazh continued, “It would seem hardly worth the effort, Sire, but I think the message is the messengers. He helped two women escape violence in Dunland. The older one is a healer. The other is young and fair. I believe one or both of them know something that Nag Kath felt would be of use to you. He asked me to help them.”

“Are they staying with you?”

“They did for a few days, Sire. Both have taken quarters on the same level but the other side of the prow. They have funds.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I would hardly presume to add to your schedule, my Lord.” Both men knew he would and should if important. “I suggest you welcome them to the White City and see if any pearls drop. I brought their address if you choose to send for them.”

“Should you be here as well?”

Tallazh had considered that. “I am glad to come but I do not think it is necessary. You will not find them timid.” That brought a warm smile.

Four days later at the end of the official business bell, Rosaldie brought two ladies to the King’s library. At Queen Arwen’s suggestion, unaccompanied women had a female escort them through the palace. It put them more at ease than the tall, grim guards. Women selected for intelligence and courage were deputized from the household staff to carefully watch guests and act as tour guides before returning to their usual duties. 

The younger woman stopped in the main corridor and looked at a tapestry of a boar hunt. Her escort explained it was an early Steward. Tal had seen a copy of it in Nag Kath’s doodles, though she could not think why the Elf, who did not eat flesh, would draw a picture of stabbing a pig. Upon reaching the library their escort announced, “Mrs. Skilleth and Talereth Doucenne, my Lord.” 

The King was reading in one of four chairs surrounding a low tea-table. He rose when they entered and gave them time to bow. “Thank you for joining me, ladies. Please have a seat. It being so close to the six-bell, I was going to have a cup of wine. Could I interest you in one?”

The old woman said, “You bet!” as the younger said, “Thank you, my Lord.” As the steward brought a finely glazed pitcher and matching cups, the King assessed his guests. He thought the healer was a hard-earned sixty. Her clothes were clean but rustic. She did not see well. 

The tall young woman had put some of the wherewithal Tallazh mentioned to good use. Her dark red hair was complimented by an attractive dress of local make with matching fair-weather shoes of city women. A light silver chain was draped around her neck. She was a beauty and no doubt already breaking hearts on her block.

He sat after they did and said, “Minister Tallazh said you have traveled long and hard to come here from Dunland.”

Mrs. Skilleth said, “Long but not hard, my Lord. We took barges from Trum Dreng to the Greyflood and thence to the sea. Then a ship brought us to Osgiliath and a cart from there to here.”

The King would follow where this lead, “What are your plans now?” From someone else this would be questioning. From the Lord of Gondor it was conversation.

The old woman again, “As Amiedes probably told you, I am a healer and hope to do as much here, with your and the local Guild’s approval, of course.” 

“And you Miss?”

“Missus, Sire. I have not decided. There is so much to do and see. I am taking my time.” That was followed by a smile that were he not a happily married man, he would want to know much more.

He took a sip of the sweet wine. The old lady had put a fair dent in her cup already. Talereth hadn’t touched hers. The King returned to his purpose, “I understand you know Nag Kath?”

Mrs. Skilleth had another gulp and said, “He put us on the boat. Had a spot of trouble with one of the local militias.” That brought a cackle, “He had them ride into a square and set off Mithrandir’s match powder. Didn’t even have to use his powers!”

The King smiled, “Then he is much up in the world. When he left here he did not even speak our tongue.”

The old one looked longingly at the wine pitcher and said, “Gandalf taught him right enough. He is a powerful healer too. Doesn’t know how to use it yet but that’s what the old wizard told him to do.”

Aragorn topped her cup and had another sip of his own. “And you, Mrs. Doucenne? How did you meet Nag Kath?” Was that a blush? It was. An attractive couple. It was a nosy question but it was out there now.

“We met at a festival in Trum Dreng, my Lord. The city was making merry and farmers were showing him one of their dances. We were paired and, well, one thing led to another.”

Mrs. Skilleth stared into her cup before saying, “Then there was trouble. It all worked out well for the city, but we thought our welcome had worn thin. Tal knows more about that, don’t you dear?”

They spoke inconsequentially for a short time before Rosaldie, the female escort, had been told to interrupt since the King had to prepare for a dinner with the Elvish ambassador. He arranged this so he could beg off for a few more minutes if needed. No, it would be better to see Mrs. Doucenne by herself for the rest of what the old lady said she knew. Aragorn sighed, “Ah, time waits for no one. Mrs. Skilleth, I have no trouble with your healing profession, thought it is good for you to speak with the Guild. Mrs. Doucenne, enjoy our fair city. I hope we meet again.” That would be arranged.

Mrs. Skilleth took the last pull from her cup and turned to Aragorn. “I know you are the King, and all that, but you take care of Tal. She is a good girl!”

The tall redhead took the old lady’s elbow looking at the King, “And a big girl too. Thank you for your hospitality, my Lord.”

Next week Mrs. Doucenne was asked to return. She had another new outfit that was tasteful but flattering. Some handsome fellow would sweep her off her feet by autumn. They met in the same room at the same time and she was offered wine but asked for tea. 

After the formalities she told his Highness, “I suppose I am here for what Nag Kath knew of the landscape. I was not born in Dunland but I have lived there since I was twelve so some of this he learned from me. The local militia was loyal to the Steward and now to your Lordship. In the east it was hard-scrabble with tentative alliances depending on the range of Uruks and mountain orcs. 

“The east has just been claimed by a family that was also against Saruman. East and West have settled differences and will dispatch united emissaries here shortly. They hope to avoid your Lordship sending favored courtiers to govern. Nag Kath thought them credible.”

King Aragorn had underestimated this lovely woman. And Nag Kath! He kept thinking of the giant Elf with Hobbit trousers and haystack hair.

Talereth sensed the King’s thoughts and smiled herself. “He is very fond of you, Sire. He told me all you did for him. And of Gandalf. Gandalf took him under his wing." She continued, “Nag Kath is also very smart. One of the last things he told me was now that south Dunland is aligned, the hillmen are being wedged across the Dusenorn to the north or towards the gap. The marshal in Isengard cannot hold the gap without support from Rohan so the Isen basin is in peril. He expected any royal support would have to come upriver.”

The King was less certain, “He thinks to offer military strategy?”

Talereth lowered her head, “Forgive my presumption, King Elessar. Nag Kath was sure Gandalf would be here by now with like tidings. He said they left in different directions after a moot this spring. I am sorry, Sire, I meant no offense.”

King Aragorn looked at the woman and felt his assessment was conservative. She would probably be engaged by the time she got home. “Please, dear lady, I thank you for your candor. I will thank Nag Kath when he returns.”

“When ... ? My Lord, he said he was banished from your sight. Gandalf bade him go to the far north past your realm. Nag Kath thought we would be safest here, but he understood he could never return.”

When the King's face fell, the blood drained from Tal’s. She looked around the room for comfort. Finding none, she murmured, “Oh no.”

______________--------______________

The leeward side of the Misty Mountains was not as steep as the climb. Vandery still showed no shoe problems. In fact, he may have been underestimated in Trum Dreng. With the dead hair out he was a presentable horse, even if he would never be fleet of foot. A’mash was built for trudging. He brayed sometimes coming up but that is a mule’s prerogative. Down-slopes are more dangerous for pack animals if they slip but the road was firm if they kept from encroaching ice.

Nag Kath and his animals continued on the old road which looked towards the Anduin, known as the Great River up here. It was a full days ride from the foothills to the river and that much again until the forest. In retrospect, he would have been much better taking the eastern side of the range. In his childlike world view, he did not begrudge what Gandalf called “Learning Experiences.” His second life was for study and he had certainly done that.

The Old Ford had been a bridge in olden times. But like almost every bridge that had ever been; high water or war destroyed it before his time. The ford looked almost purpose built, as if giants dropped huge flat rocks like the stepping stones in a child’s garden. Runoff was still strong since snow melted until it fell again, but the trio managed to keep everything important dry.

His map of the great forest looked like someone dropped a pork chop on the paper. Other features were sharp and well defined where people actually took measurements with permanent rivers and roads to steer by. Other than the east and west edges, this huge greenway was largely unknown. 

Gandalf drew three horizontal lines across this map to show how it had been divided after the war. The top belonged to the Woodland Elves. Thranduil was their King and his son Legolas was Gandalf’s friend from the Fellowship. Nag Kath wanted to meet all of the Fellowship. Two of the survivors were Aragorn and Gandalf. The Hobbits would have to wait because their lands were prohibited to tall people by the King. Nag Kath was quite tall.

The lowest section was Elvish like the top but with a different breed of Elf. These were the highest of High Elves on this side of the sea. It was ruled by two very powerful sorcerers who were grandparents to Lady Arwen. Nag Kath would stay north of them.

The large middle section was entailed to the Woodmen, including the Beornings. The latter were creatures that could change shape. They were quite rare but this land was still designated for their use. The Woodmen were ordinary men who lived close to nature.

The Forest Road ran through the Woodmen’s realm. Gandalf knew little of their politics. He thought the land had been designated loosely so they could settle disputes with room to bargain. The understanding was that the Forest Road was public and these people were not to collect tolls or ransom at the point of a sword.

Nag Kath had never spoken with Radagast privately but Gandalf said this was his home. Sauron’s presence had sickened much of this dense woodland. Unlike people who sprung new generations every twenty years, these trees could not simply replace themselves. They had to heal. Trees do things slowly. They could also think and sometimes speak. In places they were in a foul mood. Learning what the Fangorn trees further south had done to his Uruks, he believed it. Perhaps he would see Radagast again on his journey.

There were grand gate posts on either side of the entrance though the gate was gone and the forest had receded a hundred yards. He could not tell if they were made by men or Elves or the mysterious Numenoreans. His learning was a bit shaky on all of their origins but it seems the original men lived hundreds of years. Not immortal, you understand, but quite a while. They originally settled most of western Middle Earth and built many of the impressive edifices standing today like Orthanc and Minas Tirith along with many monuments that had weathered time in varying degrees.

Those people attacked the Elves on the other continent and were drowned for their trouble. Survivors became the Dunedain. As they mixed with lesser men, the average lifespan dwindled so that a fortunate man who avoided disease and hostiles was accounted old at sixty.

This road was in better repair than it had been before the war but it was still in a forest with roots and twists. They would have to move at a walk. If the animals could manage fifteen miles a day, they should reach the eastern edge inside two weeks. 

Gandalf warned him about the water. As an Elf he could probably withstand any remaining fell influences but the beasts might not. Lentaraes would have said Nag Kath had a card up his sleeve. The Wild Huntsman’s colors seemed to be defined by race. If he had been granted a gift for healing; that might matter someday. He saw the black-green of the dark lord leave his body before he collapsed in Orthanc. He saw his own silver and the mannish yellow of sick or wounded men in healing. 

Putting that to the test, he held his hand over the first stream he reached. It gave no sign. He tested each one he found to see if there was any of the mold-colored green or black suggesting water was still contaminated. On the first day none of them were anything but water. They had to cross a few larger streams and he let the animals drink. There was little grazing but he had a half a sack of oats on A’mash. It should be enough.

Like the little forest above the Dusenorn, the trees seemed to reach their grasping fingers down on travelers. Even in summer, not much light penetrated the canopy. There were mosses and ferns and vines choking their way to the sun. He would discretely not mention this to any of the trees but the place never felt comfortable.

_____________------____________

On their fourth day from the gate, he found a stream that gave him an aura of darkness. It really wasn’t visible but he felt it. It flowed from the southwest while all other water drained southeast. How did they not join? It had been hours since the last clean creek and A’mash wanted to drink. Nag Kath urged him along. When the mule was stubborn, a sharp warag-ish command brought him and Vandery up short. The Elf wasn’t as soft as he seemed. Vandery recovered in a few minutes. A’mash sulked until dinner. There was another fouled stream coming from the same direction the next day. That was the last he felt but Nag Kath still tested every one.

Unexpectedly, he met a trio of men leading horses coming from the other direction. They were traders of Lake Town carrying, of all things, salt. Thought it was only midmorning, not a traditional stopping time, they sat for a dried meal and compared notes. Nag Kath told them about the tainted streams. They said the road was fair and he only had another four days before breaking clear of the trees. 

Towards the end of the next day, Nag Kath heard a tiny snap. A man could not have noticed. There are lots of noises in forests but this one came with a presence. He would keep his wits about him. Each animal was given an handful of oats from the sack. This was not their feeding time but he also loosed the leather strap tying his sword in the scabbard.

They came to a large clearing. The forest had been relatively flat though some areas had rolling hills of no more than a hundred feet up or down. To his right, the land fell away into a deep chasm. This was the first pleasant place he had seen since entering Mirkwood, a name that would stay well after the political divisions.

The presence was still there. It could be forest spirits of unknown intention but the likely guests were Elves. He knew very little about them and he must be a puzzle to them as well. If they were Elves, they were probably King Thranduil’s subjects. He would draft his calling card. Making camp early he found just the right place to draw a small but powerful waterfall across the gorge. The light should be perfect tomorrow at midmorning.

Nag Kath woke as he usually did with the sun and busied himself making oats and tea. While the pot was heating, he looked inside his leather tube for the first time in two weeks. There was a musty smell but no real damage. He left the cap off to let it air.

There was a sound behind him to the north. It might have been a bird or squirrel but it wasn’t. With an exaggerated stretch, he calculated the steps to his sword. In the downtime at the barge camp he made an easel out of maple boards that could be assembled or broken down in just a few minutes. Nag Kath faced it towards the waterfall and clipped all of the large, tan sheets to the edges for rigidity. If only he had paints! Pencils and charcoal would do and he could ink some of the lines later.

His first effort was uninspired so he put that sheet in the back of the stack and started over. This one came together much better. The light was still not right but he drew in the things he knew would not change so he could capture the sparkle of the water. That was an hour away so he went back to the fire for tea.

There was another noise. No, the same noise. Someone was in the bushes behind him. Someone who did not know he could hear as well as them. He had the “Fast” in his command. He was no easy mark. It was time to see their cards. He walked to ten feet from the edge of the clearing and said, “I am going to reheat my tea. Would you like some?”

When no one responded he added, “It is fresh from Dunland.”

Again, no answer. Of course, Dunish tea was not highly-sought. He sauntered back to stoke the fire. 

A few minutes later, three Elves walked out of the brush. Without turning, Nag Kath said, “It will be another minute. Just make yourselves comfortable.” They stood behind him and looked at each other in silent communication.

Nag Kath finally turned and evaluated his guests. These were Woodland Elves, he supposed, with darker hair and smooth strong faces. They wore fitted garments of green and brown with boots that had barely any heel. He rose and walked to them. Without getting too close he said, “I am Nag Kath.”

The Elf in the middle responded in the common tongue, “You are in the Woodland Realm without leave. You will come with us.”

What was it about offering tea to uninvited guests that made them so rude? He might be able to kill these three but there were certainly as many arrows pointed at his heart. Ever the cordial host, Nag Kath told them, “Since you asked so nicely, I’ll just get packed.”

They looked at each other again. Did this creature intend to bring his horse and donkey? He seemed to think so. The one to his left said something in one of the Elvish tongues. Nag Kath continued pouring tea into his steel cups and walked to them. “I am sorry. I do not speak your language.” They did accept the tea but looked at it like it was troll spit. He raised his cup to his lips for a satisfying taste and said, “I won’t be long.” One of the Elves did sip his tea.

The three Elves took the lead to the east as another three fell in behind Nag Kath and his beasts. Reaching no more than a gap between two bushes, they turned left and walked on a narrow but smooth path another half mile to their own horses, very fine horses to changeling eyes. The Elves mounted without saying a word and maintained three ahead, three behind for the rest of the day without stopping. Vandery and A’mash were at ease. The trail widened after about five miles. Nag Kath supposed they took paths only Elves knew. There was no possibility of escape. 

It was well past dark when the one who did all of the speaking said, “We will stop.” His Elves deployed quickly. One tried to take the pack off A’mash and was roundly heehawed for his effort. Nag Kath walked over to him and rubbed his nose. Groping as if barely able to see, Nag Kath removed the pack and handed it to the Elf. The sword had been confiscated.

“You will sleep here!”

So much for the legendary courtesy of the Elves! The next day another of them brought him waybread. This was the real thing. He, being an Elf, only needed a few bites and asked the tallest one if he would share the recipe. That yielded a look of mild distain.

This day they spoke among themselves in what Nag Kath thought was Sindarin. His only familiarity was with Elvish place-names so their daily conversation had no meaning.

This went on two more days. His attempts at conversation got him only blank stares or wonder at his face. With no opportunity to shave, a man would have a fair stubble by now. These fellows weren’t the ones who asked questions and may not even speak his tongue so he kept his own counsel. 

On the morning of the fourth silent day they arrived at a series of check points along a babbling stream that would not be apparent if travelers found themselves here by accident. The vanguard scanned the treetops. Birdsong not sung by birds tweeted along the route. They crossed a bridge over a turbulent river and made their way to a grand doorway that grew from the forest itself. Then it was another half-a-bell over raised walks through extraordinary light and scale.

The leader told him to stay outside a massive double-door and two of his Elves made sure of that. Fully an hour later, an Elf dressed in robes like the inquisitor in Minas Tirith came out with the troop leader. He was taller and blonder. His eyes went from Nag Kath’s head to feet once. Saying something, he turned on his heels and Nag Kath was nodded to follow.

Nag Kath’s familiarity with caverns was limited to Orthanc and his stinking cell under Minas Tirith. This was inspiring. Living rock columns carved as trees or roots reached hundreds of feet to the ceiling. The robed Elf, his captor and a trooper behind walked over a series of footbridges, some over gaps with no visible bottom. After ten minutes of this they came to a large flat floor narrowing to a high throne made of stone columns and antlers. Upon them sat an elegant figure of vast presence.

He wore no crown but this could only be Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm. Nag Kath bowed deeply.

The King said something in their tongue to him. Nag Kath repeated his stock line of being limited to the common speech. Thranduil commanded, “Come forward.” The King crossed his legs as he waited for his prisoner to reach the stairs of his throne platform. In Westron the King continued, “My ohtars say you were trespassing on my realm.”

As with the Huntsman, there was no use saying they might have stretched that. He offered, “I cannot say, my Lord. I was drawing a picture of the beauty and must have lost my way. It is incomplete but I hope you will accept it as a token of my esteem.”

Thranduil motioned to the rear trooper to give Nag Kath his tube. Very deliberately, he opened the top and took the sketch from the roll. This was handed to the trooper who brought it to the first step. A guard at the base walked the rest of the way up to the tall throne and handed it to the King with a bow before retreating.

The King scanned the picture for fully a minute. Without a word, he re-rolled it and put it beside him. A nod and Nag Kath’s capturers were dismissed leaving only the two guards at the base of the throne and more in full armor along the edges of the stone platform.

Thranduil walked down the steps to ten feet from his prisoner. He was the first man or Elf Nag Kath had met who was as tall as he was. The King seemed to notice that too as he slowly approached and had a closer look at this oddity. In a clear voice he said, “That was clever. With your drawing you proved the ohtar inaccurate, and yet did not embarrass him. Thank you for that.

“But now, you are going to tell me who you are. We have all the time in the world.”

And as with the Huntsman, there was no use in saying anything but the truth. “It is more a matter of what than who, your Lordship. Little is known of me beyond the White City and Orthanc. I was Uruk-hai to Saruman …”

That sentence would have been longer but the King was suddenly eight feet further away. He was not as fast as Nag Kath but the silver blur was the same strain of magic. Nag Kath continued, “When the One Ring was destroyed, I became as you see. King Elessar and Gandalf thought I had reverted to the Elvish form Morgoth corrupted ages ago.”

Thranduil had moved but was not threatened. “And they let you live. I wonder why.” That was not a question so Nag Kath kept his teeth together.

The King made it a question, “So, why are you alive?”

“I have shown healing ability, my Lord. I was instructed to help the peoples of Middle Earth and make amends for wrongs done them.”

Thranduil walked slowly around the prisoner who stood still but relaxed. “You seem well-connected for a dark servant.” Again, musing, not a question. “Perhaps not.”

“I have a letter of introduction for you from Gandalf, on the off chance I might visit your realm. It is in the same container as the sketch, King Thranduil.”

With that the King walked to the guard who had taken the tube from the ohtars and had him shake out the contents. The package was one of the first things to fall out. “It is the tan envelope with the red seal.”

The King broke the seal and read it where he stood. Looking up he asked, “Have you seen this, changeling?”

“No, my Lord. Nor can I read or write in any tongue.”

Thranduil scanned the short document again and slipped it in his robe before looking up and saying, “You will go with these Elves while I consider this message. You will be made comfortable.” He nodded to the two back guards who came forward for the captive.

Polite but never bashful, Nag Kath asked, “Your pardon, my Lord, I was told to greet your son, Prince Legolas, if our paths crossed. May I ask if he is here?”

“No.” 

With that, Nag Kath followed the guards back down the footbridges.

______________--------______________

Had the King meant ‘no, you can not ask’ or ‘no, my son is not here’? Perhaps courtly questions are coined not to embarrass.

Nag Kath smiled as he was led away. If the guard noticed, he kept his peace. Our Elf had not mentioned his own little parlor trick of sorcerous motion. This would not be the time. Hopefully Gandalf had not written it down either.

“The Fast” was a weapon he might have to use. But it was also a poor imitation of the powers great Bilbo employed. He recalled Gandalf trying not to laugh describing the august Elvenking’s embarrassment when Bilbo used the One Ring to break a bakers-dozen filthy Dwarves out of these very halls, under the noses of the King’s drunken guards, no less! By how Elves measure time, those lads might still be shoveling stalls in penance. That thought brought forth his least Elvish grin. The guard must have wondered how someone in his sort of trouble could be beaming like a man-child but he kept his face of stone.

Nag Kath was led to a large room that was well lit by clerestories high above the smooth stone walls. There was a bed and a desk with unlit candle stands ringing the octagonal space. There was but one door which the guard locked when he left. At least as described, this was not the gaol.

Well, he had spent time in worse places. There were no bugs and the bed was long enough. The light was strangely good. Elves could see well in partial light but they were not cave goblins. Saruman had imported a few of those from one of the orc kingdoms to explore the deep caverns of Orthanc. Nag Kath had seen one once when he delivered a message underground. That’s where you found them since even torchlight hurt their huge pale eyes.

He sat on the bed and went into the Elvish resting state. This might take some time.

As the sun was dimming above, an Elf brought him dinner. There was meat but it was not mixed with the vegetables so they were quite edible. A large bottle held a strong, cold tea he had not tasted before. The bread was superb. Now all he needed were answers.

Time passed slowly. Meals were served once a day. On the third day, he asked his attendant if his animals were being tended. The Quendu (male Elf), who was not in soldier’s livery, said, “I am sure they are. We care for our guest’s beasts as if they were our own.” He was out the door before Nag Kath could ask anything else. Well, “guests” was better than “condemned.” His room was not a typical gaol cell but it was meant for long-term “guests.” There was a basin below a tap of fresh water. And as in only the finest homes of Minas Tirith, there was a discreet drain in the corner for the chamber pot. 

The spare time made Nag Kath wonder about these curious people more than he had. Men who saw him thought he was an Elf but he considered himself a man in an Elf’s body. Evidently the Elves thought so too. He wondered if part of the awe in which men held Elves was not so much immortality but eternal youth. They would never be elderly and feeble, relying on hard-used children to mash their fish.

Then there was the notion of advancement. Mortality created opportunity. Even the lord of the manor could not hold his position forever. His sons could look forward to higher station. It applied equally to the stable boy who might become head farrier. Soldiers who did not die were promoted. Bubbles rose in mannish waters. But what about here? Had the fellow who brought the bread or washed the pans afterward been doing that for 1,200 years?

That led him to wonder again about the fastidiousness of these creatures. Elves used things last. Gandalf’s Foe-Hammer was an Elvish sword of renown. Immortal smithies pounded purified steel into an eternal blade. But they didn’t carry the ore out of the hills or crush it with loud drop weights. Or the fantastic wooden carvings? Nag Kath closed the wound of a man who lost two fingers when a log in the river boom buckled. He could have lost the arm or drowned. Here in Middle Earth, Elves could pay from their troves for dirty work. 

What of Valinor? There were no Dunlendings breaking their backs to mine salt. He imagined an Elf in the mud of a pit saw with a wet towel over his face to keep the sawdust out of his nose. That brought another grin. Anyone observing him from a secret window must think him completely mad.

He could get nothing more from the attendant and began to calculate if he could be fast enough long enough to create the friction needed to circle the walls upward. Probably not. That would only get him to a ledge at the bottom of a dome. He was immortal. As long as they kept the food coming, he would await the Elvenking’s pleasure.

_____________------____________

That arrived two days later. The same attendant came to his room in the morning with the clothes he had slain the bandits in. They had been cleaned properly but blood stains were too far set. His attendant waited for him to change and took him back upstairs, this time without an armed guard. Turning off to the right before the throne they came to a pleasant, well-lit room with twenty Elves sitting or chatting before their morning meal. Some were soldiers. Some were robed. Three were women. Their hair ranged from as pale as the King’s to quite dark. He sat next to a fellow in a light brown robe with brocade at the collar. No one spoke to him but they did not stare either.

As food was being passed, the King entered. Everyone stood and bowed. The King made a lesser but still significant bow in return and spread his arms saying in Westron, “Please, be seated.” As he took his chair at the highest point of the horseshoe table, his Lordship added, “Today we are joined by Nag Kath who is visiting from Gondor. He is a very young Elf by our counting and only speaks the common tongue. I hope you will make him welcome.”

The whole table looked at Nag Kath as if waiting for an unflattering description but the King started a discussion with the people to his right. Everyone would have to satisfy their own curiosity. The Elf in the brown robe nodded to him and said, “I am Tulferath. How nice of you to come.”

“I am honored, Tulferath. This is a noble assembly.”

“We are a working group. There are many different Elves in this forest united under the King’s banner. It gives us opportunity to stay informed.”

Nag Kath took a second to wonder what Gandalf’s letter said and what the King had shared with his subjects. The ohtars would probably keep their mouths shut. Since it did not really matter, he decided on his usual pattern of gathering information without offense.

“You wear different garbs, I see. There must be many ways of serving your Lord.”

Tulferath agreed, “I am a scholar and keeper of the texts. In blue over there is the person who sees to our nourishment. King Thranduil likes to meet with many subjects and listen to their cares. He is very wise. Our Lord said you are visiting from Gondor.”

Nag Kath warmed to the subject, “Indeed, though I came by way of Isengard and helped in organizing the archives. I know a number of them are bound for your people. Others will return to their original homes.”

“Splendid! I assume ours are going to Rivendell. I am there often and will look for them.” The scholar nodded to an exquisite creature across the table and said, “Nag Kath, this is the Lady Turrael.”

Nag Kath gave her a seated bow, “I am honored, my Lady.”

She was so perfect that was no telling what she actually thought; excellent for playing dukks. With effortless grace she said, “Welcome to these Halls.” A shorter man might be intimidated by the beautiful head looking down from that long neck but she was almost eye-to-eye with him. “What brings you here Nag Kath?”

Not really an answer but mostly true; “I had the privilege of bringing your Lord a drawing of a waterfall in the Great Forest.”

She brightened, “An artist! You will find kindred here.”

Tulferath added, “Why yes. As it happens, the Elf in the pale tunic next to the lady in green is Danethiur.”

The name meant nothing to Nag Kath but it mattered here. “I hope to meet him, Telfurath.”

His thoughts returned to the woman. There was no telling from her expressionless face if her comment was more than courtesy. 

His best plan was to get his animals and ride out of here alive. Things were going his way. He was out of gaol and at the King’s table. There seemed to be respect for artists here so he might learn something from timeless masters. And as long as he wasn’t locked-up, he could probably make the front gates before they were barred or there was a trap-door in the wine cellar that they did not know he knew about.

He would see where this led. Leaning towards the Lady Turrael he inquired, “Are you an artist yourself, my Lady?”

“No, I am not.”

Well, it was worth a try. Back to the scholar, “Is there a gallery in these halls that shows the legacy of the Woodland Realm?” 

“Several. When his Lordship has released us I would be glad to show you.”

That happened fairly soon. Elves don’t eat much so it doesn’t take them very long. All stood and bowed as the King took his leave and Telfurath brought him to meet the artist after they both bowed to the Lady.

Danethiur looked down his nose at Nag Kath’s bloody clothes and hoped he enjoyed his visit. Undeterred, the scholar brought the changeling down a level to a large gallery. Again, the light was better than one would think a cave could have. Telfurath excused himself on pressing business and left Nag Kath alone. 

Nag Kath was not sure what he could learn from this place. The art was purer than in the south, which was probably derived from here. It was still representational. It was supposed to mean something or be something or tell a story. It would help trace the line of kings and battle from a historical perspective but it had no life of its own.

After an hour Nag Kath wandered back to his cell. The door was open and his belongings were there, less the sword. He quickly checked if the Elvish hair circlet was still wrapped in the box. It was. 

Later in the afternoon, a different attendant, this one more soldierly, came inside and said, “King Thranduil will see you now.” Approaching the throne Nag Kath bowed deeply and rose to his full height.

The King held his chin the same way Aragorn did for a moment and said, “I confess, I do not know what to do with you any more than the others. Perhaps you should tell me of your plans, Nag Kath.”

“My Lord, from here I thought to visit Dale. It is a place of culture and learning, and far from memories of Isengard. I should like to continue as an artist and am told the city may have room for me as such. And I will continue to heal. My skills are in their infancy. Perhaps I can find a teacher there. In time I hope to read also.”

“Your picture of the waterfall is quite fine.”

“Thank you, my Lord. It is not yet complete. I will finish it for you if think it worthy of your home.”

That sentence made an impression. The King considered his wording; ‘home’, not realm or Hall or public place, home. “I would like that, Nag Kath.” The King nodded to an attendant, presumably to have the drawing brought to his room. “You are welcome to look at our other art as well. For the time being you will be our guest here.”

Nag Kath took that as both a command not to leave and his dismissal. Bowing before two steps backward, he went to his quarters. 

After lunch, Nag Kath spent the rest of the afternoon visiting the other galleries. The smallest was more to his taste. There was a series of sketches with Elves smithing metal and weaving or bundling fresh cut grain. The artist did not try to capture too much. A rider showed the eyebrow and eye line so strongly that he did not draw the top of the man’s head. It wasn’t needed. That made the visit worthwhile as long as he walked out the gate someday.

The next morning the sketch and his art tube were returned. The artist Danethiur brought them. “Good morning, Nag Kath.”

“Good morning to you, Danethiur.”

“Your picture is very good. It deserves to be finished.”

“I appreciate your saying so. I hope to see some of your work ere I leave.” That was true and dropped the hint that he did not need to stay here forever. He would already be old fish in a man’s home but these people did not think that way.

“Come, breakfast will be ready soon.” They walked the main corridor and then west, he thought. Elves they met nodded or smiled at both of them. Everyone knew one another. Nearing the outside of the complex, residential apartments fanned like pie slices so their entry doors were quite close. Danethiur opened one and waved his palm to enter.

Everything in the home looked like it had always been there. The colors, the light, the air itself all fit. A lovely woman in a soft blue gown came forward and bowed. Nag Kath did the same. Danethiur said, “My Lady, this is Nag Kath. Nag Kath, I am pleased to introduce my wife.” There was no name and he did not know if she was Mrs. Danethiur or that was his first name. Ma’am would do.

“And this is my daughter, Inhai.” Said of a girl who if human would be about twelve. He did not know and did not ask. She bowed as well. Danethiur walked around the main entry room and said, “These are works from different points in my career. I fear some were too bold for tastes in their time.”

Nag Kath had hardly noticed them at first since the experience was of the room, not its contents. The females repaired to the kitchen. Nag Kath carefully looked at them all. Some were paint, some were drawings and a few were water colors, something he had not tried before. You get one chance for those. He said nothing and neither did Danethiur. Returning to a small sketch in the corner a third time Nag Kath said, “This is my favorite.”

“May I ask why?”

“You stopped when you were done.”

Danethiur went stock still. Nag Kath understood. The Elf was young by their reckoning at barely 1,400 years old. Although an acclaimed artist, until this morning no one else understood. Their art, their tradition of art, was completeness. That followed in architecture, music and dance as well. And now this queer Elf from no-one-was-sure-where saw the sketch and instantly knew that Danethiur had stopped drawing when there was no more left to say. 

“Nag Kath, I would very much like to see you complete your waterfall.” 

The changeling unslung the tube from his shoulder and pulled the drawing. The artist’s table was right there in the main room including sand bags or small brass weights to hold the paper flat. Nag Kath had never actually seen the reflections he planned to capture but he had seen enough waterfalls. It wasn’t ten minutes later when he looked up at his host and said, “I imagined it as such.”

In as close as a real Elf might have come to a furrowed brow, Danethiur asked, “How long did it take for the initial sketch?”

“Perhaps half an hour. I knew I was being watched so my concentration was more on your Lord’s ohtars than the drawing.”

“I see. Ah, our meal. Nag Kath, please sit here.”

Mother and daughter brought several plates of delicious food including a variety of fruits Nag Kath had never tried before. When they were seated and served, the wife said, “Thank you for joining us. Danethiur always enjoys showing the work he keeps for himself.” Inhai added that her favorite was a watercolor of birds near a stream. That was Nag Kath’s second favorite. The child’s common speech was better than his.

Danethiur asked, “How long have you been an artist, Nag Kath.”

Nag Kath did his own version of a furrowed brow and said, “Just over a year now. Yes, a year in May.”

Whatever Danethiur was about to say stuck in his throat. His lady wife came to the rescue, “You must practice very hard to have learned so much.”

“Yes, thank you. At times it has been all I did, but on the trip north there were times when I would go weeks without the opportunity.”

Danethiur decided he and Nag Kath would cover that subject privately and turned the conversation to capturing light. After they finished, the artist told Inhai something in their tongue which could only have been that now it was time for her duties. She rose and gave a slight bow before following her mother down the hall.

Nag Kath stayed in the King’s Hall another month and was tempted to stay longer. Like Quastille in Minas Tirith, Danethiur was both a teacher and accepted private commissions. In such a closed society, public works were spread evenly across the acceptable candidates and he got his share. His studio had two students who were allowed to participate in the daily meetings between him and Nag Kath. They benefited too, though one was only ninety three and did not speak much Westron.

Both Danethiur and Nag Kath thought they got the better of the exchange. Nag Kath was taught Elvish painting techniques. Oil-based colors were similar to mannish styles. He was fascinated by water color. Quastille did not stress that style because errors could not be repaired and he was training commercial artists who might need to sell less than their best work. That would be unthinkable here. Nag Kath ruined a quarter inch of paper testing flow and blending.

For his part, Danethiur learned some of Nag Kath’s speed and ability to build on a dominant line rather than blocking in the pieces. One might think it would be the older Elf who could imagine the work first but they weren’t trained that way. Nag Kath’s only concern was that Danethiur would create more inspirations he couldn’t sell. As Quastille never failed to repeat, “You have to make the people happy.”

Beyond the studio, ohtar in the Elvenking’s Hall were polite but did not speak. That was to be expected. Nag Kath mimicked their pursed smiles. He learned that one only grinned broadly in adversarial situations, usually at someone considered inferior. A horse-laugh coming from such as him was a serious insult. The Elves decided he did not know better but that did nothing for his standing.

He had better luck with administrators. Like in Minas Tirith and probably most large governments, there were people whose job was to keep things working. Elves grew little of their own grain and meat. They had craft that kept things edible for quite a while. If they could, they imported wine and ale. As Nag Kath surmised, they bought metals that had already been refined to rough pigs and wood sawed in planks except for the thickest carvings. And they could wait a long time. They kept stores of everything. He was sure there was a treasure room somewhere but made a point of not seeming interested. Functionaries were willing to answer his questions and no one seemed to mind him sketching the extraordinary architecture of this living Hall.

One demerit was that he never saw the beguiling Lady Turrael again, and precious few other females except at occasional music recitals where they were always accompanied. His interested blunted after discovering courtships could take centuries. 

Danethiur arranged for Nag Kath to visit his horse and mule. They were definitely the poor relations in the stable though A’mash thought himself lord of the estate. He probably reminded them his mother was a horse. Nag Kath also saw Telfurath a few times and told him the Elvish archives from Orthanc seemed destined for Valinor. The scholar assured him that they would be collected in Rivendell first and that he would be leaving for the Undying Lands fairly soon himself. That suggested to Nag Kath that these people had a secret way to reach the western side of these steep mountains. They had lots of other secrets so what was one more?

He only saw the King a third time when he deliver the finished waterfall and bid him farewell. Yet again, he had escaped on the healthy side of mortal judgment wiser and more capable than he entered. Thranduil was gracious in the way of high Lords but never friendly, habit of a lifetime, Nag Kath supposed.

Nag Kath learned a great deal about his long-lost kin. They were not all cold and aloof. It was more that they were so old and their society was so ordered that a nuance could convey vast meaning. Inhai’s little bow had as much love and tenderness as the biggest, sloppiest kiss off the trail in Edoras. The Elves might not understand why Danethiur’s picture was finished, but they did know when a thought or gesture was enough. 


	11. New Roots

** _Chapter 11_ **

** _New Roots_ **

** **

**Helpful maps include; Dale, Loremaster Dale and Esgaroth. <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8> **

Nag Kath, Vandery and A’mash rode in the dappled sunlight towards the edge of the forest. There were two escorts ahead and behind. Unlike what he had heard of Lorien and Rivendell, this place was not a secret, though it was hard to reach and defended by the finest soldiers in the world. 

And it was also close to Dale. He was abducted and taken due north to the intersection of the Elvenhall and the northerly route to the Long Lake. After faring his escort well he only had another day and a half to the city center. Danethiul gave him a standing offer to return anytime.

That was part of a pleasing trend. Everywhere he went he made friends, often people of influence. He did not know if he would ever see any of them again but the memories were warm. He hoped Dornlas would be married by now and that Captain Marchand and the Maedos came to terms. The red-beer Dwarves in Orthanc were here in Erebor by now. There were also people who were not friends but might think well of his capabilities like Morannen and King Eomer. Thranduil would now be included in that group. They might not go out of their way to help but they probably would not shoot on sight either. King Elessar? He was not sure. What had he said under his breath?

One look at Dale and Nag Kath knew he would like it here. He could see the hillside city from well off. Nag Kath did not stop at Lake Town and rode another three leisurely hours to reach the city, all the while in awe. The colors, water and mountains were an artist’s dream. 

Nag Kath did know that Dale was a mercantile kingdom like Gondor but with much less history. After the war of five armies it was rebuilt in fine form. Men did not replace the ornate decoration of longer-lived men which gave it a unique charm more closely tied to folk here today. Fortunately, it fared better than most cities in the Ring War. The enemies then were Easterlings who besieged their fellow men and Dwarves in Erebor but did not have the necessary artillery to sack Dale too. The Lings were routed after Sauron fell. Heads on pikes along the border were left to remind them.

No one in Thranduil’s realm knew anything about accommodations here. Nag Kath did learn there was an Elvish ambassador to King Bard’s court, for all the good that would do. He would hold to his usual pattern of staying in a nice inn and asking inoffensive questions. That was helped along when he found a restaurant on the high street with interesting food and wondered aloud where he might stay for his vacation. One old fellow said further up the street was an inn that catered to extended stays and described the place.

It was what he was looking for. The building was three stories, not including the basement which had windows on the downhill side. Those windows were glass rather than the oiled-paper of Edoras and most of Trum Dreng. Roofs were tiled and not as steep as he expected for a land that must get heavy snow in winter. Tying the animals to a rail post he walked up the steps into a hall like the Fair Maid with a separate desk away from where food and drink were served.

The clerk was speaking to a lad with his back turned but the boy gestured and he came to the counter. “Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to the King’s Arrow.”

Nag Kath ventured, “I wanted to inquire about a room and stabling for two animals.”

“Then you have come to the right place. Does sir intend to be with us long?”

Nag Kath said, “I hope to. You have such a fair city.”

“Thank you. We think so. Do you have specific needs?”

The Elf hadn’t considered that before, “Not really. I would like a window but it seems many have fine views.” In the subtle negotiation for space, that was the hint that he did not mind stairs in exchange for light.

“Bard will show you room 306.”

The lad said, “If you will come with me, sir.”

Bard, eh? Nag Kath later learned that people often had common or historical first names here. They could go by either or both. There were many Bards and Brands underfoot in Dale. The boy nimbly climbed the steep staircase assuming the Elf could keep up. At the top landing he turned left and opened the second door.

Yes, this would be just fine. The room was on the small side but had a narrow bed that was long enough, a writing desk and chair, a wash basin and a tall wooden cabinet that was made to hold far more clothes than Nag Kath had ever owned. The boy opened the shutters and showed him the city above the lake with Erebor against the far mountains. He could paint sitting here. Nag Kath slipped the boy a fiver and returned to the desk.

For single nights the room rate was a silver tenth which included both horses in the local stable. The rate for a month was twenty, Minas Tirith prices. In Nag Kath’s growing economic vocabulary, Dale was the center and cause of inflation. There was a mountain of gold across the valley in Erebor. Men rebuilt the city with their begrudged share of the dragon’s hoard and a gift from the great Bilbo. Elves had an interest in that too and while they spent little on rebuilding the city, this was their primary source of many things. Quality mattered and Mr. Tallazh said they did not like haggling. People here paid for what they wanted.

The Dwarves could buy the city and everything in it but were notoriously tight with their coppers. The joke, which no one shared with them, was that their short arms did not quite reach their pockets. Nag Kath considered his own pockets. A month would give him all the time he needed to learn the city front to back. That left seven Florin, enough to buy a home if he wanted to live here. No, two nippers to stay in the nicest place in town was a bargain. The food smelled good too.

Dale was a city of about 8,000 souls not including several outlying towns of as many as 800 or Esgaroth at two thousand. Also called Lake Town, Esgaroth had been rebuilt to serve the barge and boat traffic that distributed the many goods made here to the Dalelands and beyond. Elevation still meant status. That was relative because the city was largely ordered by guilds or occupations. Success always varied, but folk in those trades generally stayed close to each other, often close to the main market by the wharf. 

King Bard II was only the fourth in his line after a gap of better than two hundred years. The King was first among equals but could not ride roughshod on rural sensibilities. There might be another 40,000 subjects in outlying districts and they knew their influence. There was no landed gentry in the city walls. Like in Rohan, Thains were the nobility of the Kingdom and they stayed on their lands except for dealings with the crown. That would not keep anyone from lording it over the townsfolk, but there were no ancient Dukes in the woodpile to rub it in.

There were so many faces here. Each of two Dwarvish settlements of Erebor and Iron Hills lineage were two or three thousand strong. There were hundreds of Dwarves in the city proper or just outside the walls. The primary race was Northmen who were friendly to Gondor. For the first time since Minas Tirith, Nag Kath saw vast tracks of land under cultivation. Farmers were everywhere. Land had been given to them or sold cheap to encourage settlement in these fertile fields generations ago. There was water, but not too much like in the treacherous Greyflood plain. Soldiers were farmers first. The area could feed itself and there were plenty of fish in the lake.

What Nag Kath liked most was that different peoples and even races got along. Dwarves would eat at the same places as men of many colors and dress. Traders from further east with their leather caps and long moustaches and braided hair mingled with fair-headed folk from the north. No one came here to pick a fight. They had their share, but usually those were misunderstandings over trade or ale. Or wine. They made that here too and in Dorwinion further south. 

A couple days into his stay, the Elf decided he needed a guide. Bard (of the inn) had a cousin at liberty. They were both born and bred here and knew what there was to know. Nag Kath would still ask questions of people he thought had specific knowledge but Brenen was to be his eyes and ears.

Brenen Fal was a year older than Bard with the same mop of dirty blonde hair. Both of them would be handsome men in a few years. Nag Kath had Brenen explain who ran the place and who to avoid. He also inquired about both art and healing. The young man knew little about art. There were many healers and herb shops. There were also folk who could divine your future or cast out devils but Brenen could not afford their services. Art was a question because almost all of the public sculpture and painting was attributed to men who were buried twenty years ago. If there was demand for new art, it was a private affair. Nag Kath decided he would take his easel to fashionable settings and see who looked over his shoulder.

He ate around the city and found enough places that separated the meat from the rest that he didn’t have to pick through it like a fussy child. The food at the Arrow was good too. One night he went to a Dwarvish tavern and bought pitchers for thirsty toymakers. Mentioning two of the emissaries at the repatriation conference made him a hale-fellow-well-met. Bruigin’s cousin’s cousin was in that group and wasn’t it grand that they got their things back?!

___________--------___________

After twelve days in Dale he decided he would stay. There was nothing behind him and not much ahead. More importantly, no one was trying to get rid of him. He looked like an Elf. They did not usually associate with men. He did, but after one look, folk went about their business. He wasn’t a threat. He obviously wasn’t an Easterling and he wasn’t poor. There were women here too although he had not pursued any. Lentaraes said that a woman was the best way to learn a new city. Lentaraes never worried about entanglements.

The next day he and Brenen took the leather tube and easel to the Fountain of Bulin. It had survived the dragon by being wet, which made it one of the oldest structures in Dale. Scorched buildings nearby were demolished and the open space was now a park alive with summer flowers. Brenen was having a wonderful time getting paid to help this nice man or Elf, he wasn’t sure which. The creature did not cuss him or ask anything improper. Nag Kath bought them both lunch at an out of the way table of a small café and asked the waitress if he could set up his easel afterwards. The woman had no trouble with that and watched between servings.

It started as a sketch and then the Elf used his new paints from Danethuir. This was primarily a business stunt. His table was chosen both for the view of the fountain and because a lot of people in the park would pass behind him. He took his time with several hours of sun using the Elvish brushes for the first time away from the studio. He did not think it was one of his better efforts but he was noticed. Several strollers stopped to watch and wondered if his work was available. It was, thank you for asking! Brenen gave them cards with Nag Kath’s name and the King’s Arrow copied from the sign. Before this public display, Nag Kath had Brenen check if there was an Artist’s Guild. There seemed to be a guild for everything else and Guildmasters were famously protective of their turf. Brenen could not find one, as such, but wondered if entertainers might qualify.

The painting sold for a silver and four people took cards. 

The next evening he had dinner alone at the inn. The city was preparing for a festival of some sort. That was always good news. Brenen was sure it wasn’t a scheduled holiday and later reported that King Bard’s only nephew was to marry. This was a dynastic union with the daughter of a regional Thain. Brenen knew nothing about her. It had the feel of Naedrath’s Progress. Flowers were in bloom. There was to be a reading, a procession and pledge between the two houses.

An elegant woman in her early-thirties wearing a pale blue dress came down the stairs and was seated at one of the larger tables in the center of the room. Not long after, a couple who might be forty joined her and was graciously received. 

Had he seen her before? That was a face to remember, a soft oval with high cheeks and green eyes. Yes! She could be the woman he drew what seemed like ages ago in Minas Tirith, the first sketch he ever sold. This lady’s hair had more brown than red. Both shades glistened in the fading light. Was she here for the wedding? The couple was seated just as he finished but he would remember her.

The wedding was the event of the summer and it was the day before a regional trade fair started. Local folk of renown were arriving and the inn was near to full. It was that way all over Dale. A few stayed up the palace hill which was the only area of town that was officially denied to passersby according to a man in the restaurant. 

It was time for another public demonstration. He and Brenen carried the supplies to a bench he spotted half a block from the inn facing Erebor. It was hard not to find places worth drawing. This was to be a large work so the easel was equipped with several thin hardboards and two pieces of fine Elvish paper joined edge-to-edge. Nag Kath worked more slowly than usual. Brenen was to encourage spectators. 

Pickings were slim. Three Dwarves wandered past to see their Lord’s Gates but their arms did not reach their pockets. Several men with empty cloth sacks were returning home after working up the street. A stout couple smiled but did not slow. Perhaps the subject was too Dwarvish for the paying public.

“Do you draw people too?”

Brenen had reached the age where he could be stunned by desirable women. He hadn’t alerted Nag Kath but at least he didn’t stare.

Nag Kath turned on the bench to see the lady of the inn. “I do. And I feel I have drawn you before.”

A clumsy advance? Perhaps it was his unusual accent. “I hardly see how. I have not been here for an age.”

“In Minas Tirith, last year. I would have thought there could only be one like you. If I am wrong, the world is a better place.”

Brenen thought the Elf was even smoother than another good-looking cousin who had to stay one step ahead of Dale’s fathers and husbands.

“I have never been there at all.” finished with the faintest of smiles.

“That is their loss, my lady.” Looking at the sketch, “My heart is not in this one.” He stood. She was about ten feet behind him and the slope of the hill put them eye-to-eye. 

She looked at the painting again, “Are you here to draw the wedded couple?”

“I have only just learned of the union … only just arrived in Dale two weeks ago. It seems the city is making merry.”

“Yes.” She said in a far-off voice. “The auspices are good.” Returning to her first voice, “If you have already drawn me, I will take my leave.”

Brenen knew the next sentence would make or break the handsome Elf as a ladies man. “A pity. I never quite captured her eyes.”

Again; the close smile. She nodded and walked back up the street.

Brenen said, “That was a near thing, Nag Kath. I was hopin’ for you.”

“There is always hope, Brenen.”

Nag Kath watched for the lady at the inn but did not loiter or ask about her. Women usually asked about him. It was not a conceit. Inquiries were few and far between.

____________------___________

The next afternoon she was relegated to the back of his mind when he fulfilled an ambition. Buildings high and low often had tiny porches and patios that only held one or two tables. Some had gazebos or lattice screens for privacy or could even be walled-in with panels in winter. They were enjoyed in private homes and public places which often abutted one another, sometimes hard to tell apart.

Either way, here were three Hobbits enjoying an ale and a pipe together next to the street. He was not mistaken this time; very short and beardless with the same curly hair in shades of brown, red and gray. All had their people’s embroidered vests of many pockets. They also had the famed “clever fingers” that were nearly as long as his own on people half his height.

Nag Kath approached them from the street side of the wall and asked, “I beg your pardon but are you gentlemen of the Shire?”

The oldest of them, who may have been putting ale away since breakfast snorted, “Of course not! There were Hobbits here before the Shire. They went there from here.”

“Ah, I did not know.”

A more sober Halfling said. “There are more of us here than Elves, though we often have family to the west.”

The old one was not to be outdone, “My cousin lives near Bree. Never said a kind word in her life; that one. Glad she’s there.”

The sober Hobbit again, “Thank you for asking, though. Have you been there?”

“Alas, no. I came here from Gondor.”

The third filled the silence, “That is a long road.” He looked to his friends, “Do you think we can find him an ale?” Without waiting for an answer he added, “Pray join us, sir. The front door is just there.” It was not round but it was unlocked so Nag Kath stooped his way to the veranda.

“You are most kind. I am Nag Kath.”

The old one, who might have been a parent of the other two, growled, “Not a very Elvish name.”

The Elf admitted, “It does not roll off the tongue.”

The one who invited him managed their end of the introductions, “I am Lotold Brightens. This is my brother Lorens Brightens and this cantankerous old fellow is our Uncle Stifo Stikeleather, at your service.”

His host suddenly added, “Oh, your ale! Uncle?”

“No, this one still has life.” Lotold was gone and back in a moment with a mug while Nag Kath sat on the street wall.

Lorens kept the conversation going, “What brings you to Dale, Nag Kath?”

“I am an artist and heard my work might be appreciated.”

Uncle Stifo opined to the sky, “Artists and singers and fortune tellers! Does no one do a day’s labor anymore?”

Lotold said, “Just ignore him, Nag Kath. He is not really as ornery as he seems.” That garnered a beaming smile from the cranky old Hobbit.

“I have arrived at a joyous occasion. Do you know the happy couple?”

Lorens admitted they did not. “The girl comes from the country. She is quite young by our customs. He …”

“He is the homeliest fellow in the county! And it is a large county!”

Lotold scolded him, “Now Uncle Stifo, that is unbecoming and no way to treat our guest!” Looking to said guest, “I’m sure the couple will be blessed in their union.”

The old Hobbit looked at Nag Kath and said contritely, “I am sorry, young man.” Then, with a wicked chortle, “He can’t help the way he looks.” 

Lorens shook his head and asked, “Are you here to paint the wedding party?”

“You are the second person to ask. I am only just arrived and not known to anyone here. Is it the fashion to memorialize these events?”

Lorens said, “Yes, among men. Our own people often have portraits made afterwards. I am told the portraitist of the court is very good.”

Nag Kath raised his mug, “Then let us toast their good fortune.”

He hoped to meet them again, even Uncle Stifo. He was not sure when or how to explain that in another life he had been sent to hunt their kin. It was indeed a blessing that the Uruk-hai were incompetent.

The days went past. He did receive a note from one of the people who took his cards at the fountain. The desk clerk read it for him. They hoped he would visit their home the following day at eleven to draw a family portrait. That was his bread-and-butter in the White City. The clerk thought it a very respectable neighborhood and told him how to get there. That earned him a fiver.

The couple could not have been nicer. He did't remember them at the fountain. They were in their late thirties and not attractive, but made more than up for it with pleasant smiles. Nag Kath knew how to make happy people look happy. Their young son Uldath was a smaller version of them. The older daughter was the challenge. She was about thirteen. The lass was not comely either and looked like she had been hauled before a Magister for sentencing. Brenen helped carry things and Nag Kath explained how he wanted to light the picture. The couple said it was nice to see the lad again, earning Brenen a finder’s fee.

Nag Kath had the professional dilemma of counterfeiting a smile to match the girl’s loving parents or drawing the hangdog frown that would stare down on diners with every meal. He drew two faces on the outer edge of the sheet. Then he innocently looked up and asked, “Mrs. Patellence, could you help me?”

She rose from her chair and walked behind him. He nodded to the choices. Mrs. Patellence was no one’s fool. She pointed at the smile and returned to her seat looking like the cat that ate the mouse. Nag Kath roughed a potted fern over the sample faces and only the two of them would be the wiser. That earned him two silvers and a delicious lunch. Brenen ate with them and made friends with young Mr. Patellence, who was a very respectable young man.

_____________--------_____________

Unbeknownst to Nag Kath, intrigues were unfolding that were strangely similar to Trum Dreng. His situation was quite different but powers-that-be always have the same problems.

“What is the woman doing here?”

“She was invited.”

“She is always invited. Whoever thought she would accept?”

Finrales walked around to the sideboard and helped himself to another cup of wine. “I don’t see why you are making such a fuss. That business was settled long ago.”

“It is not so settled, and you know it.” Earkinford looked at the wine goblet himself but decided this was a night for a clear head. "Forgive me my friend. This is just not the time to be raising old ghosts. What does the King know of this?”

“I cannot say. Brand kept his own counsel. He certainly didn’t have time for a deathbed confession. I am not sure I want to be the one to bring this up.”

Earkinford stared at the wine goblet more longingly, “Me either. But someone should. It is one of us or Arfendir, if you can pull him away from the bottle.” Another stare, “Maybe she is here to lay claim. No Finrales, he should hear it from us. I will approach his Lordship if you agree to back my play.”

“Very well. Do not give away the throne.”

** In another part of the palace **

“Dougsh! You are sure?”

“Quite.”

“When did you learn?”

“Yesterday. Tanisditter confirmed it this morning.”

The two men were discussing the complex staffing arrangements for the wedding ceremony. Turn Leddifur was the King’s Chamberlain, a promotion when Bard took the throne. Fredar Galoxyn was Quartermaster but he had been seconded as head wedding planner when the nuptials were moved to the palace. 

“A stroke?”

“Happened a month ago. The old fool kept thinking he would recover enough to do the wedding pictures. Tanisditter said he can’t move his left side and drools. The mind is still there and he can speak a little. But devil the man! He should have spoken of this!”

Leddifur grasped at straws, “Who else is there? I would not be so concerned about such unmanly business but blast, this is Thain Uvald’s baby girl and the King’s nephew, his heir as well. Can’t any of our women help? They ought to be doing this anyway.”

Galoxyn shook his head, “Tanisditter is running that down now, including inquiring among the women. One fellow came to mind but he is more house painter than artist. I’ll ask the patrons of the sculpture garden for a name.”

The Chamberlain stared at his tea, “A bloody stroke!”

_____________--------_____________

Nag Kath gave Brenen two tenners for finding the Patellences. The lad was speechless. This was terrible. When he brought his earnings home to his father, the man bought wine and beat him and his mother. Either da needed to get drunk enough to die or he couldn’t see even one of these. 

Brenen arrived a few days ago before with a black eye. Boys get black eyes fighting among themselves or walking into gates but the Elf was worried. The lad had not spent a groat on better clothes or anything to eat. Nag Kath remembered tales of Dornlas’ brother-in-law, not to mention all the pubs where someone wanted to throw a punch.

“Da give you that shiner?”

“Aye.”

“Do that often.”

“Any chance he gets.”

“And your ma?”

“Same.”

“Got brothers or sisters?”

“Had a sister. She died little. It wasn’t him. Fever comin’ off the lake. I got sick too but made it.”

“Does he use what I pay you to buy ale?”

“Wine.”

“Does he have a job?”

“He used to fish but he hurt his back and had to sell the boat.”

“Is there anywhere else you can stay?”

“Bard’s folk maybe. They like me but they don’t want my father comin’ round. His da and mine are brothers. Bard’s the lucky one.”

“Your luck is about to change. Better trade one of those tenners for groats at the desk”

_____________--------_____________

“Sire, may I have a word?”

“Certainly, Lord Earkinford.” When his father’s counselor stayed motionless, the King waited until the room cleared. King Bard II was 37 years old and came to the throne when his father Brand and the Dwarvish King Dain were slain at the gates of Erebor three years before.

He was everything a King should be; tall, comely, with a rich baritone that spoke wisdom. The people of Dale were lucky to have four monarchs in a row that honored kingly virtues. He moved his own people into key positions but it was not a clean sweep. One did not discard the accumulated experience of lives well lived. His father Brand’s senior advisors were retained on what became the Council of The Arrow. Today was a meeting of the household staff but his father’s loyal man asked to attend.

This King motioned Earkinford to sit and took a chair next to him.

“My Lord, it is with some regret that I come to you with this now rather than when you took your place as liege. Hmmmm, your father was a passionate man in his rule and … other matters.” Earkinford tread carefully. This King was devoted to his Queen, an attractive lady who had born her liege two daughters. They hoped more children were in the offing. Queen Delatha was a gracious woman of the eastern clans where female piety was valued over intelligence.

King Bard’s face was a blank slate. With no comments, the counselor continued, “After your mother went to her ancestors, your father, Regent at the time, thought to take a new wife, a young woman of Esgaroth. She was fair, clever and of good parents. Many thought her beneath his station but he reasoned that he had sired your Lordship and looked to a more tranquil home life.”

By that he meant that Bard’s mother Hortencia was a shrew of the first water. When the godlings of the northern wastes called her home, mourning was restrained. Still, the King’s face registered no change.

“Your father had documents prepared according to our laws to sanctify the union and plans were underway for a ceremony like the one we are having two days hence.” The next sentence was the hard one, “Your father also took the young woman to bed with the promise of his undying fealty. As their nuptials approached, a messenger from the Marches brought a proposal of alliance to be sealed in marriage between Dale and the Lady Gloriden, who was a superb Queen in her short reign. Your father’s intended could not compete with a strategic alliance for the safety of our realm. As the new Queen did not share your father’s, ummm, appetites, the lass was offered a less exalted position. She refused and returned to her people on the lake where she brought forth a baby girl. 

“So you see, Sire, the Lady Realieth was not your only sister. Your father made a small settlement on the girl to keep things quiet and swore those of us who knew to carry that to our graves. I was prepared to do so. The King never forgave himself for his treatment of her and ordered in a private codicil to his estate that she be invited to the palace every year against the chance she would relent and join him.

“The invitation this year was for the wedding of your esteemed nephew. And this year, my liege, she accepted.”

The King, as all kings seem to do, held his chin with his fingers and kept his eyes on the advisor who, in his view, had behaved correctly. “I am glad you told me, though I honor the promise you made my father as well. We must make hard choices in our professions. I suppose I know who the others were. One is probably ready for retirement soon?”

“A forgone conclusion. Perhaps all three.”

“Do not treat yourself meanly, old friend. I would know more of the lady, and my sister.”

“I know nothing of the child, Sire. King Brand did not want them watched. All I know is that the woman is staying at the King’s Arrow with friends. How much she has ever shared, beyond the shame it brought her family, is unknown. I suspect, and it is only that, she kept this to herself, else we should have heard of it.”

The King was not given to idle speculation. “What do you advise, advisor?”

_____________--------_____________

The week before that meeting, Nag Kath spent a few hours every day searching for a home. Dale was large enough that there were men who assisted in buying and selling property. He would probably use one of them for the transaction but he needed to know where first.

It was a lovely place with choices. He ruled-out those which were too expensive or mean. He did not want to buy a place in the heart of a district that only wanted their kind. He was no one’s kind. A guild enclave that wasn’t particular would be fine or perhaps on a border. Brenen was concerned with security. He had not learned how hard his employer was to kill. 

Private stables were exclusive to the highest hills but as in Trum Dreng, most neighborhoods had public stabling. Carriages were uncommon in Dale and there were so few man-carts that they did not have a guild. People walked. It helped that most streets were cobbled so you weren’t ankle deep in mud during the rains.

Nag Kath had narrowed the field. He wanted a view. He did not want to live near a noisy craft. Water should be nearby but not low enough to smell the fish docks. One of the little Hobbit porches would be a plus. Patrons should not feel threatened coming there. The two best areas were between the Lampmakers and Scholars or a purely residential area a few blocks below the palace grounds on the less fashionable side.

He retained an estate agent who was very good at his business and discussed things Nag Kath had not considered like the state of the roof or if ice might come in his door. His last winter was in Orthanc which was freezing cold but not leaky. They visited three homes and at his agent’s suggestion, Nag Kath offered three Florin for a house bordering the Jewelers block. 

Buyer and seller settled at three and six (silvers). The place was unoccupied and had some furniture of the former owner who moved in with her son when keeping the place was too much. Cash changed hands at the Royal Bank of Dale, he was handed two keys and the deed. A copy of the deed was also registered in the Hall of Notices for safety and taxes. He grinned thinking himself the first orc ever on a registry of deeds. When they got to the new home, Nag Kath said to Brenen, “That’s your room. Can you cook?”

That afternoon he returned to the King’s Arrow to get his bags. He was told he could apply his unused time against future meals. More importantly, he wanted to leave little cards with his new address at the desk, along with a modest tip for sharing them.

“I was told you moved on.”

He heard nothing until she spoke. Maybe she had a little of the Eldar in her blood too. The dress was a pale rose this time. He replied, “Good day, fair lady. Yes, I bought a little house near the Jewelers. I just came back to settle the bill and let folk know where to find me. I did not ask if you are here for the wedding.”

“I am. Are you going?”

“I am still waiting for my invitation. And you; Bride or Groom?”

“Let us just say; friend of the family”

“I did hear the bride is quite young, following the custom of the country.”

“Yes, she is younger than my daughter.”

“That is not possible.”

She giggled, “I was young once too. My girl has set her heart at a handsome fellow in Buhr Austar whose father is Thain. He is a good man and I will approve if he asks her hand.”

So the father was not involved. “Forgive me but I don’t even know your name, fair lady. I am Nag Kath.”

“She looked at him curiously, “You seem part Elf. The best part, I’m sure. I am Eniece. And I must be going. I wish you good fortune with your new home, Nag Kath.”

She made no noise leaving either.

_____________--------_____________

Elsewhere, Mrs. Patellence was working hard. She was vice-chair of the flower committee this year and the carnations intended for the wedding had root rot. Too much rain was the consensus. Seven other ladies of the hill were in her main room. There was nothing for it. They would have to use belustras. She proudly showed her new family picture as the committee arrived and was now discussing how to get those flowers up to the palace, all except Mrs. Eusta who was having a second look. 

We need to talk about Bernetta Eusta for a moment. She was a minor beauty of the city years ago and married old Ferd Eusta, the silver tycoon. He rented her youth, but that was all he got while it lasted. The woman wasn’t intentionally hurtful. She just had the tact of a cave bear. Old Ferd wrote a huge bequest for her in his estate. He later begrudged that as his ardor waned but he never changed the will. When the old boy went to his ancestors, her stepson thought it a bargain to be rid of her and transferred the bank credit the day after the funeral.

That same bank account made her the permanent flower chair and now she was looking at the dowdy Patellence family and the wonders the artist had done their unfortunate daughter. In the same thoughtless manner that defined her entire life, she said to the committee, “Just think what he could do with the groom.”

It did not take long. The man looked impatient. “Are you Naks”

“Nag Kath.”

“Close enough. The official portraitist cannot assist with the noble wedding tomorrow and I have come to find his replacement.”

“I hope the man is well.”

“No.”

“I see. I was about to have fruit and tea. Come in.” When seated, Nag Kath asked, “I am sorry. I did not catch your name.”

“Tanisditter.”

“An eastern name?”

A sore subject too, “Yes.”

“Now, Mr. Tanisditter, how can I help?”

Other than where he had to be and when, the terse Tanisditter knew almost nothing of the subject, pose, size or background. The man seemed annoyed to be asked questions no real man could answer. Tanisditter thought this fellow far too pretty for the land of Northmen and was one of the few who did not see the Elf in man’s garb. And he was an artist!

Nag Kath would be at the Hall of Grace by eleven tomorrow. Information the former soldier should have managed without being asked was how to get past the sentries. Tanisditter produced a copper token to present at the gate that was eerily close to Nag Kath’s Uruk toglakz medallion. The palace henchman was probably not the man to negotiate payment either so there was nothing else to say.

That morning he gathered his supplies for the palace. Vandery was probably a luxury too. Almost no one but soldiers rode here. Even Lords and Ladies walked if the weather was fair. From his new home on the northeast side of the city to the palace gate was a fifteen minute stroll. 

He handed the token to the gate guard who called his corporal over. They looked at it and him. Then the older man dropped it in his pocket and said with unexpected courtesy, “Thank you sir. If you will make your way along the path and turn left at the building with the blue shutters, the next door is your destination.” With a smile he opened the gate.

The room was bustling with activity. He was not told to look for anyone but being the only six and a half foot man in the place, they would find him. Most of the crowd left shortly for the ceremony further up the path. He mooched around the room and helped himself to berries the guests hadn’t finished. Two hours later, an elderly retainer approached him and asked, “Are you Mr. Kass?” Nag Kath said he was.

“The plan has changed. Please come with me to the palace.”

Once in the building the Elf asked, “Can I have a look at work that has been done before so I know the style?”

The old boy thought for a second and decided he had the time. “Follow me.”

There was a small hall with good sunlight that had a section of wall dedicated to drawings and paintings of noted persons. The fellow said, “These are not wedding portraits, but they are close.”

They were a variety of sizes and papers. This was just the sort of thing Dale’s new artist did well. He thanked the retainer and followed him to a lovely room in the Elvish style with tall windows along a south face. The centerpiece was a long, polished wood table. Somewhat unusually, there was a suit of armor in the corner and crossed halberds. Elves don’t display weapons they aren’t using.

The wedded couple made their way towards Nag Kath who stood and bowed. He thought they could have done this before or after but having drawings done on the day was further proof that the parties had a deal. 

The old Hobbit was a bit behind the times. The groom was not a handsome man but in the last few years he had grown into his face. And he had a farm-boy grin that put Nag Kath’s to shame. He was thrilled to be married. The blushing bride was indeed quite young. They liked them young and fertile in this land. She was attractive. None of her features were striking but they did not fight each other. That would make her easy to draw.

Nag Kath shook hands with Lord Devoren Carstors, bowed to the new Lady Carstors and asked them to sit. Pictures here, as in most of Middle Earth, were done individually, probably because a picture of the pair froze the moment for better or worse. 

Nag Kath did the bride first. She was happy too but very nervous. Fresh off the farm after a lifetime of close supervision, this evening was much on her mind. It could be the first night of relative freedom or the start of pain and suffering as explained by women whose job it was to keep her from her budding impulses. The Elf’s first effort was good and he turned to the groom. That did not go as well. Half way through he said, “My Lord, I think having you a bit in profile would be more flattering.” He replaced the sheet with one off the bottom and asked, “Could I get you to face a little more towards your lady?”

This picture went fine. He still took some liberties with things the young man could not help and they were delighted. The former portraitist must have worked slowly. Nag Kath was well under his allotted time. With the bride beaming at her man, Nag Kath made bold to ask, “If your friends can wait a little longer, I could draw you together in a third.”

They grinned and pulled their chairs close. This sketch was not a masterwork but it was the best of the day. They both smiled at each other, not the intimidating frowns to put peasants cap-in-hand at the manor. 

The Lord and Lady rose with Nag Kath and all three bowed. The man who brought him here said, “Thank you for the extra care, Mr. Kass. I think they should keep that work for themselves.”

“That was my thought also. I need to touch these up for display. May I do that here?”

“Yes, thank you. I must see to matters but will return shortly.”

Nag Kath stood at a broad window sill to add the last strokes. Halfway through, King Bard, Leddifur, Finrales and Galoxyn burst into the room followed by two men in livery. The King was agitated and exclaimed, “I thought this was in hand! I need those two working together. She thinks to marry Conath’s son?!”

“Yes, Sire. Thought that is not commonly known.”

The King looked over at Nag Kath who bowed and stood by his papers. Bard assumed he was with the Elvish ambassador who was just here and always seemed to know everything anyway. The whole town would know before the day was out which meant someone would tell his wife. He had married one Thain’s pious daughter and a rival Thain’s son was marrying his bastard half-sister?! “By Ordath who watches over simpletons and cripples! What would you have me do now?!”

Each advisor offered or agreed with a version of bringing the Queen’s father Fändul to the table with Thain Conath. Then they would dissuade Eniece and her daughter from the considered union without alarming the Queen.

Nag Kath had neither been included nor dismissed. The King looked at him and demanded, “You know all the answers. What do you advise?”

Well, as long as he asked; “Embrace the wronged woman as family, treat the girl as your long lost sister and marry her to a rich yokel with no political ambitions.”

“And my wife?”

“Take her upstairs and make her glad she married the King.”

That was a very un-Elvish answer. It was good no one had anything in their mouth. 

The King put his hands flat on the table. Staring at his reflection he growled, “Out!” Nobody moved for a second. “OOOUUUT!!!”

Advisors scurried through the door along with Nag Kath. He thought of taking the drawings. If they wanted them, they could sing for their supper. No, the young couple had nothing to do with this and he wished them joy. He did get his tube and was out with the last of the counselors. Orders like that do not apply to guards. The King jerked his head and they followed the fleeing civilians.

Nag Kath kept going downstairs. This was not the splash he envisioned. Maybe someone would inquire at the King’s Arrow with his payment. The rest of the men listened to what they thought was the sound of a decorative halberd being smashed against the suit of armor. Two minutes later the doors opened and the King commanded, “In!" After his advisors trooped in the King asked, "Why is it I got my best advice from a complete stranger? Who was that Elf? I’ve never seen him before.”

Galoxyn answered, “Kass something, Sire. That is the fellow we hired yesterday to draw Lord and Lady Carstors.”

The King stared as if he could crush his advisor’s heart with his eyes but asked gently, “What?”

“Yes My Lord. Our portraitist had a stroke. This man is an itinerant artist one of the flower women knew.”

The King walked over to the sketch. Looking at them vented some of his steam. The young couple was lost in each other with their lives ahead of them, just as he had been twelve years ago with his lady wife. The smile took ten seconds from start to fullness. Then he strode downstairs with the toadies in his wake.

The King nodded to his bowing subjects in the reception hall. Spotting the woman was easy. He had never seen her but she could not be lost in a crowd. He approached her and bowed deeply, “My Lady, I have just learned of wrongs done you. I will repair those to the best of my ability. From this minute forward, your daughter is my sister and will be honored as such. I have a few related matters to attend, but I hope we can meet during your stay. Please excuse me.”

Eniece bowed as he walked over to the Queen who was out of earshot but observing. With his warmest voice he said, “My dear, please come with me.” He only used ‘my dear’ when he was amorous. It had been a while. Oh thank you, Yavanna! It is time for a boy!

_____________--------_____________

He was a citizen of someplace. Isengard didn’t count -- either time. Nag Kath spent the next two months exploring every inch of the city figuring he would visit the outside when he was done. With Dale’s only other portraitist retired, he got a slow but rising flow of commissions, more than enough to pay his modest bills and that much left at the end of the month.

There was no Artists Guild to tithe. Guild areas were nations unto themselves. They had their own street names, rules, slang, food, manners and complaints. Cottage industries policed their own. The Guardi was for everyone else and knew to mind their own business. Some Guilds were more genteel than others. Some, like the Gravediggers, did not have their own districts. The scholars were like scholars everywhere. This lot did not have much of a library. But this was also where he would ask about reading tutors very soon.

Guild charters were granted and renewed by royal authority. They entailed powers to enforce their codes among members but the crown would not use the Guardi against non-members. And guilds could not be used as a cover for organized thievery. Thieves had their own un-chartered guild. 

In addition to reading, Nag Kath wanted to learn archery. He felt he could not be defeated in combat. But the child in the loft could have killed him. His whole brigade of Uruks was annihilated by bowmen plinking them one at a time. That was the one weapon to bring him low and he meant to master it.

He got his opportunity in late summer. Every year after harvest, all of the city and rural levies held militia training for at least two weeks. In some towns, men harvested the field one day and brought weapons back the next. Fit men between 17 and 39 were expected to participate for a week every year, though many over and under that age came because they felt themselves, and wanted to be counted as, soldiers. Splitting the training among two or more weeks kept from depleting the workforce. There were countless conditions, excuses and bribes to keep from participating but most eligible men came. In many cases, it was easier than their employment. 

As a property and horse-owning tradesman, he was eligible for one of the elite, non-professional levies of the city. Farm lads were infantry. Some specialty troops like sappers or artillery trained longer, which included pay the rankers did not get. Up the ladder; there were a bakers-dozen units in the city who trained year-round, marched in parades and held their heads high as defenders of Dale.

In the land of Bard the Bowman, he could learn to shoot. Most of the city militiamen were defensive troops who were taught to fire down from turrets or crenels. Nag Kath was more interested in level, long-distance targeting. The finest of those archers were in the professional army but their instructors were seconded to the militias for late summer drills. Brenen was told to find where the best teachers would be. On the first day of enrollment, a tall, pale soldier walked in the tent of Sergeant Alfus Dedlan and said he wanted the man to teach him the weapon.

All Sergeants are alike, it doesn’t matter what army. An Uruk Sergeant was the same as a Rohirrim. They are the toughest, smartest and most practical troops under Arien’s sun because they survive the harshest tests. Dedlan was sitting in a folding chair ticking off a list of which regulars to expect. He finished that and burped before looking up at the beardless lad standing at-ease. “Are you in my call, boy?”

“No sir.”

“Then get you to the green levy, son. This troop is for experienced men.”

“I have experience in combat. I was told you are the man to see about archery.”

Sergeant Dedlan had some leisure. Every one of the men on his list knew what they were doing. The man spit something brown out of the side of his mouth and said, “We’ll see about that.”

Walking out of the tent he called to a burly fellow loading the bow rack, “Burry, you old toad. Front and center.”

Burry swaggered slowly over spitting something brown of his own. The man smirked but said nothing.

“Sarn't Burry, this lad wants to learn to shoot, says he’s seen action.” Nag Kath was wearing the same clothes he wore slaying the rebels. Perhaps they would notice the blood.

Burry drawled, “I wouldn’t have thought so, Sarge.” Looks a little green to me.”

Dedlan said, “Son, get two of those beater swords from that pile. You show us what you can do, maybe you’ll learn the bow.”

The Elf had his hair over his ears and wore his traveling hat because most men coming did. Helmets were only required in live drills, in part because they made good stew pots when pilfered. Nag Kath walked over to the stack of wooden practice swords and chose two that were reasonably straight. Handing one to Burry he said quietly, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Something in that sentence made the man spit more brown juice. While all this was going on, eight or nine archers came as a group to register early. Training did not start at the crack of dawn. They had to be here at the eight-bell but were expected to have eaten breakfast and tended their business first. This looked like free entertainment so they gathered by the draw line. 

Burry slashed slowly at Nag Kath and missed by inches. Nag Kath drew away from Dedlan for room to swing. Burry came at him somewhat in jest using the traditional, single sword moves taught to children and greenbottoms, a bit like the salvager in Orthanc.

But this was not an insecure scratcher. The big Sergeant was making sure the troops in his Lake Rangers could handle their end of desperate fighting. Nag Kath parried Burry’s swings, but not so easily that it seemed so. A few minutes in without any telling blows, the big man became more earnest. Nag Kath continued to fend-off the strikes but made no offensive thrusts of his own. And just as with the miner, he knew what was coming.

Burry grew tired of playing with the brat. He came in hard with a professional combination and got himself a wicked welt on his forearm. Another attack and an ear was burning red. The third yielded him a thump in his personal area he never saw and his fourth thrust, shouting in rage, landed him on his bottom with blood dripping from his nose. The men along the draw line had been expecting a raucous good time watching the veteran embarrass the child. They were quiet as the grave. Maybe the greenbottom got in some lucky strikes, but none of them wanted any part of Sergeant Burry.

Nag Kath tossed the toy sword back into the pile and took a dipper of water from the clean-barrel. Kneeling by the aching soldier, he gave him the ladle said quietly, “I owe you a pitcher of your favorite when you are ready.” Then he walked in front of the tent and asked the stunned Master Sergeant, “Who do I see about a bow?”

“We got bows! Be here tomorrow at the seven-bell.” Nag Kath nodded and walked across the wheat stubble. Burry rose with some effort and lurched to the tent in view of men arriving to register. Sergeant Dedlan said softly, “Good fight Burr. Fraid he got the better of ya.”

Burry had taken worse. His pride suffered more. He drew from his deep well of humor said just as softly, “No Al. He could have killed me anytime he wanted.”

_____________--------_____________

The next day, Nag Kath arrived before seven. Burry had a few bruises but he was fit and showed no hard feelings. The regulars should be here at eight but there was already quite a throng. Sergeant Dedlan wanted an hour to see what else this kid had. 

Some discipline was called for. “Kath! First things first. You do what I say when I say it and nothing else, right!”

“Aye, Sarge.” 

“You don’t hit nobody, or kill nobody less I say so, right?”

“Aye, Sarge.”

“Good. You ever handled a longbow?”

“No sir.”

“I’m not a sir! I’m Sergeant Dedlan!”

Nag Kath thought he should have remembered that from Rohan. “No, Sarn't!”

The Sarge handed him what looked a better than average bow from the rack and took his own off the end along with a dozen practice-tipped arrows.

At the draw line, “All right, feet like this, keep your left arm straight, fingers like this on the grip.” Nag Kath mimicked his motions. “Good. Nock the arrow between the red threads by holding the arrow between these fingers.” He held up his hand. “Good, now pull back slowly until your knuckle is even with your eye. You’re going to sight down the arrow to the target. Watch here.”

The target was a tightly-bound bundle of grain stalks thirty paces away with a red rag stretched lengthwise down the center. Sarge said, “Awright. Your dandies use a circular target to keep score. You miss a foot to either side, you still kiss the maid. In war, your misses have to be up and down. Hit a man in the eye or the foot, he’s a casualty.”

Sergeant Dedlan smoothly drew and put an arrow just right of the red stripe chest high, a killing shot unless the enemy was heavily armored. It seemed effortless despite the force he applied.

“Awright, you try.”

Nag Kath repeated the motion and loosed. The arrow missed the straw bundle by four feet and bounced off an oak log next to it. Practice tips are thin steel caps with dulled points that will penetrate a pile of straw but not wood. Hitting a man would hurt like blazes but do no real damage unless it pierced a vital point. Barbed combat tips are designed to slice in and do worse damage on the way out.

“Awright, son. That wasn’t bad but your breathing was wrong. Breathe in on the draw and exhale on the release. It’s all one motion.”

Nag Kath tried again. He still missed the red stripe but the arrow hit the bundle and sunk deep in the straw. Dedlan took another shot with a heavy pull and split the red, sinking the shaft a bit more than half way in. Some of that was to demonstrate his breathing and some was to see just how hard the kid launched that shaft.

“Once more!”

“Aye, Sarge.” This one was closer to the red and only the feathers were sticking out of the straw. Nag Kath shot the other seven arrows and put three in the red. Most of the men arriving were more accurate but they had done this for years and did it with pride.

Dedlan called, “Wait there.” He emerged from the tent with his own combat weapon and a dozen bladed arrows.

“Let me see that wrist. Here, tie the guard around your arm and buckle it around your thumb. Good. Now, see here; this is a Northman bow. The ends bend forward. They don’t spring back until the center is taught, takes more fight to draw. There’s bone and horn in-between the wood. We’re going to use real arrows so watch where you point that thing. I’ll show ya one.”

The expert archer repeated his same routine except the draw was slightly slower and he only held the fully taught position an instant. With this weapon, you either drew and released or relaxed if the shot wasn’t there. The target was the oak bole next to the straw. His release was poetry and the arrow head sunk more than half the depth of the head. These were game arrows without the back barbs but the sharpened sides were as wide as war heads.

“Awright! You try.”

Nag Kath saw everyone looking at him and remembered his breathing. He practiced something like that in his thoughtful resting. The first arrow missed the log. His second skinned bark off the round. The third was near the center. Its head went in full and the shaft splintered as though someone had smashed it at the nock with a sledge.

“I am sorry, Sarge. I will pay for that.”

“We got more. Try again.”

Nag Kath did. He thought he heard a few coppers changing hands in the audience. After five more shots that all hit the log towards the edges he said, “I would like to shoot quickly. Is that approved?”

Sarge spit and looked at Burry who deadpanned, “I’ll have to check with the Lieutenant.”

The Elf remembered the Eregion trooper laying his arrows along side each other in case he needed to shoot without taking his eyes from the target. He stabbed the tips of the last four arrows in the dirt next to his leg.

This had reached the point of entertainment for everyone but the Sarge, Burry and Nag Kath. The Elf closed his eyes and thought of his breathing. Slowly nocking the first, he drew and fired, repeating that motion at speed. It wasn’t the “Fast” but it was certainly Elvish. All four arrows were within six inches of each other. 

Burry was standing next to Dedlan while Nag Kath was shooting and asked in a whisper, “Ever seen anything like that?”

Sarge spit and said, “Once.”

Nag Kath looked at the viewers and eased closer to the two men. Those arriving maintained a respectful distance but they had to prepare for their own training. In a voice no louder than theirs, “Burry, I think you should claim that pitcher tonight. I need to tell you both something.”

Burry thought of the most expensive place sergeants were welcome and said, “Stag and Corner. Seven of the bell.”

_____________--------_____________

The two men walked in and saw Nag Kath at a back table. The table next to it had the chairs seat-down on the top. They sauntered over as Nag Kath stood to shake hands. Nag Kath started the conversation by saying, “The serving woman could not say which ale was better so I got a pitcher of each.”

Good thinking, lad!

“Thank you for joining me. Sergeant Burry, are you recovered?”

The burly man was still a little sore, but not about to admit it. “Had worse. You pulled your blows.” The last sentence came with a glance that made it a question, answered with the slightest of nods.

Nag Kath spoke softly, “This is between us soldiers. I wanted to learn archery and I am in your debt. But I had not thought to make my lessons so public.” He smiled, “Though I think the man in the green cap did well with his wagers.” The Sergeants grinned too.

“I am new to your fair city. I have not been appreciated further south. My hope is to start a new life here. Sooner or later, everyone will know about me, but later is better, so folk can adjust.”

The soldiers were thinking this fellow had left with violence in his wake or the wrong man’s purse. Was he learning to defend himself against angry husbands? He was a pretty thing, perhaps a lifelong bachelor? 

Nag Kath continued, “I have a small studio for art and drawing.”

An artist! Well that confirmed lifelong bachelor. Still, this was one not to provoke.

Nag Kath had purposely given them forgivable flaws to soften what came next. “I am not what I seem.” He pulled his hair back behind one ear. 

Dedlan cried, “Ha, told ya!” 

“I am not an Elf of the Elves. And I am very young, even by men’s count of years, inexperienced in many things, but not killing. That is why I would like to train away from prying eyes. I would not make myself a challenge for every rough lad trying to impress his lady-fair.”

The Sergeants kept quiet but had not neglected their ale. Burry was the first to finish his mug and sample the other pitcher. Dedlan asked, “What do you want from us.”

“I want to be an excellent archer, hit targets on the move, understand the weapon, and how to be less in-front of it. I offer either or both of you side-work for discrete tutoring, if your service to Dale allows such employ.”

When Nag Kath said no more, Burry twisted his mug in the ring of water on the table and said, “I believe our liege permits that … after hours.”

Dedlan took a long pull before he spoke again, “I think Burry is your man, Kath. He can spit a partridge on the wing. I am southbound after the city-call to train-up teachers on the borders.” He grinned, “Too much gout and stout out there!”

Burry added, “And barley malt.”

Dedlan said ‘Aye’ just as Nag Kath said, “I have tasted that. Folk say spirits do not affect such as me, but even one left me dizzy. I dare not think of the wreckage if a party of Dwarves found it to their liking.”

That image set both Sergeants laughing as they topped their mugs. Nag Kath had only put a little ale in his before they arrived so as to seem ready for another. The tavern was filling with thirsty, well-heeled trainees wondering why they could not take the empty table. The maid got more than a night’s tips to hold it for important guests arriving shortly after the tall, blonde man left.

The Elf said, “Burry, we will speak again after our city archers have sharpened their eyes. Here is my card. Sergeant Dedlan, what do I owe you for not throwing me out of your tent?”

“That is part of my duty, young man.” Chuckling, “A lamp maker who reported drunk got to chop your arrowheads out of the log. I made him leave the one arrow in to show others how you splintered the shaft. They only do that when they hit dead straight.”

Nag Kath thought they might conclude but there was a deal more to discuss. One was that he needed to visit Fridth the bowyer who had a shop with his brother Fridar the fletcher. He must get the bow from the one and the arrows from the other, not the other way round. Burry added that he should specify a Dun Breathen pull, a baseman’s quiver with a variety of long arrows sporting different tips and goose, not turkey, quills.

Dedlan told him to chew the nails on his string fingers smooth so they would not snag and have Fridth include an outside-lacing arm-guard. All three had a good time for another hour. Nag Kath ordered a third pitcher and food for the archers before he left. 

He walked home pleased. A good day! It was too late to visit the bow-maker but he would attend to that first thing tomorrow so the weapon would be ready when Burry called.

_____________--------_____________

Home was not so pleasant. Someone was crying inside. Nag Kath cautiously opened the door and found Brenen comforting a blonde woman sitting on the high hearth step holding her face in her hands. They heard the door shut and looked up. Brenen had a bloody nose. The woman had a red eye that would be purple in an hour and a deep cut in her lower lip that had only just stopped bleeding.

Brenen immediately got between the Elf and woman to defend her. “I’m sorry, Nag Kath. I didn’t know what to do. He went on a rage this time.”

So this was his mother. Brenen did not know him as well as he thought if the lad felt he must keep the Elf from tossing the beaten woman outside. Discipline was a husband’s right. Interfering was complicity. Such women were shunned in most of Middle Earth for the trouble following them. Nag Kath slowly walked past Brenen and knelt next to her. “Here, let me see fair lady.”

She could not keep her swollen lip from trembling but she held back new tears. He gently brushed the hair from her face and considered the bruise around her eye. It had been a glancing blow. The lip caught the second punch full. She was on the verge of flight as his hand glowed silver on her cheek for a few moments. Brenen got his looks from her. She was still comely, but fifteen years of nights like this left cares that told. His ma was tall, like the women of Rohan, and her hair was as long and blonde as theirs. Most peoples of Dale had darker hair.

Nag Kath walked over to a little rug from Rhûn he bought the week before and sat cross-legged. Looking to Brenen, “You want to tell me what happened?”

He looked at his ma then answered, “Da found I was holding out on him, gave me this” touching his finger to his nose. “Mother tried to stop him and she got worse. He’d had a skin-full so we ran to the chandler’s sector cause he couldn’t follow us through the alleys. Then we came here. I swear, Nag Kath! I didn’t mean to bring this to your door.”

The Elf looked to the woman, “I am Nag Kath.”

She had gathered herself, “I am Aleurn. Please do not turn Brenen out. He is a good boy.”

“Calm yourself, dear lady. We will think of something.” Looking to Brenen sternly he barked, “Have you learned to cook yet?!”

They heard the smack of the boy’s lips opening but nothing came out.

“Get coppers from the bowl and fetch us a fish-bake with lennas from Jeevar’s. Off you go!” The boy scampered out the door. He would use his own groats.

Aleurn managed a small smile at the Elf and said, “He can’t boil water.” She rose after daubing her nose on her sleeve and walked to the kitchen. In this house it was a corner of the large main room. The two bachelors had almost nothing to flavor their food. Brenen was back quickly with one of the ready-made plates Mr. Jeevar kept hot for people returning to empty larders. What they did not sell tonight would be tomorrow’s stew.

She smelled the fish with a practiced nose and chose two of their limited seasonings. Nag Kath would never mention this to old-man Jeevar but she made it better. After a few bites, Nag Kath asked Brenen, “Didn’t your friend Patellence say their cook was moving home to care for her mother?”

Life went on. The bow-maker reminded him of the boot-maker in Trum Dreng, abrasive on the outside and abrasive inside too. But he knew his business. The bow Burry said to get needed a variety of materials. The man had them in stock but they needed to be assembled in order to flex correctly. Nag Kath showed him the strength of his pull on completed bows and the old boy agreed with Burry on the second-highest standard tension.

Aleurn got a job cooking for the Patellence family. Three of them were pleased but the daughter’s life was still an unending misery. Ma, da and young Uldath enjoyed their meals under her smiling portrait.

_____________--------_____________

Now it was time to read. Nag Kath actually knew a lot of letters, and their sounds, but wasn’t sure which were common and which were Elvish. Another virtue was that despite his accent, he spoke a better grade of Westron than country folk. Gandalf’s stern diction helped him speak almost as if he was reading so there wasn’t orcish trouble with tenses and possessives. 

He wandered through the Scholar’s district often in learning the city. Most scholars lived with fine families as in-house tutors but they did have guild meetings in the tavern that served as their Hall on Thursday night. The agenda was more about the business of their craft than the craft itself. Loitering outside, Nag Kath spotted a likely fellow who was answering questions of others when they adjourned.

The next morning Nag Kath came to call. The man’s home was his office. He did not lead the monastic life of many in Minas Tirith. There was a plump wife chasing two girls who might be twins running and squealing in their little square garden. Nag Kath knocked on the door. The scholar opened it without peeking first and said, “Good morning, sir.”

“And good morning to you, sir. I am Nag Kath and I came to inquire about reading and writing.”

The scholar was about forty with the confusion of thinning hair so common to his profession. He had a pair of half-spectacles in his blouse pocket. The tall man wasn’t selling something so he led him to his small office next to the kitchen. His woman quieted the girls.

“I am Fergus Dol-Evath. Would you like tea?” Nag Kath suspected it was not ready and he would not be here long so he honestly said he had his earlier.

“Please, Mr. Kath, how can I assist?”

“I would like to learn to read and write the common tongue.”

Scholar Dol-Evath had never been told that before. His students, and anyone they knew, only spoke Westron. As the man pondered that, Nag Kath added, “I brought some things that might help.” He took a handful of papers out of his satchel. Most were pictures including writing or maps with the legends reproduced.

“I made or copied all of these.”

The scholar looked through enough to get the gist. In the pile was an Elvish page Gandalf discarded and Nag Kath kept because the back side was blank. Dol-Evath looked at that and pursed his lips slightly. Then he looked up and realized the applicant was an Elf, or one of their breeds thought vanished from this land. Shouldn’t he read and write all tongues? All that mattered was that the person was interested in hiring him and didn’t smell like fish.

Scholar Dol-Evath had standards. He would not keep pupils who did not try. That was mostly for enforcement from the parents of indolent children. Adult pupils were already motivated. “Mr. Kath, I recommend meeting for one hour three times per week. You would need to study on your own about as much. Does your schedule permit that?”

“I have all the time in the world.”

“Now, we can do this here or at your home. There is a small premium for me coming to you.”

“My house is better. I’m in the Oscent, three doors from Mortner’s bakery.”

The scholar said, “My ten appointment is just up the street. Shall we say eleven at your home … maybe a shade after?”

“That will be fine. Here is a card with the address.”

“Did you write this yourself, Mr. Kath?”

“Just Nag Kath. And yes, I drew that, though someone showed me the letters.”

“You have a fair hand.” The scholar rose. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow at eleven of the clock. Umm, just one more question, sir, you didn’t copy this, did you?” He held the Elvish page.

“No, Last year I helped find archives bound for the Undying Lands. The valuable ones were carefully preserved, but piles were just duplicates or ledger lists. I’m not sure what this one is. You are welcome to it.”

The man thanked him again and thought this would be a good student. And it was a fair bet Thursen could make heads from tails of that parchment.

_____________--------_____________

Fall was closing in. Brenen re-grouted the stove. No mice were seen so they did not get a cat, though one nearby sang for their fish scraps. Brenen’s da never came by for the beating he deserved and the Patellences were delighted with Aleurn. She lived in their back room. The wondrous cook came by every so often to make dinner for her two hapless men. She was attractive now that she was happy and safe. The two bachelors hoped she would meet a man who would treat her well, just as Dornlas wished for his sister.

Burry and Nag Kath took Vandery and A’mash to the hills twice a week for two months. They swung a log from a branch as a moving target. It did not take long until Nag Kath hit it every time. A silver tenth found a good home in the man’s vest each month. Burry also explained how to test a string and stretch new ones, how to check the fletching and shaft for true. They should be kept from water and sun if possible and the bow needed a little wax every so often to keep from drying. Then there was how to strap the quiver to get arrows out quickly or carry them nocked with pressure for a rapid draw. Burry swore he never saw the Elf’s arm emptying half the quiver one time. 

Brenen met Bard about once a week. According to Bard, Brenen’s dad did not seem interested in getting his son or woman back, at least, he had not asked Bard’s father who loathed him as much as they did. Bard did say the clerk at the King’s Arrow gave one of Nag Kath’s cards to a guest.

His reading lessons were going well too. Scholar Dol-Evath’s syllabus was for beginners but he soon compressed lessons because the Elf made such quick progress. Usually the tutor had to spend more time on writing than reading but this student could write anything he learned as well as Dol-Evath. It was an elegant script without flourish and quite readable. Nag Kath let Brenen eavesdrop and then they studied the assignments together.

Dol-Evath’s fellow scholar was initially impressed with the Elvish document. It lost luster when translated to the guest list for a noble party. Still, it was genuine First Age, which made it a valuable antique some rich farmer simply must have on his wall.

_____________--------_____________

Three months after buying his house, Nag Kath received a letter in a beautiful hand inviting him to dinner at an address inside the palace complex in ten day’s time. This invitation should be shown at the gate.

It was from Eniece Thurne. The next morning he went to Gurrend and Bailish in Burdon Street to have new clothes made. He explained to the fitter that he was going to a mystery dinner and where. The man wanted to make something with “Elvish Elements” which was quickly discouraged. Nag Kath did not want to try to look like an Elf. People could make their own assumptions. Since he was Elf-shaped, it probably would have those elements anyway. A cobbler two stores up was put to work on dress shoes.

The guard at the gate studied the invitation upside down. His superior keeping warm in the kiosk saw his confusion and came out after donning an oil slick. The corporal pinched the invitation from the top so it was right-side up to him and nodded to his junior. Both smiled at Nag Kath and he was admitted.

The drizzle was gone but there was a mist that said this was nearly winter. Residents were already wearing their furs and woolens. He arrived at an impressive home in the ambassadorial block. A small woman in brown greeted him at the door and took his coat and hat. Around the room were seven people drinking from small, glazed cups and enjoying finger-food.

A young woman approached him smiling and offered her hand. Nag Kath took it with a bow, assuming this was the new Princess. She said, “Thank you for joining us, Mr. Kath. I am Lady Ardatha.

“I am honored, Your Highness. Thank you for thinking of me.”

“That was my mother’s doing, but my fiancé and I owe you a great deal.”

The Princess was an attractive girl but did not have the delicate features of her mother. Big noses and strong brows of fierce Northmen did not favor their daughters. She only got half of those which seemed a small price in the scheme of things. They were shortly joined by another fierce Northman. His own nose had been badly broken but it did not take away from the impressive visage. He reached out and said, “Thank you for coming, I am Lancer Reyald Conath.”

“A pleasure, Lancer. I am Nag Kath. I hope the storm has not delayed others.” 

The Princess answered, “Another couple may be late. Mother keeps things small.”

Young Conath said warmly, “Let me introduce you.” Walking to a man and woman at the finger-food table, the Lancer gently took the man’s arm and said, “Tobar, Estileth, this is Eniece’s friend Nag Kath. Nag Kath, please greet Mr. and Mrs. Rulveric of Esgaroth.”

Both of them smiled and nodded but did not shake hands or speak until the clam-spread on toasted rounds was chewed and removed from their fingers.

“Glad to meet you, Mr. Kath. I hear you are new to Dale.”

“Indeed I am, Mr. Rulveric. Though I am settling-in nicely. I fear I have not visited your fair city.”

“You’re not missing much.” His wife poked him in the ribs. “My lady reminds me that we live in a wonderful place and that I should appreciate it more.”

Mrs. Rulveric added, “He means to say the lake has the best of friends.”

“Yes, that is exactly what I meant to say.” One could not help but like them.

Eniece emerged from the kitchen. Nag Kath was the only guest she had not greeted. Gliding to him with both hands offered, he kissed them as she asked, “Have you have met everyone?”

“We are working on that.” Appreciating her beauty he added, “You have outdone yourself.”

“Thank you …” and much more softly “… for everything.” Quickly surveying the room, “Now all we need are the Garrigas’. Nag Kath, we have wine, ale or barley spirits.” A man in white livery was standing by a sampling of all three.

“Just tea, if you do not think that dreary.”

“Not at all.” Hot tea was found instantly. 

Mr. Rulveric chimed-in, “Goodness, woman! You’ve invited a Valaran!”

Nag Kath looked at him, “They are here too? And no, I just want to warm up.”

Undaunted, Mr. Rulveric chortled, “That’s the spirit! I don’t know about here in Dale but there are a number of families in Lake Town. Nice folk, very respectable, of course. Now, you are not an Elf I’ve seen before. Though that is mostly from a distance, mind.”

“I am but part Elf. It leads to confusion.” If people insisted on following that line, Nag Kath sometimes vaguely implied he had been born on the wrong side of the blanket to kill the conversation. That might be awkward for the newly-acknowledged Princess. A few people knew the Articles of Union had been signed but those were nowhere to be found now. Nag Kath did not even know what those were but would steer the discussion to equally vague family disagreements.

There was no need. Her intended did some steering of his own, “Eniece tells me you are come from Gondor.” Yes, he had mentioned Minas Tirith. Some of his patrons knew. It did not matter. If she knew, everyone did, so he would build from there.

“Yes, that is where I trained as an artist.”

Princess Ardatha exclaimed, “Oh, you are the fellow who drew Lord and Lady Carstors. Mother, please don’t think me vulgar, but I would so much like for Nag Kath to capture the Lieutenant and me, if Nag Kath is willing.”

The artist said, “I would be honored, your Highness. It is the custom in many places to do such sittings at the ceremony, but I have discovered before or after puts people more at ease. Will you be in Dale long?”

“Another week, at least. But you simply must come to the wedding also.” After winking at her knight she said conspiratorially, “I need to fill-out mother’s quarter of the hall.”

Mrs. Rulveric thought that very romantic and that their own children should be cleaned and saved for posterity. Nag Kath continued introducing himself to the two other couples, the Turlieis and the Norendras along with elderly Mr. Teves who had a hearing horn on a lanyard around his neck. 

A knock had everyone look at the door. The maid opened it and admitted a couple somewhere near fifty. He was a serious-looking man who handed the maid a black overcoat and hat like Nag Kath’s. She was matronly with a face that could be either joyous or fearsome by slightly changing the corners of her mouth. Their perfect hostess greeted them and brought them to the circle. “Everyone, these are Edmand and Luna Garrigas. Please introduce yourselves.” 

Garrigas bowed to Ardatha and then wondered, “Kath? Any relation to the Kaths of Gladden?”

“Not that I know, Mr. Garrigas. I am new to this side of the mountains.” He was quite sure he was no relation. Nag was his pod name. It was probably one of the runes destroyed over the breeding pools. Kath is the number six in orcish to keep track. 

“Place is thick with them, though they don’t look like you.”

“Then they must be handsome indeed!”

All thought that droll but no one had a retort. Their hostess intervened, “I am sorry to rush you Ed and Luna but dinner is hot and ready.”

He stated, “No need to stand on ceremony for me.” Mrs. Garrigas looked like she did not wait for meals either so the company went to the formal table in the next room. Eniece broke-up the couples. The Princess and Lancer had place cards with a chair in-between. The others found their seats fast enough that Nag Kath did not have to guess his. He could read and write his own name now but the exquisite calligraphy of the cards looked almost Elvish. He was one chair apart from Eniece. Did they think him her companion? He wanted that with all his heart but with this woman, he might be the last to know. 

Conversation did not expose orcish secrets. They were interested in art and his travels. He told them of helping archive ancient documents for their rightful owners, including papers and artifacts coming here. One was a jewel encrusted goblet of silver. The Dwarves thought it might be a mithril alloy because of the sheen but could not test it without damage. 

Dinner was superb. He did not touch the meat. Thankfully, it was not mixed in with all the other foods. To finish there was a small helping of milk and eggs with honey that was bitterly cold and delicious. He was warned not to eat it too quickly. 

There wasn’t much after-dinner conversation. The Princess was staying with her mother here in a royal suite and Reyald walked to a family apartment a block away. Garrigas never quite reconciled that this Kath didn’t know the Gladden Kaths. His wife was less confused and graciously helped her husband bundle on his coat. Their carriage was called and the Rulverics accepted a ride to where they were staying with friends in the city now that it was drizzling again. 

After waving goodbye from the door, Eniece returned to Nag Kath and said, “Please do not think me forward but I would like to enjoy a cup of tea and hear what you told his Lordship. There are so many versions about. Would you mind?”

She gestured for him to sit in a chair and sat on a couch beside him. The woman in brown brought tea. With elegant confidence Eniece began, “I did not know you had influence with the King.”

“I don’t. He and his counselors stormed into where I was drawing the wedded couple. He asked them what to do and was in a fair rage with their feeble answers. Your name came up and that your daughter was considering a union with a family at odds with the Queen’s. He asked me too because I was standing there. I did my sums from what you said, told him to act nobly and then take his wife upstairs so she and her family would remember he was the King, by the Valar!”

The grin was inevitable, “I never did get paid.”

Eniece put her hands on either side of her face and exclaimed, “You are a remarkable man! It worked. My daughter is to marry the knight she loves and a poorly kept secret is that her Highness is with child.”

Nag Kath chuckled, “The King seemed a bit on edge. It was the least I could do for my new country.”

Eniece took a sip and said, “You are an enigma, Nag Kath. You say very little, and when you do say something, you say very little. You must have many secrets.”

“I see the beginning of a fair exchange, mysterious lady.”

She gave him the first real smile he had seen. “I have fewer than you might guess.”

“I have more.” He felt the need to be honest. If there was a future for them, that should start now. “Some are not for such fair ears.”

“You overestimate me, Nag Kath. If you are shy, I will start. What is and was common knowledge was that I was to marry the last King at a very young age. He took me anticipating that and then changed his mind for political reasons. You met his second daughter tonight. The first died nine years ago. You drew her son. I returned to my family on the lake.”

He sympathized, “That must have been very hard for all of you.”

“Not really. My parents are traders and traders are practical. The documents of joining were signed but not made public. It was not my parents' place to approve or disapprove when the crown-prince married another. Such is the way of lords and girls. When I returned to Esgaroth, the father was unknown to the world. My parents embraced me and did not remonstrate with his Lordship. The man settled a sum of money on me for the care of his child. To a trader’s family, it was a fortune.

“Four years later, I married a business associate of my father’s. He was ten years older than me and had no children from his late wife. Regald treated Ardatha kindly and loved me in his own fashion.” She smiled again, “I think I intimidated him. He died six years ago. My parents are still very much with us though and excited about their beloved granddaughter’s wedding.

“Every year, I receive an invitation to the palace. King Brand was sure I would return to him in some … capacity. This year I came because of Ardatha and lo, I find the man she loves is the second son of folk in discord with her Highness’ family.” She gave a graceful but genuine laugh and added, “Then you saved us all by telling the King to bed his lovely wife and let it be known that this is his realm and he will decide how men shall serve him. That is not commonly known.

“I had never met him until the reception. It seems his father’s arrangements were quiet. For years now, I’ve lived on the lake and at my late husband’s home in Buhr Austar where Ardatha met her knight."

Nag Kath smiled and said, “Good! I am the romantic sort and love a happy ending.” 

Eniece looked at him with a smile and said, “Now it is your turn.”

“That is a long story for another time.” Pausing a moment, “Eniece, I would very much like to see you again. Would you have dinner with me, perhaps next Thursday?”

“I would like that.”

“I will call at seven.”

_____________--------_____________

Two mornings later, Nag Kath drew formal portraits for Lancer Reyald and Princess Ardatha along with them together. They were thrilled. When he was done, Reyald excused himself and the Princess said, “Mother thinks you are very interesting, Nag Kath.”

“I am.”

She teased, “You be nice to her.”

“I will.”

She was barely eighteen but Nag Kath suspected she would be more confident than the last bride he drew. He wished them well and hoped to see them soon.

On the same day, Orodor Norendras of the dinner party had lunch with his brother. Vurondor was the Scholar from Dale who attended the conference in Orthanc to reclaim their lost treasures. Nag Kath, tall blonde fellow? Had to be the same one; an orcish sorcerer from Orthanc who, by the time the story reached him, single-handedly slaughtered a pack of wargs and drank their blood. 

One of the artifacts, hardly worth mentioning, had gone missing and the delegation agreed it would be better to keep tales of carousing with foreigners to themselves. Orodor did say, “Brother Vuro, you have been keeping mixed company!”

On Thursday the gate guards would not let Nag Kath in and would not go to the guest house and inquire. He walked home in the rain.

_____________--------_____________

There was plenty else to do. His reading lessons had reached the point where the scholar loaned him short books with cheat page to help with pronunciations. A letter was circled in a common word with a picture alongside. Brenen thought the books boring and wanted more about great deeds and fell beasts of yore. Not that he knew, but the lad worked for a fell beast who had to keep reminding him to put a rock on the trash box in the alley so the cats wouldn’t dump their fish scraps.

Brenen would also be responsible for planting the fifteen by twenty foot walled garden with flowers next spring and finding a table for entertaining. Among the first guests would be the Brightens so Brenen also had to get chairs of the right height for all races. The lad did himself proud finding a craftsman of the Woodworkers Guild who made chairs with adjustable legs. It seemed entertaining guests of all sizes was fashionable.

Nag Kath saw Burry fairly often since the big Sergeant was responsible for the archers along the west surround. There were no Easterlings to shoot but they trained with cloth-headed arrows as if enemies were climbing the walls. Cauldrons with pitch were ready to heat at key points and woe betide the soldiers who let the firewood get wet. 

If Burry wasn’t married with three little ones, Nag Kath would have managed to have him stop by for ale on a night Aleurn was making dinner. Brenen suspected a friend of the Patellences came to visit more often than he used to. He was not there for their daughter’s company.

On the first of December they got their first heavy snowfall. Citizens were expected to clear walks around their homes and businesses but compliance varied. Soldiers absolutely must keep military arteries and wall-walks clear, even if it meant shoveling by torchlight. Nag Kath’s roof had a small leak. Brenen had a friend whose da was in the Builder’s Guild and the man agreed to visit when he could climb up safely.

Nag Kath did a rough calculation and figured he had paid Brenen on the order of three silvers in assorted wages and finder’s fees. The lad still looked like he scraped barnacles off barges so Nag Kath took him by the ear to Horadth and Son for an assortment of shirts, socks, underwear and a jacket that did not have a large green stain on the front. This place also sold trousers that were un-hemmed. As long as they fit at the waist, someone else could hem them up or just cut off the excess. His mom measured two pairs to fit on one of her dinner visits and sewed them at work. If the lad was to hawk the stylings of Dale’s artist to the quality, he shouldn’t look like he was in the cut-purse league.

Even in winter there were things to do. One was to take his sword to the smith. The guard was loose from prying it out of Vandery’s owner and it had seen bumps in travel. Brenen told him Aüle was the man to see. From a family of weapon-smiths, he was named after the Vala Lord of craft. Names here were often more what someone did than who came before, although Sulto Logsplitter’s family had been leather-craftsmen for generations.

The smith did not fit the mold. He was tall, wiry and clean-shaven. But he wasn’t beating horseshoes either. Much of his work was engraving and polishing dress weapons for folk who hoped to never use them. The man carefully unsheathed the sword and laid it on a clean cloth covering the bench. Without raising his head, “These are bone nicks.” Then he looked up and assessed the tall man with the disheveled blonde hair. 

Nag Kath said, “I was given it in Rohan for services rendered.”

Aulë nodded grimly. “They temper their weapons a little softer than we do here so the swords won’t break slashing from horseback. This is the finest of their work I’ve seen.” Looking directly at Nag Kath, “You were honored, sir.” With a little more inspection, “You have kept it up but I will need to change the handle to snug the guard. Those nicks will grind out well enough. Then it just needs a polish. Against the wet and cold you might rub the blade with oil-wax more often than on the Mark.”

The Elf collected it two days later. Aulë watched him leave with canny eyes. Nicks like that would have cleaved clean through. 

_____________--------_____________

It was time for one more important investigation and this one bore risk. Nag Kath went to the Healers and Midwives district. For such a large membership it was quite small since most midwives served the area within a few blocks of their homes or visited women up the hill. The palace had their own healers but they still bought supplies from Guild shops. Guild meetings were on the second Wednesday of the month after shops closed for the day. 

Nag Kath went to one. The tavern was too large to reserve entirely for their spotty attendance but they filled the largest room. The Elf took a table near them and eavesdropped to discover if any were like the estimable Mrs. Skilleth. He wanted to learn all about conventional healing and remedies but many of those folk were charlatans. Inductive healers like him would take the real aspects of the other arts seriously. A discrete and rewarding consultation was the first step.

There were two candidates. One was a Dwarf woman who kept to her own folk. The other was also a woman who claimed to pull maladies from flesh but also dealt in herbs. There was no mention of demons. She was a spare creature. Nag Kath thought her pushing forty with tangled reddish hair and a wealth of freckles. She did not wear a wedding ring. Her clothes had been expensive at one point. Nice clothes gone to ruin told more than everyday rags. 

Brenen was aghast. Nag Kath told him he would infect him with a false illness and he should go to the woman for a cure. If she failed, Nag Kath would extract it himself when he came home. Brenen finally agreed. Nag Kath had been very good to him. He did not throw his mother in the street. The lad insisted the Elf stay close by and rescue him if the woman used him for foul spells. Girls were more valuable for such sorceries, but boys would do in a pinch.

They went outside. Nag Kath took his wrist and it glowed a sickly yellow for five seconds. Brenen immediately threw-up and paled to a ghostly pallor. Maybe he had agreed too soon! Still, he managed to make it to the woman’s dingy store. Brenen felt slightly reassured that Nag Kath was just in the alley. 

Moaan Quessan came to the front of her herb shop and asked how she could help. As if on cue, Brenen vomited into the snow and looked balefully at the woman through bloodshot eyes. Nag Kath had better pay double for this stunt! She glared long and hard in the dim light and told him to follow her to the back room. 

This room caught what sun there was through a fair-sized window. She lit an oil sconce on the side wall and then took his pulses. For what seemed forever, she examined the nervous boy more closely than any woman other than his mother ever had. She fell silent for the longest moment and then said, “This is a strange malady, young man. The cure will not be pleasant.”

Triple, Nag Kath! Bloody triple!

The cure was also more than Nag Kath had planned to expose. The healer pulled a long draft from a mug on the table and gave it to Brenen to finish. Then she took Brenen’s arm with both hands and applied her own gift while speaking incantations from the common tongue. Much more slowly than the Elf’s application, foulness transferred from Brenen to the woman without color. She vomited into a towel waiting in her lap.

Moaan wiped her mouth and seemed groggy for a minute but then her eyes cleared and she became very grave. “That was not a sickness, young man. You have been exposed to foul sorcery.”

Double triple, Nag Kath! 

“Think hard where you may have met or touched someone new in the last few days.”

Oh, he bloody knew. She continued, “And powerful too. Whoever did this to you is a dangerous creature. Did he take indecent liberties with you?”

As with hairless lads of the pleasure houses? Oh, oh! What had he gotten himself into?! “No.”

“You should be fine in a few days. I think I got it all. That will be fifteen groats, and I have to report this to the authorities. This craft falls outside what my Guild allows.”

Brenen had no cash on him. The experiment worked so it was time to call in the militia. He nodded and stumbled towards the front door. The woman dogged his heels in case he ran without paying. Brenen opened the door and looked up the street. Almost immediately, a tall man seemed to walk on top of the snow and onto the porch. “I am Nag Kath. May I come in?”

There was nothing stopping him but good manners so she stood aside as the man and spent lad walked back to her healing room. The smell of her towel was about to make her sick again so she carried it to the back door and tossed it in the snow. Returning to her chair she demanded, “You had both better explain yourselves!”

Brenen was trying not to be sick again. Nag Kath did the talking, “I had to see if you are real or not. You do indeed have the gift, and you spotted my craft as well.”

“You might have done that without making me toss my breakfast!”

“I am sorry. My needs call for strong tests.” With that he gently took her hand and extracted his own malady. His hand glowed! In addition to a display of greater power, she thought it considerate and would let her work again without three or four day’s recovery. Then he handed her a pair of silver tenths, four months worth of pulling infections and boils. 

“Now, here is my story …” Nag Kath went on to explain that he had Elvish powers without mentioning the wizards or Huntsman. 

“One of those silvers is to keep this quiet. I am already known up the hill so you need not fear failing to expose me as a sorcerer. I do not intend to join the Guild or practice, except at great need. And I can do so without being detected. I want you to teach me traditional methods of healing with herbs and foods.

He said levelly, “If you agree, there will be another silver in a month.”

Moaan Quessan made a pretense of considering that carefully but she was sold with the first two silvers. She announced, “I will not betray any confidences! Many of these people are my friends. Many are frauds and I will share that willingly.” She looked at Brenen who, unlike them, was not used to having sickness dragged in and out of his body. “What about him?”

Nag Kath spoke for the lad, “He works for me.”

“All right. Give me a day to get my wits about me. Unless you can look sicker than you are, we should not meet here. Folk will talk.”

“Can you get away without comment?”

“For three silvers I can elude Mandos’ dogs.”

Giving her his card he said, “Bring a sample of your wares to this address tomorrow at ten.” When she looked overlong at the card, “Three buildings down from Mortner’s bakery. Green door.” 

Miss Quessan had a few things to do. First was visiting a dry goods store uptown for better clothes which would also change a silver into denominations that would not attract notice on her block. Then she added to or got new substances for both the shop and a working bag for the evil Elf. For a bird’s breath, she wondered about her bargain. It would be fine. She did not know fell curses. Healing piles did not violate the charter. Hopefully the boy wasn’t still green around the gills. 

The boy was. On their way home Brenen rehearsed a dozen complaints about his ill-use but they only made him want to vomit again. Nag Kath put him to bed with an unnoticed glow to help him sleep. 

The next morning, Brenen opened the door. He was feeling better but seeing Miss Quessan made his stomach churn. Remembering his station, he welcomed her and showed her into the big downstairs room where they did everything but sleep. The home must have been a business at one time.

Miss Quessan had been shown her gift before she could marry. If Tal was able to forestall hers until after children, she might wait. Disease and pain always flowed to unborn children. There would be more demand for Tal than Miss Quessan among men with other interests. Male healers would not have that problem but Nag Kath was the first she had heard of in her lifetime. 

These women were not held in higher esteem because they sometimes had other powers men feared. Not all humors came from vanquished dark Lords. There were still powers in earth and sky. Some were dark, some light. Some had no allegiance and served those who could summon them. Mrs. Skilleth probably had her fingers in a few of those. Miss Quessan had only healing touches but she could still never be trusted by men who feared sorcery more than swords. Some rulers would slay them all with no more compunction than netting rats.

Nag Kath had been upstairs and came down when Brenen showed her to the couch. Without his heavy coat he was an impressive specimen. A fell lord? She did not get that sense. His remedy for her was warm. Nag Kath sat in the chair to her left and Brenen found anything else to do outside. 

Without preamble she began, “I think I know something of your skills. They are more powerful than mine. How you got them I don’t even want to know. The limitation is that while you can pull the essence of maladies, you cannot keep wounds closed or keep infection away. Sometimes the body only needs a little help to heal itself. There is much known to those with no powers at all. If you agree, I will show you what I can.”

That was fine by him. She opened a carpet bag and arranged an assortment of mismatched bottles on the low table. Nag Kath enjoyed learning. They spent many days discussing what she knew and he was able to help her as well. Like his with archery, her breathing was ill-timed. He could not show her his resting process but she learned to not breathe so hard and flood her body. 

Though she was him twice a week for several months, they never became friends. If anyone had reason not to trust him in Dale, it was her. He paid her well and she kept quiet about the tall man. One of the last things he told her is that he wanted no commerce with the alchemists, conjurers or others who claimed to speak with spirits. She had a low opinion of them too and told him who to avoid.

_____________--------_____________

A month after Brenen’s illness came Syndolan Day, a national holiday in Dale. There were no fireworks but someone discovered how to make sparklers and the children would carry them until they got too hot to hold. Nag Kath thought it was too bad he had to use all of his match powder scattering the Revanthars. Taverns and homes around the city celebrated for several days. Great numbers of geese and turkeys came to their end along with rounds of cheese and barrels of ale.

It was time to throw a party. In his half year as a citizen, Nag Kath met many people. Some of them did not need to meet each other with him as the nexus. Still, they could have great fun. The point that decided it was the Patellances would be with friends on Syndolan Eve so Aleurn was available to make finger-food for the fifteen or so people who might come. Nag Kath felt bad that she would work rather than enjoy the party but she said ordinary folk made the food beforehand and then joined in the eating. Levus the brewmaster was told a month in advance to prepare a keg for the occasion. A small barrel of wine was also ordered. Nag Kath did not think barley spirits were a good idea. 

Writing the invitations was the proudest moment of his life. Besides the ability to say what he wanted, they had illustrations and were things of beauty. People kept them. He hand-delivered the first ones to Lotold and Lorens Brightens. They would be glad to come but might be late from a dinner engagement. Uncle Stifo and his bride were welcome too. Brenen delivered the rest including to the scholar and his wife, Mr. Jeevars the cook, assorted merchants and quite a few art patrons. Scholar Dol-Evath asked if his friend Scholar Thursen could come with them. He was recently widowed and being among people might ease his hurt on this special night. 

Miss Quessan was invited but not expected to attend. Master Toymaker Dwarf Bruigin and his wife Meladsie said they would come. And Burry and his wife would be there if her sister could mind the kids. The invitation for the one person he wanted to see most was returned unopened. There had been no word from Eniece since her dinner. Considering what had happened to her here he thought she would put her back to the place. 

Brenen did not know the Elf’s feelings for the enigmatic beauty, but he did know that Nag Kath was a one-woman man. Women, some of them very attractive, kept their gaze on him indecently long. He was always polite but did not seem to notice. Brenen noticed and was starting be noticed by girls. The more Nag Kath ignored them, the more they seemed to stare. Since Brenen got tongue-tied with girls, he would try that.

The big day arrived. Brenen rented plates and cups from a restaurant closed for the night plus a deposit against breakage. Foods were prepared in advance. One of Aleurn’s friends helped for a tenner. The home smelled wonderful. A trio of musicians arrived early and tuned their instruments in traditional Syndolan chords.

The party was judged a huge success. It was an eclectic mix of people from all over the city. After the second time of everyone singing through the Syndolan songs, the musicians started playing things people would dance to. Hobbits can dance! Even Uncle Stifo shook a leg. Some thirty-six people came at one count. They hadn’t all been invited but came with someone who was. In Dale, that was close enough. The food was gone in an hour but there was enough ale for the night. And speaking of food, Aleurn’s admirer came by for a dance and then they both disappeared. Good for her!

There are advantages to being a host who does not sleep or get drunk. As people started wandering home, Scholar Thursen asked about the Elvish text. Nag Kath said, “Yes, I still have quite a few of them. Come upstairs.” They walked up to the room he used for storage after handing the scholar an oil lamp. “Hmmm, I think most of them are here” rummaging through a leather sack that A’mash carried.

“Here you go.” Nag Kath handed him a sheaf of different sized papers. “I think the brown ones are from Gondolin but there are some Avari and a few from old Lorien too. Gandalf said these were either duplicates or routine records. Help yourself.”

Thursen and Dol-Evath had split fifty groats selling the first to a merchant who had it framed for his wall. And some uncounted number of these were from the lost city of Gondolin?!

The scholar was an honest man soul he was sorely tempted to affect indifference to depress the price. No, that would reflect poorly on his friend. He said, “Mr. Kath, some of these may have considerable value to folk who prize ancient Elvish lore. Have you ever considered that among your people’s writings?”

“No, but I cannot speak or write any of the Elvish tongues. I can barely read Westron. Fergus has been teaching me for the last, oh, almost four months now.”

Scholar Thursen did not see that coming. As all the mannish world knew; there were no illiterate Elves. They were all thousands of years old and knew more than everyone else. He ventured, “Mr. Kath, you are not an Elf?”

“Only part Elf, and very young by their reckoning.”

Well, again, Mr. Kath …”

“Just Nag Kath.”

“Mr. Kath, I don’t mean to diminish your own superb talents but some of these might bring several times the price of your drawings.”

Nag Kath thought for an instant and said, “Then let us consider this; you and Fergus split the proceeds. He will continue to teach me this language and you will teach me what you know of Elvish. I may need to know that someday. Is that fair?”

“No. You put yourself at a disadvantage.”

“Oh, I have a few other cards up my sleeve. Discuss it among yourselves and let me know what you think. In the meantime, take these with you and I’ll rummage about for more. I think there are some Numenorean pages under that pile over there. I kept the ones with illustrated borders.” Scholars Thursen and the Dol-Evaths walked home with bright futures.

Sergeant Burry was among the last to leave. His wife was a tiny woman who could dance as well as the Hobbits. The big soldier fared Nag Kath goodnight with a broad grin and slapped him on the arm. His grin became a knowing smile when he saw a man over the Elf’s shoulder. They shook hands and Burry walked his lady home.

Nag Kath turned to see what had sobered Burry. A well-dressed Northman still wearing his greatcoat was sitting on one of the chairs around the low table. He had no drink and did not look the worse for festivities. Nag Kath approached him in welcome, “Good evening, sir. I am sorry you have been neglected. The ale is gone but there is still some wine.”

“Wine would taste good right now. Thank you.”

Nag Kath fetched him some in a reasonably clean cup and introduced himself. The man raised his drink in respect and said, “I am Davit Rosscranith. You are quite a host, Mr. Kath.”

It was too late to correct people so he took the compliment and asked Mr. Rosscranith if he enjoyed the party.

“I fear I just arrived and did not know of the event.”

Nag Kath sat down now that there was finally room on the couch and wondered, “How can I be of service?”

“You did a favor for someone. He would like to thank you. I have come to ask if you would attend him at the palace tomorrow evening to celebrate the incoming year.”

“I could not be more honored, Mr. Rosscranith. When should I arrive?”

“Seven.”

After the big man left, Nag Kath walked over to a Dwarf friend of Master Bruigin and shook him by the shoulder. The fellow woke with a start and peered around the room. “Did I miss it?”

“No sir! You were the life of the gathering. I just thought you might have other things to do.”

“Right you are! You throw a superb party, Mr. Kath!”

“A party is only as good as its guests. You walk home safely.”

Brenen was curled in a corner sound asleep. Nag Kath put a blanket over him and walked upstairs.

** **


	12. Fortune Smiles

** **

** **

** _Chapter 12_ **

** _Fortune Smiles_ **

The next morning, Brenen got the job of clean-up. Most of that was putting trash out for the garbage cart whose owner had the Guild subscription for this block. Brenen also had to wash and return the rented dinnerware. They broke seven plates and twelve cups which totaled more than the deposit so there would be coppers due. No one was sick. No one failed to go outside for needs, though the garden needed care. Nothing was stolen. Nag Kath really knew how to throw a party.

Brenen was still awake when his mother and the Patellence’s friend were suddenly not there. Somehow he imagined the wedding she never had. Then he reasoned that she was a big girl and at her stage of courtship, men would sample the wares. On the plus side, he seemed a nice enough fellow and probably had a few groats put by. Aleurn had not married Brenen’s father so there would be no obstacles to a lawful union if the right man asked. Divorces were difficult in Dale.

At what he thought was six-thirty, Nag Kath walked up the hill in his best clothes, the same ones he last wore at Eniece’s dinner. The guards needed no pass and admitted him instantly. One of them guided him as far as “Girion’s Path” and said goodnight. Reaching the palace, a man at the door opened it and another on the inside escorted him past the reception hall to a much smaller room just before the private apartments. He was a few minutes early. There might be twenty people there already and not many more would have the reason or the clout to arrive late.

Rosscranith walked over to him and shook hands with a bear grip. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Kath. Let us see if we can’t find you something to drink.” The big man walked him through a gauntlet of stares to a table with both finger-foods and all manner of beverages. 

It was Nag Kath’s habit not to eat at events. He did not need to eat the way men did and he wanted his hands clean for greetings and drawing. He did accept a beer after seeing that was the prevalent beverage held in the room. Wine was fairly new to Northmen. They punished it by the bucket privately, but ale was the drink of Dale in summer, beer in winter.

Rosscranith had been assigned to make the Elf feel at home and started introducing him to folk in the room. One couple was the Doran-Guths. He met the Fimberds. Then came a stunning woman standing by herself without a drink. As they approached, Nag Kath saw she was an Elf. Rosscranith said, “My Lady Ambassador, may I introduce Nag Kath. Mr. Kath, this is Lady Nurelle, Ambassador of the Woodland Realm. Nag Kath bowed in the manner of her kingdom and wished her a joyous holiday.

For her part, the Lady looked at him for several moments until offering her public smile and saying, “Good evening, Colonel, Mr. Kath.” Rosscrannith was a born conversationalist but she had stabbed his introduction through the heart. He was about to salvage what he could when Lady Nurelle said, “You must be the artist who advised the King.”

“I had that privilege, my Lady.”

Producing a more genuine smile she wondered, “It is odd that we have not met until now.”

“I am sure you are very busy.” He did not say they were both busy because what he did could not possibly matter. Like most Elvish women, she was fair beyond the words of men. 

But he had learned a thing or two in Thranduil’s Halls. One was that Elves did not feel physical attraction the way men did. They recognized it and cherished it, but only in the most courtly way. When he had alluded to meeting the ravishing Lady Tullaer with Donathiur, he was told in no uncertain terms that relationships as he knew them in Middle-Earth were not possible among the their people. The act of procreation happened rarely but was an unparalleled expression of love and light.

He tried to follow their steady demeanor but being among such beautiful creatures for five weeks was quite a distraction. If it was that rare, it had better be good. Some of their lads should hike over the mountain for the fish fry at Whilmina’s and compare notes in the morning. The other thing he knew was that her face and comments would betray nothing. His only hope was to be as bland as oatmeal until she was bored. Nag Kath was spared inventing nothing to say when a herald entered the room and cried, “Hear ye, the King and Queen!”

Everyone turned in the direction of the herald and bowed a few moments later when Bard II and Lady Delatha entered. They held hands in the raised fashion King Aragorn and Queen Arwen used after the Catanard. Their pending child was visible. Women here were allowed to show longer than in the south before their confinement. Sometimes women at her stage of pregnancy looked worn and tired but it suited her gentle face. She smiled and recognized friends in the room she would speak with later. 

From what little Nag Kath knew of royalty, they would probably get to him in the last third of the draw. There were people who had to be acknowledged in order. There were ones who would insist on saying something profound and then there was everyone else. With his minder at his elbow, all Nag Kath had to do was enjoy his ale and not get his fingers greasy. When the royal couple turned to greet friends, the Elvish ambassador was twenty feet away.

So; Rosscranith was a Colonel. Around here that was a big noise. He would both be a field commander of at least two hundred and titled. That the ambassador called him Colonel rather than his court position or a diminutive allowed between persons of equal status meant he was a soldier first. The Elf gathered as much from Burry’s look of respect. It was probable the man knew Nag Kath could peg a gnat at fifty paces and was not to be challenged with steel. Nag Kath played on that assumption, “Soldier to soldier, do you know why I am here?”

The colonel replied softly, “I am not sure. But it is not for ale and pheasant livers. Keep your wits about you and bide your time.”

Nag Kath nodded. Rosscranith introduced Nag Kath to another couple who barely stopped walking and then to a tall, lean man with a wise face, Woralth, the city architect. Out of the corner of his eye, Nag Kath saw Rosscranith begin to bow and knew the King was close. He turned to the royal couple and bowed as he had learned in Minas Tirith. In a much calmer voice than the Elf heard the first time, his Lordship said, “Hello Nag Kath. Thank you for coming. I am glad to meet you in this merry setting.” 

“I am deeply honored, Sire, My Lady.”

The Queen spoke, “I am told you are new to Dale, Nag Kath. I hope you have found our fair city hospitable.”

“Indeed. I have been graciously welcomed by your subjects.”

She asked, “Was it you who drew those lovely pictures of our nephew?”

“It was, my Lady. One of each and one for them.” Somewhere he heard the Queen was considered pious, dutiful and a good mother but not especially bright. Nag Kath did not get that last impression at all. It might simply be that in a world where everyone made themselves fools trying to be clever, she listened. He had learned to listen first himself and it saved him time and again.

Looking to the King he added, “I needed no artifice for that. It seems a match made to last.” There was no question that the King was as deeply in love with his lady as she was with him. Roving eyes and fidelity seem to leapfrog generations and this union was faithful. 

Queen Delatha looked to her man and said, “My dear! I think it would be splendid for Nag Kath to capture us.”

What could her husband say? “Of course, my love, if Nag Kath is available.”

Nag Kath supposed so, “I am at your royal command.” He also supposed that if the King had meant to say something on the side, his lady wife had given him the opportunity to do so privately. No, her Ladyship was no one’s fool. The King bowed to all three men who bowed even deeper. Nag Kath assumed Rosscranith would make the arrangements.

The royals moved on to other guests and everyone left within ten minutes of them retiring. Ambassador Nurelle lost her chance to drag Nag Kath home. Turning to the Colonel he said, “I should be going. I am sure we will meet again.” 

_______________------______________

Nag Kath felt a little sorry for Colonel Rosscranith. Warriors without wars are adrift. This fellow had court skills but running errands, even for a King, paled against leadership. He was too young to be the ‘Old Colonel’. When he returned a few days later he explained, “The Queen is excited about her portrait with his Lordship. Please come tomorrow at eleven.”

“Gladly.”

Rosscranith seemed as though he wanted so say something else, something less official. Brenen brought tea which gave the man time to state his case. “Her Ladyship has understandably not been herself in the last few days. It may take a while to capture the image she wants.”

“It would not be the first time, Colonel. Do you know if Their Highnesses intend to include their children?”

“I was not told, but they may. They are very fond of their daughters and see to some of their training personally. Mister … Nag Kath, do not be surprised if his Lordship wants a few words as well.”

That would make most men fret about the perfect impression. Nag Kath had met the Lord of everyplace he had been and wasn’t put off his feed. More than that, he had been an Uruk-hai. He would manage. “I endeavor to serve, Colonel.”

As before, the guards opened the gate on sight and Nag Kath’s strode to the palace door. He was led down a rather dark corridor to the place in Dale that got the most sun. The hall opened to a chamber with large windows on both sides of the corner and a fireplace on either end. Queen Delatha was seated on a long couch. He walked to what he thought would be the correct distance and bowed deeply.

Rosscranith was right. She looked pale and wan but still had the same natural smile. “How kind of you to come, Nag Kath. I fear I am not as festive as on Syndolan Day. That is my favorite holiday.”

“Mine too, your Ladyship.”

“The King will join us shortly, although please do not be disappointed if he is late.”

“Pray, my Lady, do not have a care for that. Your noble husband reminds me of King Elessar who also had many pressing matters at one time.”

Her Ladyship looked like she was summoning reserve strength but then continued gracefully, “I have never been to Gondor, though I hear it is splendid indeed.”

“So it is. I have …” He watched her lose her focus and recover. “My Lady, if this is not a good time for you I …”

“This is my third child. I have felt this way before.”

He doubted that. His meetings with Miss Quessan included a great deal on the ailments of women with child. The sorcerer felt this was something else. She began to tremble in the warm room. Nag Kath looked to the attendant who could not see her face from the door. The queen said quietly, “No, please. I have lost enough blood.”

King Bard entered expecting to join a light conversation about pictures. One look at her face told him different. This was happening more often. As his wife struggled to maintain her balance, Nag Kath said to the King, “I have other skills too. They are called for now.” More loudly, “Perhaps the attendant can fetch tea?”

Bard nodded to the doorman who hurried out. Without waiting for permission, the Elf knelt by the Queen and quickly untied the blouse lacing on her left sleeve. King Bard watched closely but did not intervene. Nag Kath took her wrist with his right hand and felt the artery in her neck with his left. Moving the hand to hold her cheek his Lordship saw both of the artist’s hands glow silver as if a sword hit by moonlight. The effect lasted about ten seconds then died away. Nag Kath put her Ladyship’s hand back in her lap and stood-up, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he had eaten a frozen treat too quickly. The Queen faded into a comfortable sleep regaining some of her natural color. King Bard looked at Nag Kath with the smallest of head turns ready to hear what had just happened.

The ad-hoc physician blinked a couple times and said with effort, “She has a blood disorder, Sire. It has been building for some time.”

The King looked to his Lady who seemed more at rest than he had seen for some months. She had disciplined herself to be vibrant when awake but sleep betrayed deep fatigue. Bard sat and gestured for Nag Kath to do the same. “A blood disorder, you say. Do you know the kind?”

“Nay, Sire. I removed quite a bit but it is still there. I will make inquiries when I get home.” Nag Kath felt a little queasy but soldiered on. 

“And how know you of this, artist who glows? No, that will wait. My wife is much in consultations with physicians of her home land.” With a tone that invited comment the king added, “Perhaps their methods are unique.” The man looked to see Nag Kath’s reaction and then to his Queen who was breathing normally. Nag Kath was still trying to get his bearings so the King leaned back on the couch next to her, “I would know her malady. All of it.”

For someone as pale as Nag Kath it was hard to tell if he had lost any color, but he felt strong enough to walk directly to Miss Quessen’s shop. She opened the door and let him without a word. He had not been here since poor Brenen was the bait. In her treatment room he said, “Two more silvers if you will risk being sick.”

She had gotten less for worse and nodded. Moaan took his wrist and released the humor. She felt faint but was not nauseous. Then she sat down and said, “What HAVE you been up to?”

“That is not of my making. I am the messenger. It did not feel a natural ailment.”

“It is to the eye. But it is being carried in something else. Something more along your lines, sorcerer.”

“I feared as much. This is beyond my medicine. And I must trust you as much as anyone ever has. Are you willing?”

She considered that, “I cannot take much of whatever this is.”

“This is a consulting role. And it must be kept very, very quiet.”

She nodded very, very slowly. 

“The humor I just transferred is from the Queen. I was not there as a healer but she faltered and when I restored her, this is what I drew. The King said she is much in the care of her homeland physicians.”

Quessan said matter-of-factly, “I understand she is carrying.”

“About half-term, I should think.”

“I need to see her. You are not a pure conduit.” The healer bit her lip and said, “My risk is not this ailment. It is people who want it to succeed and those who suspect my motives. You understand that?”

“Aye. I only said I needed to make inquiries. Not of whom.”

“If whoever delivered this spell knows he is doing so, we are both in danger.”

Nag Kath considered that. “I am not the greatest reader of regal minds, but I think the King already suspects. He told me he wanted to know her ailment, all of it, he said.” 

“Then it is time for you to tell me what you are.”

__________________--------_________________

The next day, Nag Kath had Brenen deliver a note to Colonel Rosscranith saying he was ready to return for their Highness' portraits and he would be bringing his assistant. Brenen was to wait for his reply. Within the hour he was back with a note that the following morning at eleven was propitious. They needed scholar Dol-Evath to explain the last word.

The artist arrived the next morning with his overworked assistant. She had to carry both the familiar leather tube and a carpetbag. Doors were opened. They waited like everyone else and were then shown to the same pretty room where her Highness met Nag Kath two days before. The King was beside her. Nag Kath and Miss Quessan both bowed deeply and then the Elf made a show of fussing about the light and where the couple would sit and other artistic fine points. Pretense established; the King nodded to the attendants that they could leave.

The Queen looked rather spry. His care must have helped. Both healers bowed deeply again as if this was their true introduction and sat in the nearby chairs. “My Lord and Lady, this is Miss Quessan. She is much more experienced than me in matters of women’s care.”

Her Ladyship said, “Welcome, Miss Quessan.”

Her husband spoke gravely, “Both of you, I need to know what you have divined before further care. We are uncomfortable with such medicine.”

Nag Kath nodded to the healer who considered her words carefully, “My Lord and Lady, Nag Kath is a powerful creature but he is new to the humors of man. He brought me what he induced from my Lady. In my experience it is a chronic blood complaint among people who do not eat enough meat or greens. That is especially the case with women who nurture a growing child.”

Looking to all three, “If that was all; her Ladyship could simply eat them and regain her strength.” Miss Quessan paused again for clarity. “My concern is that this lack has been foully cast. I detected from Nag Kath something unnatural holding it in place. He felt it as well. The child will take as she loses to the ruin of both. At the risk of your wrath, esteemed Lord, I think someone is killing her.”

The royal couple looked at each other. She nodded. He turned to them and said, “First things first. How is this foul witchcraft removed?”

Miss Quessan was unafraid, “I must do as you allowed Nag Kath to do and find the path. I will know nothing until then.”

The Queen was unafraid as well, “This is more than me. An heir to the throne is at risk.”

Miss Quessan said gently, “I understand, my Lady.”

The Queen looked at her husband and then to the healer. “What must I do?”

“If you would allow me to hold your arm.”

Queen Delatha loosened her sleeve tie and pushed it back to her elbow.

Miss Quessan softly said, “Please relax. Close your eyes. Think of pleasant things.” Her Highness tried as the healer took her arm in both hands. She did not produce the colored aura of the Elf. For two nerve-wracking minutes the healer concentrated and began to sweat. Then she let go and rocked back in her chair. The blood drained from her face.

“Nag Kath, my bottle.” The real assistant in this masquerade reached in a carpetbag filled with an assortment of cures. The first thing out was a stout bottle with a cork stopper. The woman drank deeply with her eyes closed and sighed, “Lostorin.”

Opening her eyes she saw the royal couple as patients, not Lords and said, “Whoever is giving her the spice tulus is the assassin. That is the binder. Spells have been cast over that.” 

Very calmly, just as she had spoken to hundreds of pregnant women over the years, she said, “If we consider this is cured, you must increase your intake of liver, eggs, leafy greens and cheese.” She asked Nag Kath to find a small blue bottle. Produced, she handed it to the King and told him, “A pinch of that in tea both morning and before dinner, or at those times even if she cannot eat. There is nothing in this world that tastes worse, but it is important. Two weeks.

“And now, my Lady, I should see to the child. Miss Quessan sat next to the Queen and placed her right hand on her abdomen. Neither man was embarrassed by this womanly care. The Queen was willing. For three minutes the healer ran her hand over the womb, sometimes pressing uncomfortably. Finally she said, “I believe the child quickens well. But this has been a near thing.”

Queen Delatha had taken all of this bravely, “What else must I do to care for the royal child?”

“I should see you in a week to tell that the poison is neutralized. If so, every other week after that.” Turning to the King, “And you, my Lord, need a new cook’s helper. Tulus is an ordinary spice. It can only be bound to make Lostorin through sorcery. Your enemy may use it directly. It may be he, or she, has traded a perfectly ordinary supply with one that has been cursed and loyal servants use it innocently. 

The King offered, “Perhaps the clumsy new helper will break the bottle and we’ll see who replaces it.”

Miss Quessan smiled at his perception, “Aye, my Lord. I should like to have the current supply tested and also what comes in its place. I cannot tell with my craft but I know one who can by other means. Properly motivated, they may even remember inquiries. The use of Lostorin is not so common.”

King Bard asked, “I think I know the answer, but should we not simply say the spice is not to our taste?”

“The answer you know is correct. There are other ways to do the same thing. This person is close and skilled and patient. It is not my place to instruct your Highness, but the killer should remain confident. My Lady, may I humbly suggest that you put a brave face on your obvious discomfort while your Lord’s man searches for the villain? As shamed as I am to say it, look for a woman first. Other than Nag Kath, I know of no other male sorcerers.”

That got the male sorcerer a pair of hard stares. Unfazed by her lack of discretion Miss Quessan looked at Nag Kath, “You are more wizard, I should think.” To their Highnesses, “I help women bear healthy babies.”

Silence weighed heavily until the Queen looked at her hands and said as if none of this happened, “My dear, I will add a manicurist to care for my fingernails. They seem rather common of late. Weekly visits should keep them more presentable, don’t you think?”

Immediately after their audience, King Bard II spoke to a senior man who produced a royal attendant’s garb in Miss Quessan’s thin size. The healer also got a full Florin in assorted cash for nail care supplies and whatever else she needed. She and Nag Kath walked back to his home. They were almost there when she said, “I was wrong about you.”

“Everyone is.”

By the next week, Miss Quessan had completed an intensive study of fingernail painting from a friend’s friend in the old quarter. Two weeks after that, her Ladyship’s hands were lovely. During that time, large, persuasive men asked a long-time purveyor to the King’s larder discreet questions. He cooperated fully and was sent home with the understanding that they never met. 

Later that spring, Thain Durnaldar of Buhr Nauthauja, the southernmost Thainhold, who had been grooming his daughter as the successor Queen, was tragically slain with his entire hunting party.

All signs pointed to rogue Easterlings who were never caught.

_________________--------________________

Weeks came and went. There was no word from the palace, no visits by the Colonel. If Miss Quessan had anything to say, she would have said it. Her shop was closed. Nag Kath suspected the Queen’s new manicurist had been ensconced in-house. 

The only sense he got of the situation, besides not being watched, was bumping into Sergeant Burry. Sergeants are a curious breed. A senior man like Burry cannot rise any higher so they cannot be threatened with a lack of advancement. Other than being assigned to scut jobs, they really can’t lose rank and stay in the army. Lieutenants have both those problems but Sergeants can say what they think.

“Say Nag Kath!” Burry was walking home after his shift.

“Burry! You are looking hale. Haven’t seen you since your missus taught the Hobbits a thing or two about dancing.”

“Aye, that’s what she used to do before I saddled her with all those kids.” More quietly, “Hear’ed you’ve been busy.” Nag Kath nodded. “No trouble, mind. But folk know not to tease you for lack of a beard.”

“That’s something. I told you; my past has a way of finding me.”

Nag Kath had enough memories saved of the royal couple to draw a sketch of them with loving faces. It took a number of tries for individual and a paired pose before he was willing to sign them. Brenen took them to the gate addressed to Col. Rosscranith.

March arrived with a fierce storm that lasted a full week. Cold followed so the snow melted slowly but when that was done, spring had arrived. Brave little crocus flowers were the first to defy winter and signal the season of renewal. When the streets were passable, an invitation arrived for the wedding of the Princess and Lieutenant Conath on the 28th of May in Buhr Austar. Nag Kath decided to go.

Brenen was growing. He was now the height of his mother and on the tall side for thirteen-year olds. If he was going to be a squire in the wild, he needed to ride and defend himself. 

Riding first. A’mash thought it undignified for a gentleman mule to wear a saddle and carry a boy around. Brenen climbed on and clung to the halter lead for dear life as they took a three mile trot towards Erebor and back. To his credit, A’mash did not buck or bite Brenen. The relationship improved when Brenen took both the mule and horse spring carrots three or four times a week. 

Nag Kath had a quieter motive. He liked Brenen and wanted to give him advantages a lad from the docks would not get. In this mercantile society, a man could rise very high in his profession. There were probably those who could buy and sell the King. But the measure of a man who mattered was military command. It increased the danger of death or injury in battle, but for Nag Kath’s money, it was better to die fighting than fleeing because enemies did not spare civilians.

Brenen should have more than enough put by to buy a commission when he turned eighteen. He would need sponsors too. Given that Nag Kath was not quite four, being here in five years wasn’t something he wanted Brenen to rely on. This was the time to start making acquaintances. Before then, he needed to learn the tip from the grip.

Nag Kath took Brenen to Aulë the smith and found a used, light sword. The lad was embarrassed to have a junior-sized weapon but it could be easily traded for a more common size when he could swing it. They also got a couple of “beater” wooden swords for practice.

Nag Kath’s early sword training was limited to chopping down on an enemy until he was stabbed. He relied on reflexes now. Brenen needed someone to show him the traditional course of instruction. Nag Kath knew just the man and Burry was soon back on retainer clacking the beaters with both the Elf and lad, off duty, of course. There was a junior tournament in the summer using padded swords with prizes and recognition. Nag Kath knew Brenen would not be anywhere close to boys who had been training since they were in swaddling rags but he had to start somewhere.

On April fifteenth the Queen gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Bells rang for three days in the city. King Bard declared a month of celebration that would lead into his Lady Sister’s wedding in Esgaroth. Songs were composed. National taxes were suspended, though daily prices did not always reflect the lower cost of doing business. One still needed to know the price of lentils. Nag Kath received an invitation to the palace to celebrate the new heir in mid-May which would give him time to reach the wedding in eastern Dale with a little room to spare. 

Brenen had some news of his own. His mother was going to marry her ardent admirer in a week. He was right. Mr. Corianul Revan did have a few coppers in the bank, more than a few. Aleurn was training her replacement at the Patellances and would move into her new home after pledges of troth at the city office. Brenen was welcome there but he had a job. It wasn’t all that demanding so they saw a lot of him in any case. His dad had not surfaced and no one looked for him.

Nag Kath took his invitation to the gate and was passed along with everyone else in line. He saw Sarn't Burry. The Captain of the Guard took the risk that Easterlings would not attack today and moved half his men off the surround to catch well-wishers trying to climb over the palace walls. Both men waved and Nag Kath climbed the slight incline with fellow celebrants.

For the first time in his life, Nag Kath knew people. Most of them were patrons but he was on nodding terms with a number of folk and never forgot a name. He was talking to a Mr. and Mrs. Gerander of the mercantile association when the Queen saw him towering over the crowd and walked over leaving the King speaking with a cavalry man.

Both Nag Kath and the Geranders bowed low. No one thought she would be here after giving birth so recently but her Highness was a strong woman and Nag Kath happened to know she had good medical care. She nodded graciously to the couple who were meeting a royal person for the first time and a bit tongue-tied. “Thank you so much for our picture, Nag Kath. It took longer than we thought.”

He accepted the thanks graciously, “Indeed, my Lady. Though it was in a very good cause.”

“I could not agree more. And thank you for your other gift as well.”

“I must say, your nails have never looked lovelier.”

That produced a giggle which the Geranders were not sure royalty ever did, but they grinned for their lives, glad to be noticed by everyone noticing. To compound their pride, the King joined them with more bowing and thanking. “Hello, Nag Kath.”

“An auspicious day, Sire. May I introduce the Geranders?”

“Thank you for coming to my son’s anointment. We are the better for your company.” Mrs. Gerander was about to swoon but the vise grip of her husband kept her on her feet. Turning to Nag Kath the King said, “We must be going but it was long past time to see you again.” A brief nod followed by deep bows from the commoners and the royals made their way to some southern Thains, less the unfortunate Durnaldar. Mrs. Gerander looked at the Elf as if he was a good luck charm of the highest order before her husband smiled and led her away to refill his mug.

Well, he knew about parties and tried the wine. As usual, women stared at him longer than the men. He smiled back but his heart was not available. Nag Kath was still years from realizing this but he was indeed a hybrid. He had the body of an Elf but the thoughts of a man. In his perhaps uncharitable view of male Elves, he did not realize that they were aroused by women who were ready for them. That took a long, long time. Until then they appreciated women for all the other things that made them special.

He was used to women who were amorous most of the time he but still waited for their initiative, however long that took. After setting his heart at the mysterious Eniece; equally if not more beautiful women could try their best to no avail. Brenen, who was learning much about females, scratched his head when the Elf did not even stare at the inviting walk of some very interested ladies. But then, he was an artist.

_____________--------_____________

It was time to prepare for the second wedding to the east after the small, private ceremony at the lake. Brenen delivered notes to patrons and public places that they would be closed from mid-May through June but would return ready for new commissions. The lad made progress in his sword training. Nag Kath had his bow and bought a standard infantryman’s bow from Burry to teach Brenen how to shoot spor bushes along the way.

Nag Kath assembled his own gear, extra for his “squire” and food for the trail. There was a mock Elvish waybread as good as the Durgan cousins made but the real thing could not be had for love or money. A’mash protested at having to carry a slight lad, the tent and provisions. After having been scolded in waragish half a dozen times since Orthanc, all Nag Kath had to do was look at him to get the message across. Considering how his fellow mules were often whipped, somehow the beast knew he could endure.

There were two ways to go. They could start south to Celduin Village and turn left on the Dwarf Road across the Marches. It was a high road above bogs in central Dale. That was how the bulk of merchant travel made its way across the nation

The path he chose was north at first past Erebor and then right on the Iron Road along the higher east/west route. Erebor was only open to Dwarves, and not all of them. On May 16th, they set out by crossing the Running River north. Before reaching the Dwarf city they turned east to skirt the slopes of the Lonely Mountain. Nag Kath looked back at Dale and thought this was a painting he could sell.

For three days they made their way across the rolling hills that formed the gap between the Lonely Mountain and the Iron Hills. Brenen did fairly well. He was not used to riding and had the sores to prove it, but he did not complain and did his chores. His blood ran a bit colder when Nag Kath explained this was where orcs in their thousands had come to join the Battle of the Five Armies. 

It was not certain those hills around Mount Gundabad were free of orcs. Orcs under the direct power of Sauron were destroyed with him but up here, orcs were more allies than slaves. There were no confirmed sightings. Livestock went missing more than they should. This was warg country too, and trolls in their day. Brenen kept up a brave front but he looked to his left a lot more than his right.

The first mannish settlement they reached was a market town at the base of the Iron Hills called Buhr Wenjan. The Thain of Riding was a jolly old cove who welcomed them for dinner, including Brenen as a companion rather than servant. Riding was past his days of travel to weddings but his eldest son was hunting in the marches and would make for Buhr Austar in a week. Nag Kath had allowed much more time than he needed, on purpose.

The old boy fared them well to an inn that had the most comfortable feather bed he ever slept in. If he could have strapped it on A’mash without the mule braying the rest of the way, he would have bought it in a Minas Tirith blink. The changeling would make inquiries on his way home.

The trip to the Iron Hills Dwarf city was another three days plus one for exploring and shooting the poor spor bushes. One of their campsites was along a brook that was rushing hard with spring melt but had enough eddies that fish could rest on their tiring journey. Brenen knew all about fishing and pulled in a pair of large trout more skillfully than his employer. They practiced sword play with sticks and archery as the fish sizzled in the infamous Trum Dreng frying pan.

________________------______________

The next day was one of the most important of Nag Kath’s life. The Iron Road veered into the foothills to avoid a bog that was worse in spring. It was there. He smelled it, the same smell as the great Bilbo’s troll cave. If the wind and temperature had not been just right, none of almost everything else that happened would have.

Nag Kath had Brenen watch the mounts as he loped up the hills to a crag in the rocks. Not one to trust his luck, he brought the sword. The smell was gone now but it had been here. For three hours he scoured the crumbling rock face until he saw the crack behind a boulder. That was it. It could not be seen unless you were standing right there. And like any troll cave, it was a large hole. Even his eyes were not strong enough to see far inside so he laid his sword to reflect the sun into the cave and gingerly stepped inside.

These were paupers as mountain trolls go. There was a box covered with dust that held several hundred Florin of Numenorean minting. There were pieces of an Elvish suit of armor. Nag Kath did not know the vintage. There was a gold cup holding perhaps an inch of rough gemstones and in a corner were several swords. The rest was their furniture, bones and substances to avoid. By the look of it, these fellows died or left thousands of years ago. As the sword glare failed, Nag Kath took some of the gems, a handful of gold and had another look at the swords. He would be back with a plan

Brenen had already prepared to spend the night here and caught a couple more fish for dinner. He looked at the dusty Nag Kath but did not ask. Both Vandery and A’mash were uneasy with his scent so he took a Kath bath and washed his clothes. The mule was bribed with extra oats. The horse would be glad to leave tomorrow.

At noon two days later they reached the Dwarf city of Iron Hills. Like Erebor, the caverns were for their own kind but Durin's Folk had fashioned a mannish town outside the gates for trade and travelers that qualified as a genuine marketplace. They had a good dinner followed by redder beer than in Dale and a bug-free sleep. Dwarves were supposed to be hard to like but he enjoyed their company. 

This stop marked the two-thirds point of the outward journey. Now they would follow the river to the Northwatch that defined the upper boundary of Lieutenant Conath’s father’s fief. At noon on the second day out of Iron Hills town they reached the intersection of the Dwarf Road cutting across southern Dale. Here they met a number of merchant trains. The southern route was much more popular for convenience and the tradition of avoiding orcs further north. 

Nag Kath was a bit surprised there wasn’t a town here since there were at least fifteen wagons plus walking travelers camped around three small streams. Half were Dwarves. Some of the men were the black haired folk from further east. Evidently an Easterling only got the name when fighting. Like everywhere, those who weren’t soldiers tried to avoid fighting from any side. Many of the dark allies treated their folk as badly as anyone else. There was an inn but it was full and out of ale until another wagon from Iron Hills arrived. With half a day’s sun left, they kept moving.

At sundown the next day they reached Northwatch. It was a market town too but really more of a fortress and cavalry depot. They stayed at an inn that was not as clean or as comfy as Buhr Wenjan but with a good fish bake. The stout, bald cook was not as easy on the eye as Whilmina.

Buhr Austar was the next stop. This was the capital of the district with about 3,000 souls in the township and twice that many using this as their market. Though not much bigger, the place seemed older than some of the towns along the route. The inn was three stories with glass windows in the main room and oiled paper in the guest quarters. He had requested a reserved room with the first courier this way when he decided to come. That could mean he was twentieth in line but they did hold a small garret on top with no window. The bed was clean. Brenen had the floor and his bedroll.

They were four days early. Nag Kath’s thoughts turned to Eniece. She might be here because she lived here much of the year. She might be on her way. She might stay with the groom’s family in the country. And then she might be in Lake Town and not come to either ceremony knowing she could see the couple anytime she wanted. He hoped she would come but did not inquire. That had never been necessary. If she was here and wanted to see him, he would not be hard to find.

It was time for a look at his booty. Nag Kath thanked Brenen for his hard work and gave him a silver with the rest of the day off. The boy didn’t drink and was too nervous to be seduced so he could go explore after bedding the animals. There was reportedly a bookstore here and the lad liked books. Brenen excused, Nag Kath took his pocket of gems and coins downstairs to one of the window tables in the tavern. It was two in the afternoon with few patrons and they could not see what was in his hand. There were eight stones. Two were white and about the same size so those would be the wedding present. The largest was red. It would highlight her hair.

The coins were interesting. He grabbed several full Florins and a dozen nippers of the day. The kings all looked alike to him. Wear varied and there were a few bites in their faces so these had been in circulation before the trolls stole them. The coins were the same size as men used today but they were old enough that a merchant would rightfully weigh them to determine value.

Money was all some people thought about but Nag Kath was more interested in the swords. Those were history. One was a curved Elvish blade like Thranduil wore. They used long swords built more for slashing than stabbing. Most horse warriors used curved blades that would not bite and be wrenched from the man’s hand. 

Rohirric blades were short, straight and doubled edged so there other ways to do the job. After seeing their soldiers, Nag Kath learned their formations were more based on the spear. Officers used swords but the rank-and-file troopers bore down with long spears for the first kill of the wave and would only pull their swords or fine axes after the spear was broken or stayed in their target. The wood near the head was thinner than the body to break on impact so the enemy could not throw it back at them.

He certainly had a lot to think about before the second wedding. For the troll hoard he needed another horse and tack for Brenen so A’mash could carry the loot. A second tent for disguising what they found, torches and more rope were routine items easily had. He added a dozen bags to gather things. He closed his fist when seven travelers came into the tavern to start celebrating. Nag Kath was not sure if they were here for the wedding or business but they were in good spirits and the chairs were not warm before the first pitcher hit the table. More men joined them shortly after and the night started early. Nag Kath smiled on his way out and began exploring himself.

The ceremony would be held only two doors down. This was far enough from the centers of Elvish and Numenorean culture that the locals had their own views on the creation of man. Although destroyed and rebuilt many times before the ones standing today, these halls had been used to worship and sacrifice to gods and demons that did nothing to honor the Valar when Easterlings held the ground. Maybe there were Valar far away, living in leisure, but here were fell and dangerous spirits that did not bow to them. They had their own codes of conduct. They had their own thirsts. Folk were more modern now, but old women still let candles burn all night on certain days.

Nag Kath wandered into the large hall listening to his heels clicking on the stone floor. His step was lighter than a man’s but every noise echoed. There were few windows. Torch brackets lined the long walls every six feet and there were large candle rings above that could be lowered by ropes. Two men were loading those now to light before the ceremony.

He did not feel the presence of darkness in the room. Maybe he had warmed inside to the point he would not. It would be better if he did not feel the spirits because they were not there to be appeased. One might think that from the service of the fell wizard he would sense dark residuals, but orcs in thrall to actual sorcery simply had the world’s worst job. If there were malign humors, he couldn’t tell.

Wandering around the town he saw Brenen talking with a boy about his age, probably a stable hand. The lads each had a bowl of soup or stew bought for a groat at the corner shop. Nag Kath waved from across the street but did not approach. He had given his squire the day off.

As he reached the shop district, a troop of eighteen horsemen rode in from the west wearing similar coats and a Bard royal patch on their shoulders. Like the Rohirrim, they carried spears and side weapons. A quarter of them had bows across their backs. Nag Kath stopped to look as they rode by. He got a few looks himself. The shop area was only a few blocks square offering many of the same things as in Dale. He saw the bookstore but it was closed while the owner was teaching elsewhere.

A few minutes later, he arrived at the stable. A’mash and Vandery were with a dozen horses in the main paddock waiting for their dinner. Nag Kath sat on the top rail and considered the stock. Most of these horses belonged to travelers but a few were probably for sale. None looked promising. He would be meeting quite a few troopers, including the groom, who might know where to get a good horse. The public stable was not the place.

Back at the inn the party was just starting. He nurse an ale but declined their own fresh stew. One of the merchants left early so he was able to upgrade his room to one with a window for no extra charge. The word was out that the Elf was in high favor. The next morning Nag Kath came downstairs for an early breakfast to find a trooper waiting for him. The man introduced himself and asked if he would join the Thain and his family for dinner at his Hall that evening. The Elf said he would be honored and got directions. 

Usually his gift would be given at the ceremony but he had already drawn their picture in Dale. The couple had actually been married in Esgaroth before coming here so this was a repeat for local consumption. A jewelry shop had a silver case that had not been engraved. The man put a fine velvet cloth pad inside and the gift was ready to present. The other stones were in his vest pocket.

The Thain only lived a few miles from the town on a good road. Nag Kath was there in twenty minutes and greeted at the door by Lancer (the local equivalent of Lieutenant) Conath who showed him into the main room. This was a country party. Outer Thains did not stand on ceremony. Thain Field Conath was a burly, friendly man with a thick chest and beard. Nag Kath had barely completed his bow when the man gripped his hand like iron saying, “You are quite some fellow! Thank you for coming for our modest celebration.”

“I could not be more pleased, Thain Conath. You live in a beautiful place.”

“We like it. I saw the drawing you made of my son and new daughter. Now I just have to get the first boy married for a matched set!” That brought a hearty laugh. The Thain took Nag Kath to the drink table and introduced him to his wife Hadista. She was the same shape as her man and threw her arms around the tall Elf with a huge, “Ohhhh.” Then she started to cry and was comforted by her second son. 

“From behind him, “You are an intrepid soul, Nag Kath. Not many of the Dale folk made the ride.”

He turned and bowed to the Princess. Married life suited her. She was wearing a dress and shawl in the fashion of the district without the tiara of the capital. The couple could now share quarters which would make the second ceremony less stressful. She said, “Come, you need a beer.” The attendant had them lined on the table or filled empties brought by revelers.

Handing him a mug she said quietly, “Mother should be here in two days.” Looking him in the eye, “I think you frighten her. I don’t find you intimidating at all. You are a strange creature, Nag Kath.”

“Oh My Lady, you don’t know the half of it.”

She saw the Thain coming over and said, “Ah, Father Conath, I was about to tell Nag Kath about the luncheon tomorrow.”

“Quite right! Always organized! Nag Kath, I have known her since she was eight. Eight, right?”

“Or younger.”

He pronounced, “You are coming, of course. These folk present and friends arriving will stay here for the days of the ceremony. We will go out for a short ride and then put on the feedbag. Give you a chance to meet some people.”

Nag Kath gave the Princess a secret smile, “I would enjoy that, Thain.” To Ardatha, “Oh, before I forget, where is that handsome husband of yours?” He was nearby and walked over. Pulling the silver case from his vest he presented it to the Lieutenant. “You will need someone to clean and mount them for you but they are a matched pair, just like you and your lady wife.” With that he bowed to them both. Young Conath opened the box in front of the Princess and they both gasped. Her royalty was lately arrived and country gentry were not bejeweled.

Thain Conath said with authority, “Good, that’s settled. Do you shoot?”

______________-------______________

He was up early. Brenen was enjoying himself. Despite the leeway Nag Kath allowed him, he was still a dock rat in Dale. On the road he had been shown some respect. Today he was going to be a squire, which was still up from dock rat. Nag Kath wore ordinary clothes with a jacket. He also brought his bow and a quiver holding an assortment of arrows. Nag Kath’s understanding was that this would be a ride before lunch. It was actually a brunch before riding before lunch. These people took eating seriously.

Brenen joined the servants gathered at the end of the long house. In a true hunt some of them would go to fetch game, arrows and refreshments. Today most would stay here. Nineteen men mounted and waved goodbye to their females who would use their riddance to discuss important matters of the day. They were all impressed with the Princess’ jewels. Ardatha was the step-daughter of a respected merchant here and everyone knew her. She put on no airs.

As their men trotted out the path towards a copse of trees, a fellow much like Reyald pulled alongside Nag Kath to say, “Thank you for coming. I am Torrald Conath.”

“I am honored. My name is Nag Kath.”

“Is this your first visit?”

“It is. I hail from the south but am much in Dale of late.”

“I see your blade. I was in Rohan as a lad. You will find folk here much like them.”

“Some of my favorite memories are of the Mark and people there. I traveled from Gondor with a train of men wounded in the war and got to know them. If your folk are alike, I will enjoy your company.”

“Your bow is of local make. Let us see what there is to shoot!” With that, the young Captain, he supposed, rode to the right joining older friends of the Thain. Nag Kath had decided if this was a hunt he would barely miss his targets and scare them away. If they were plinking at targets, he would do his best. 

This turned out to be target practice. Men who might have been archers at one point brought their bows. They would pull the string along with the muscles in their backs for old times’ sake. And they would do so fortified by ale brought in small casks on the backs of their retainers’ mounts. When they stopped to refresh, the groom came over and wished him good morning, and thanks again for the stones.

“Lieutenant, there is …”

“Reyald, we are friends here.”

“I need to get another horse for my trip home. My lad is on a mule and the poor boy is wearing out his backside. Who should I talk to about that?”

The man looked at Vandery. “Something for yourself or your lad?”

“Me, I should think. Vandery and I have been through much together. He is a gentle nag and perhaps a better mount for the youngster.”

“Consider it done. And before you make a show of paying, you’re money won’t spend in Buhr Austar. You will take one of mine and I will brook no argument. It may chip away from what my Lady and I owe you.”

“Reyald, my gifts are always given with no thought of return. You owe me nothing, though I will accept the horse and treat him, or her, well. Consider it the start of a long friendship.” They both smiled and watched retainers place several targets in the grass. One was like Sergeant Dedlan’s straw bundles. Another was a round target slightly better than two feet across. That was placed on a pendulum held on a stand and was rocked back and forth with a string held well away from the line of sight.

Thain Conath burped and announced, “Hear, hear! It is early for militia training but the men of the district …” He nodded to others in the group, “… and sister districts of the east are always prepared for battle and glory!” 

Savoring the moment; “To celebrate my son’s marriage to our own Ardatha, who is much up in the world, we shall shoot in their honor! The top five on the red stripe move on to the round. Five arrows each. You know the rest. Charge your mugs and let us begin!”

They did not draw lots for the order of shooting. The older fellows generally went first. A few had kept in training and did well. Some missed every time and waved at the straw bundle as the one that got away before finding their mugs. The next men looked like soldiers and most put three or more arrows in the red. One man got all five. The Thain managed three and was acclaimed a right good fellow!

Nag Kath was called about three quarters in. He also put five in the red at about chest height. As usual, the practice arrows sank well in. Men murmured. He suspected some coins were being pledged, and not groats either. Both Conath boys put four arrows in the red. With two men at five and six at four, the six had another round to cut that number in half. The groom just missed but his brother moved on.

The Thain was enjoying himself, though he was not pouring down the ale like some of his contemporaries. “Very well done, my lads!” It was time for the serious betting. “We have five worthy fellows. One of them is an Elf! Now, of course, they expect to whip us country folk handily. But I say; let us show them we are heroes as well!”

That raised shouts of; ‘Hear, hear!’ in fellowship. Thain Conath had warmed them up, “Next we have the moving target. Arrows hitting anywhere count. You fellows gather round for your lots.” They reached into a hat with folded paper and pulled numbers from one to five. Nag Kath’s was three.

The elder Conath son was first. With the target swinging gently in a six-foot arc, he put two of six arrows in the disk. Shooting first was a disadvantage since the others could watch the trajectory so the first shooter got an extra arrow.

The second man only managed one and looked cross until cheered by his friends. Nag Kath got four but only one was near the center of the target. It had been last fall since he shot at the swinging log. The fourth man also sunk four and the last man sunk two.

Thain Conath stood tall and said, “We must shoot again. We have trooper Ethan and Nag Kath.” The Thain pulled a nipper and told Nag Kath, “Since you are the guest, you call the coin. Tails is the picture of the tree. Heads is, well, I don’t know who this one was … a king!” Nag Kath went first.

He must remember his breathing! He put the first four arrows dead center and missed completely with his fifth. He was not here to show off. The trooper put three arrows close to the center as well but the first missed and his last nicked the edge but could not hold. Nag Kath was acclaimed the master bowman, or bow-Elf of the day and it was time for more ale. The day was fair but cool so after another mug, everyone rode back to the Hall for lunch with their ladies-fair.

_____________--------_____________

A boar had been smoking in an underground fire since the night before and was carved while the men were shooting. In the fashion of the country, people high and low took a plate at the front of a long table and helped themselves, though some helped others or had servants get theirs. Hadista presented Nag Kath with a blue ribbon for his achievements. Worn on a cap in the Buhr Austar it meant high honor.

The large room was usually open but it had been furnished with small tables. Everyone seated themselves. Some were talking business, some army, some old times. When the couple next to him excused themselves to greet arriving friends, the Princess sat next to him. “They say you missed on purpose.”

“Hitting a moving target is not an easy thing.”

“No doubt. Now, what about you? Mother is both fascinated and terrified. The Queen thinks you are splendid. She has become my friend. The King gets a far-off look when your name comes up.”

“You must have it all, I take it?”

“Of course.”

“Very well. I was a fell Uruk-hai of the wizard Saruman, that’s a big orc. I don’t know if we were up here. Through unintended craft, I am the only survivor and changed into an ancient Elf. I have minor sorcerous powers and can heal with a touch. That included the Queen and her babe, though I introduced her to a more experienced healer who deserves most of the credit.”

Not put-off at all, she confirmed, “You’re an orc?”

“Afraid so, and probably a wizard too, if I applied myself. I haven’t told Eniece but she must have gotten wind. It is not really much of a secret. She is so fair and I did not want to bring her pain so I have not pursued her. I confess; I am much taken with her and think of her often. You have already discovered that.”

She grabbed this topic like a terrier, “But you are not an orc now, correct?”

“Correct. Wizards and great creatures have wrung that from me. The Elves tolerate me but make no claim. Between us, they can be terrible snobs.” He gave the sort of grin Elves found so appalling. “No, my Lady, I am what I seem.” More seriously, “But I am also very dangerous. I do not care for killing. I have only just found a place where I do not have to.”

She shook her head, “I can’t pair my poor mother with an ancient evil,” said as if not seating the Gravediggers' and Lamp Makers' Guilds at the same table. 

The grin was back, “Next Thursday will be my fourth birthday.” That got him the first actual look of disbelief. “I do not know how long I will live. Uruk-hai were full-grown at birth but only live six years, give or take. I have never been in a position to celebrate a birthday. For my seventh, I intend to get stinking drunk.”

“Is that why the King is so cautious?”

“I don’t think he knows about the Uruk business. He saw me pull a dread poison from her Ladyship so he knows I am more than I appear. And, of course, I scolded him to be more kingly. The Queen seemed to appreciate that, but he has not said. We have never spoken alone.”

The Princess said matter-of-factly, “I need to get my ducks in a row. To summarize; you are a former fell creature who is now an Elf but not of their society. I suppose that means you won’t be sailing away soon. You might live two more years or forever. You draw lovely pictures that make people happy and don’t like killing them.” Tenderly, “And you are very sweet and kind to those in need.”

Nag Kath thought a second and agreed, “That about sums it up. And now I am mooning like a calf because I am smitten by your beautiful but mysterious mother. I dare not force her because I come so heavily laden. There are those who think I am Sauron himself waiting to crawl forth. Methinks not, but my opinion is not always asked.”

Ardatha became a Princess Royal and arranged her hands in her lap before saying, “Nag Kath, I would love you as a step-father. I have enjoyed great fortune, and not just lately. But for the love of people who had nothing to gain I might have been a scorned foundling and ill-served. Now I have married the man I love. We cannot know the future. I will do what I can to help my mother rejoin the world of joy and light. What would you have of me?”

Nag Kath told her gently, “You have already done it. You are wise beyond your years. People will see that. The rest I must do myself.”

As if describing her own daughter, “She is not as worldly as she seems. She has protected herself. Go slowly. Now, let us join the others.”

Not much happened the next day. Nag Kath was quieter than usual. Brenen though he was contemplating good things. They did buy a small tent, two backpacks, several lengths of light rope and a bale of grain bags, for target practice. Brenen was not sure why they needed a bundle of torches and pitch but if it was to ward off wargs crossing the Iron Hills, he would hold them in both hands. 

Nag Kath did not treat him like a servant. He had to be so at the Thain’s lodge, but here in town they ate in the same restaurant and the Elf had a cot brought to their room so he did not have to sleep on the floor. With the silver he got two days ago he now had four of them hidden in various seams of his clothes. That was a fortune where he came from. Dinner was capped when Nag Kath told him he was getting Vandery for his own. The Elf should receive a local horse as a gift from the Thain’s son. Brenen had become a fortunate cousin.

The big day arrived. Their inn was crowded with all manner of folk. In a larger place there would be a difference between the soldiers, townsfolk and tradesmen. Here, they all knew each other and had often done most of those things to make their community thrive. Every able man was prepared at sound of the horn to gather his bow and sword against enemies from the east. Such are the ties that bind.

The private vows and contracts were a formality. Those had been done in Lake Town. Nobody, including the Princess, knew what her stipend would be from the royal coffers but she came into a small inheritance from her late step-father at marriage and that was plenty. 

People flooded into the hall well before the public vows so Nag Kath and Brenen found themselves towards the back. Half a head taller than the front row was the reddish brown hair that reflected both colors at the inn. A half-head taller himself, he had a good view of the proceedings. 

The town Magister called the Lieutenant’s best friend up for a few words. He was one of the troopers who made the first cut in archery. The man said some mildly embarrassing stories to put the audience at their ease. No doubt there would be better ones later. Then the Magister introduced the bride’s grandparents who were here all the way from Esgaroth. They did not look particularly old. He was fit and arrow straight. She was nearly the image of her daughter. Both were beaming like crescent moons.

It was a mercifully short ceremony and the hall was converted to a reception room by hauling casks and finger-foods out on tables lining the walls. A troupe of musicians started playing a reel like when Nag Kath met Talereth. She was much like Eniece. Was that his taste in women? 

The bride and groom stayed long enough to greet folk and then repaired to the Thain’s lodge. 

“I saw their picture.” She was as quiet as Nag Kath. He turned and bowed. “You captured her eyes beautifully.”

“Hello Eniece. Again, you look lovely.”

“Thank you. Ardatha told me you inquired. What was the word, ‘mooning’?”

“I think much of you. I hope it is not too obvious.”

“She told me other things too. My daughter is very observant. I trust her. I will trust you. I am going to the lodge now and will return to Esgaroth with my parents shortly. I hope you will visit me on the lake when you are back in Dale. Ardatha can tell you how to find me.” 

She held out her hand. Nag Kath held it for a moment, kissed it and she was gone.

The next morning a trooper was waiting in front of the inn with a handsome horse. He was a dark roan, like the Huntsman’s, saddled and caparisoned for cavalry. The trooper bowed and hoped Nag Kath would allow that the Lancer had other matters to attend. Somehow the lad didn’t smile so Nag Kath didn’t either. The steed was Regalo. He was four and his father was the famous Realtho. The man saluted sharply and was off on his own horse.

_______________------______________

It was time for hidden treasure. They retraced their steps, camping when light faded. Brenen had ridden Vandery before. A’mash had no complaints. Regalo was a cavalry horse used to close quarters with other beasts. There was some spirit there and Nag Kath took him at a run on their second day out to see how he responded. For a four-year old horse, he was very steady. Also four, Nag Kath hoped he could claim the same.

The night before they reached the hoard, Nag Kath asked Brenen what he would do if he had a hundred Florin. That is an age-old game; thinking what one would do if an impossible sum of money landed in your lap. The lad thought about it and said he would not use it to drink or mistreat his family. That was a better answer than Nag Kath would have managed. He decided that Brenen would share, though it would lose him his faithful servant.

Near noon they veered from the path towards the hills after a two wagon train going the other way was over the horizon. As usual, Brenen observed but said nothing. He was a lot like Nag Kath that way. They picked through the grasses until reaching a series of large boulders out of sight of the road and unloaded the mounts.

“Brenen, come sit by me. There is something I need to tell you.” Nag Kath gave him the thumbnail sketch of his origins, his powers, his ambitions and his hopes. It would be all over Dale soon enough. The boy knew some of it and took the rest well. In his experience, creatures with no abilities at all were crueler.

“Now for why we are here; on the way by I smelled something faint but foul. It has happened before. I may be the last person in Middle-Earth who could tell. There is a troll hoard in those crags. I meant what I said about if you had a hundred Florin. This will change many things. I have decided that you are a fine young man and should have a share. We will have to keep this quiet. Do you accept?”

Brenen nodded quickly. Children of the docks understand such things.

“The trolls are long gone. We will need to go up there with the sacks and torches to load it. That is why we have extra rope and a second tent to look like ordinary travelers or merchants along the way. Vandery and Regalo will not like the smell of our findings. There is much light left so let us climb. And no fire tonight, not until we are well away.”

After loading their packs it took almost an hour of picking through the loose rock to reach the cave. It reeked to Nag Kath but Brenen did not seem to notice -- remnants of orcish scent. By torchlight there was fortune and filth. Wild beasts had stayed here over the centuries as well. First came the money. Nag Kath could have carried it but there were handles on both ends of the box so they hauled it out together. His original estimate was light. It might hold eight hundred Florin in either full coins or nippers along with quite a few silvers. It was the only box, though.

The cup with the gems was next. There were thirty eight stones, not including the eight he got on the first trip. Behind the rock where it sat lay four similar cups with nothing in them. Those were double-bagged and put next to the cash. There were four swords. Two were made by men, probably in the Third age. They looked serviceable but swords were cheaper than whisker-fish in Dale and neither of them wanted to carry more bare steel down those crags than necessary. The third was the Elvish blade that caught his eye. It was an exquisite weapon and it was coming with them. The fourth sword was also Elvish but broken. Only the hilt and a four inch piece of the tip were left. The rest had rusted under a drip of water leaking down the wall. He kept the tip and the hilt. 

That was all Nag Kath had remembered from the first visit but with a second torch, they found some Dwarvish helmets, an Elvish helmet with the skull still in it and armor that had been discarded during the meal like crab shells, probably the owner of the sword. Kicking the dust revealed a small wooden box that had somehow survived the centuries. Inside was a half inch of pages written in Elvish script. Nag Kath had seen many of these and thought Scholar Thursen would like a look. These might be more important than the discards from Orthanc, perhaps the Nuralth? Everyone said it was a myth but if so, why did they keep looking? The uses orcs and trolls had for paper need not be mentioned in polite company but they hadn’t gotten to these. Nag Kath and Brenen each took a torch to see if the cave went further. Unless treasure was hidden behind a Dwarf door, they were done. They put dirt on the torches to smother them and assessed the loot. The gold and silver weighed about a hundred pounds so they needed two trips using the backpacks on the loose rocks. Upon reaching camp with the first load, Vandery and Regalo recoiled at the smell so Nag Kath and Brenen stashed their booty along the creek Nag Kath washed at last time.

It took until dusk to get everything down. Nag Kath held the sword tip in his hand. He felt something in it but did not know what. In fading light they rinsed the coins in their bags, cleaned everything, including themselves, and re-packed the trove in fresh sacks. 

After a quick breakfast, the animals were loaded. It was lighter than expected. With only one box of coins, A’mash handled the extra weight with three or four heehaws of complaint. Both horses were still nervous but settled down by noon. They made their way back to Buhr Wenjan trying to look as hard-put-upon as the lowliest salt peddlers on this forsaken trail. A poor campsite was as much as the peddlers could obviously afford but Nag Kath did ask about the mattress and got the name of a fowler in Dale.

They purposely waited on the south side of the river below Erebor so they would arrive home at dark. It had started to drizzle. No one was in the street. Too late for the stable, the animals would have to stay tied to the posts until morning.

There would be no sleeping tonight. 

They got away with it. 

__________________-------_________________

At dawn, Brenen dumped the money sacks on a blanket spread over the dinner table. None of the coins were so old they would cause suspicion, other than looking newer than the same vintage not hoarded by trolls. All counted there were seven hundred sixty one Florins, a hundred eleven nippers, two hundred seven silvers and a half by half by one inch ingot of what looked like silver but was lighter. 

It was quite a haul.

Nag Kath had to consider for himself what to do with a pile of money. He did not think life would change much. This house needed a few things but he liked it and lived a modest lifestyle. He liked throwing parties. Those were cheap. He would keep painting, healing and honing his fighting skills. For now, he did not want to develop what might be considerable sorceries. People needed a generation or two before no one cared if the last known orc was learning black spells.

Some of it depended on Brenen. Some depended on Eniece. 

Brenen first. 

They had tea after the counting. Did the boy want to live here, with his mother or somewhere else. That was easy. He would stay here for now. They talked about making a bigger splash someday in Dale society. Brenen would be introduced as his junior partner. That meant more new clothes.

Nag Kath said he would give him a third of the cash, which came to about two hundred fifty Florin. There was a small legal problem. Since Bren was not yet sixteen, his father could claim a child’s money as his right. He might be dead. He might be lurking. He might get wind of this and show-up on the doorstep a changed man for a day.

They marched to a Notary’s office. A nipper got the man’s undivided attention to draft a contract that almost all of Brenen’s share would be put in the Royal Bank in Nag Kath’s name. The day after he turned sixteen, he could claim it. If Nag Kath was dead or gone, the Bank had instructions to give him a Florin a month until then. Brenen thought that a capital idea but wanted to do something nice for his mom so he kept twenty nippers.

Nag Kath would give Eniece another week to reach Lake Town. He had ridden by but hadn’t been out on the long dock. It was only a two hour trip. No one gave him her address. She would not be hard to find with her parents and the Rulverics known to the community.

After lunch, Nag Kath brought the Elvish sword and pieces to Aulë the swordsmith. 

My, did this Elf have interesting weapons?! 

Aulë laid the sword on the same cloth and looked at it for several minutes, He tested the balance and weight and sighted along the blade. “A fine weapon. In good condition too. I put this around the middle of the Second Age, but mind, that is an educated guess. One of the scholars will know from the runes on the hilt and blade. Made for an officer of their people, I should think. But I have no idea where or whose. Was there a scabbard?”

“It had rotted away. Can you make another?”

“Certainly, but I need to consult the archives.” The Elf had shared some secrets. Aulë would too. “Not all the Elvish weapons from the Five Armies made it home. Some are in private hands. I may be able to buy one or at least have a close look. If the latter, I will need to hire-out the leather work.”

Nag Kath said, “And then there is this.” He unwrapped the broken sword fragment and hilt, laying them next to the sword.

The smith asked, “Do I even want to know where you got these?”

“Family heirlooms.”

Aulë looked at it for a moment and said, “Same type of weapon from the shape. You will need more than a scabbard.”

Nag Kath ventured, “For some reason, I think this is older, perhaps much older. And I can’t even tell you why.”

Aulë said, “Again, the writing will tell the story.”

Out of the blue, Nag Kath asked, “Can you recommend a Dwarvish smith who works in mithril?

Aulë raised his eyebrows and offered, “Golord, in the compound just outside the Erebor Gate. Be careful. Any mention of mithril gets their hair up ... and that’s a lot of hair. I’ll have a sketch for your sheath in a week.”

Asking for Golord brought uneasy stares. He did not barge in. Durin’s folk work hard but at their own pace. Once it was known he wanted a word with the longbeard, Nag Kath sat on a bench outside the heavy doors and waited for an hour. He was about to leave when a young Dwarf walked out and shut the door behind him.

“Heared you’re lookin’ for Golord.”

“That’s right.”

The fellow, Nag Kath guessed forty from the beard, looked the Elf over closely. Nag Kath did not seem like a villain and was patient so he would start the next round of questions. “How can Master Golord help you?”

“I wanted to speak with him about a commission in steel and other alloys. He comes recommended.”

“I am his nephew. What manner of commission, may I inquire?”

Very slowly, Nag Kath took a sketch from his coat pocket. “I have the steel for the blade, but it would need to be worked cold to keep the temper. Then, I want a locking handle of steel with alloy plating that would fold like this.” He took out his quill knife to demonstrate the pivot.

“I broke the tip off mine a few months ago. Time is of no moment. And I understand the price depends on the materials. If the Master considers the work, he can reach me at the address on the page to discuss whatever he needs. A deposit will not be a problem. Now, the texture I had in mind was recently seen by your own Master Tombor in Orthanc last spring. He might remember me. I would certainly be willing to wait until he has offered his counsel.”

That was quite a name to drop in the Kingdom of Dale. Dwarves went to and from Erebor every day. Perhaps Uncle Golord would send him to ask this of King Thorin III’s nephew.

Looking at the sheet, “Very well, Mr. Kath. Someone will contact you within the week, even if only to say we haven’t forgotten. May we keep the sketch?”

“Certainly. And if the Master recommends a better design, I am not married to this.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kath. You have a fair hand. My name is Golach. It was nice meeting you.”

_____________--------_____________

It was time to go to the lake. After being burned by the dragon three generations before; Esgaroth was rebuilt along the same lines with new wood. It reminded Nag Kath of Whilmina’s floating inn except the water level never got any higher. Floodwater just poured over the dam. The Long Lake was a commercial hub since boats, some quite large, could travel safely in all directions rather than taking wagons along the rugged coast.

Brenen knew the town from when his father fished these waters. Not much had changed. After two hours getting here, it took half an hour to find Eniece’s parent’s business. Nag Kath was glad he had just not strolled over the causeway alone. There were canals, walkways and uncounted dead ends. He knocked at the Borenne’s shipping office while the lad loitered a few houses away.

A fellow who reminded Nag Kath of a young Tallazh said, “Good day, sir Elf. How can we assist you?” 

“I am looking for Mr. or Mrs. Borenne. My name is Nag Kath. The man asked him to wait at the counter and disappeared into the back. There would be no sneaking up on anyone in Esgaroth. Even Nag Kath made the boards moan. The man came back with the woman he recognized from the hall in Buhr Austar.

“I am Mrs. Borenne. We were told you might come to call.” The woman looked even more like her daughter up-close but there was something else familiar. “She was right, you are comely.” With Eniece’s same smile, “She lives in her husband’s home on the Vu Ednal. Number twenty six. I would tell you but it is easier to take you.” Looking at her clerk, “I won’t be long. Don’t forget the figures.”

“Already done, ma’am. See you shortly.”

The woman walked down the stairs and towards Brenen. Nag Kath explained, “He is my guide.”

Without slowing she said, “This way.”

Five minutes later they arrived at a two story building a block from a major canal and docking area. This was the merchant’s quarter and well away from the fishing boats. The woman pointed up the stairs, “You have to take it from here, young man.” And then to Brenen, “Come with me. I have strawberry tarts just out of the oven.” He did not have to be told twice.

Walking up the stairs was as loud as any knock but he rapped several times on the heavy oak door. A peep flap creaked wide at the height of his chest so he leaned down and said, “Nag Kath to see Eniece.” The flap slapped shut and not long after the door was opened by the woman herself. As if still wondering if this was a good idea, she finally said, “Please, come in.”

Nag Kath was not sure what to expect on a floating city. Houses were actually on large docks rather than floating individually but there was still a perceptible sway. The home was very tasteful with excellent light from real glass windows. She asked, “Would you like tea?”

“If it is no trouble.”

Eniece went to the kitchen and returned with a pot and two small mugs. Whoever had opened the peep flap was nowhere to be heard.

She said, “Ardatha thinks very highly of you. She is a perceptive girl, woman now.”

“Did she grow up here?”

“Here and in Buhr Austar. She was underfoot at mother and father’s too.”

“I am not usually so bashful, my lady, but I have come to court and see if you would keep company with me. Perhaps we could start with a dinner and no expectations.”

“Not my eyes?” Her eyes sparkled when she asked.

“It might be months before I get to your eyes.”

She looked in her lap, “I am frightened, Nag Kath. You seem in so many ways to be kind. But there is much beyond my ken. You are not entirely of this world. I lead a safe, simple life. I am not sure I want that now. You must be very careful with me.”

He collected the red-mouthed lad at the shipping office and rode back to Dale. He had a date. Two days hence he would return here for dinner. 

She answered the door in one of the pale dresses that did so much for her complexion. Like her mother, the years would be kind. She must be thirty four, about the same age as Kataleese. What made her special was grace. She flowed. She made no noise as she walked, even on the creaking boards of Lake Town. He wondered again if she had Dunedain, or even Elf, in her blood. Eniece led him to the couch and walked to a small bar on the side of the main room. “I have ale or wine or barley spirits.”

“Wine, thank you. Barley spirits go to my head.”

“That is what they are for, silly.” She sat demurely next to him. “In some ways you seem very childlike. I must know, are you really only four?”

“A couple weeks ago. I was made full-grown.”

Eniece was at ease now. She would see where this led. They talked for almost an hour, and not all about fell lords and horror. She accepted all those things were true. Now she needed to know if she liked him. Nag Kath could tell funny stories without being hurtful. He did not swear. He did not try to be something he was not. He told her about the little man selling pies and tricking the Wild Huntsman into letting him go. There were Gandalf’s fireworks and Thranduil’s astonishing halls. He had pictures of them. 

Her world was entirely of men. Droll stories of magical creatures, including him, seemed so far away. At a lull in the conversation there was a loud knock at the back door. She excused herself and he rose to get more wine for both of them. Eniece returned to the dining table followed by two small men holding steaming hot platters of food. They arranged the plates on cast iron grates with cork feet, bowed and were gone in minutes. Dinner was served.

It was good. Neither of them ate much. Afterwards, they walked back to the couch and chair. It was time to go. Nag Kath did not sit down. He kissed her very gently on the lips. He felt he could have kept going but would not risk that. Touching her face he said, “I am enthralled. Next time we will have dinner in Dale. But I will wait to hear from you, though it seems to take forever. Good night.”

Three days later, her note arrived. Would Friday at six serve? She would be there unless she heard otherwise.

She came by carriage. They went to a restaurant Nag Kath knew did not include meat in every dish. It was an expensive place, not lordly, but folk bathed before going. It was her turn to tell. She was fifteen when the Heir of Dale became infatuated. She had been visiting friends of her parents and word spread that an exotic female from the lake was here. The Prince was a man of appetites and just rid of his loathed wife, not that she stopped his lusts, but now there was no complaining after. 

Eniece did not want to go into details. Nag Kath needed none. She returned to the lake and had her beautiful baby who was loved and nurtured as all in this world should be. The King sent a purse to her parents. Ardatha was never needy but not spoiled either. Eniece later married a widower who lived in the east using an office here to distribute goods along the routes. Before the ring war he contracted a lung ailment that never got better. Besides raising her daughter, she sewed, read, visited friends and spent time with a charity that helps women care for their babies. She tended wounds in the siege of Erebor. 

Now that her daughter was married, it was time for more. Speaking slightly out of school, she had met the current King several times, once with the Queen. The conversations were friendly but had no depth. He seemed a little sorry for her, knowing nothing done now could make amends. She did not feel sorry for herself and thanked him for his kindness to Ardatha. She had also had lunch with the queen privately. How could everyone be so wrong about her?

It was still light when they left so they went for a walk. He took her arm. She was tall enough that they could take the same number of steps. By chance, they met Burry heading home for dinner and chatted a moment. Eniece said proudly that Nag Kath won the blue archery ribbon last month. 

Nearing the Aventine, Nag Kath said, “I’ll walk you to your friends’ home.”

“I did not tell them I am here.”

This would be different for him. In his limited experience, women had the knowledge and initiative. Eniece had been taken roughly by Brand twice. Her late husband was a timid man who made few demands. There had been no one in-between or since. Despite her astonishing grace, she had never been with a man who considered her pleasure.

She was waiting. She had always been waiting. And as she asked, he was very careful with her. 

____________------____________

After a sporadic courtship, the result was quite traditional. They were an attractive couple. They paid their taxes, tipped well and were kindly. He seemed an Elf but everyone knew Elves lived with each other and all looked alike. She was mysterious and known to be tangentially royal. 

Nag Kath spent as much time as he could with her but that was still only a few days a week, either here or on the lake. And he still had chores. Aulë had finished the scabbard. It was a work of art, like the sword it sheathed. He touched-up the hilt with wax and abrasive paste.

Scholar Thursen was delighted with the new documents. These might say more than the castoffs from Orthanc. The writing on the sword hilt was from the First Age or the Years of Trees but he could not be more specific. It was both a dedication and a blessing but the owner’s name had probably been etched on the blade.

Was that why the tip felt so alive in his hand? Gandalf’s sword of the same era glowed blue to show orcs. This shard did not glow at all. That should be good news, but were they all made that way? The great Bilbo had a dirk that showed brighter blue and took him to such heights!

A week after his visit, Golach knocked. Nodding terms with Tombor had clout. Of course, it increased the chance the local Dwarves knew his orcish heritage. That was drinking conversation at Orthanc. The Dwarves and Rohirrim had the least traditional animosity and the most fondness for Rohan red so they carried on well past when the other representatives called it a night. 

Nag Kath decided he was a citizen now. It was unlikely the population would rise-up to burn him. He would always be strange. It was also why he liked cities. The smaller the place, the more likely everyone did the same things for the same reasons. Here there were small pockets of common purpose, but for the most part, people had their own lives and learned to get along.

Golach was just the messenger. “My uncle will see you. Is tomorrow at two convenient?”

“That would be fine, Golach. Thank you for coming all this way yourself.” That was a compliment most men would not include. It implied that the youngster did important work. Nag Kath extended that courtesy and Dwarves appreciate courtesy. 

“You are welcome, Mr. Kath.”

The next day he still had to wait on the bench for a little while. Time to Dwarves was an approximation. An appointment only meant that both parties agreed to meet. Half an hour later he was shown in the doors by an even younger Dwarf and led deep into the compound. 

Master Golord’s first-floor workshop was open to the second story with good light filtering in from clerestories ringing three sides. He was a little taller than the usual Dwarf with brilliant dark red hair showing gray. Nag Kath was no expert but he put the fellow at a hundred and twenty, prime age for these people. The Dwarf offered his hand, not something most Elves would appreciate, and it was gladly accepted.

Golord said, “I confess, I have never considered a commission for an Elf before.”

“Then you still have to wait, Master Golord. I am of mixed parentage.” With no reaction, Nag Kath added, “I hope my drawing was adequate.”

“Aye, I understand you do that for a living.” Perhaps that was why he considered the labor. Nag Kath was a working man. Even Dwarf princes put in a full day doing something useful. One of the tensions between Dwarves and Elves was that Elves did not seem to work much. They did, but they were so efficient it didn't show.

“You mentioned my cousin in Erebor. He said you were a good fellow with excellent taste in ale! His Dwarves retrieved a number of items we thought lost forever. I thank you for that kindness, Mr. Kath. Please, have a seat.”

Master Golord’s workshop was also an area of business. He had the same type of chairs Brenen found that could accommodate people of different sizes. The chair was already adjusted for him. Nag Kath sat after slowly producing his quill knife and laying it on the table. The Dwarf opened it and examined the locking blade feature. It was familiar to him. Then he said, “I suppose it is none of my business, but why not have this made by a Dalish smith?”

“It is a matter of the materials.” Unwrapping the shard, Nag Kath said, “I believe this is a fragment of a First-Age Elvish blade. As I told your worthy nephew, I would prefer it cold-worked to leave the temper as-is. And then there is this.” He produced the small silvery bar and laid it next to the shard.

The Dwarf picked it up and examined it closely for a minute before taking both metals to a small anvil. He dropped them separately on the face from a foot high. The sword tip seemed to ring forever. The silver ingot made a dull click. Golord came back, placed them on his table and sat down saying, “I have never seen raw mithril. I don’t suppose you have any more?”

“Nay, that is all. I think it is enough to alloy with your fine Durinbord steel for something as small as the knife case. Perhaps even a little extra. If so; I am not concerned with the difference.”

“I would need to do some of the work in Erebor. Only the Fundin forge is hot enough.” Master Golord was lost in thought for a moment and then said, “There is another possibility. This ingot, in this form, is worth more mixed with silver or gold than tool steel. In Erebor I can probably lay my hands on metals that have already been alloyed for your purposes. If so; would that serve?”

“I could have no objection, Master Dwarf.”

Golord took a big breath and exhaled slowly, “Very well. I will speak to my people under the mountain and let you know.” He slid the components towards the Elf on the table.

“Perhaps you should keep those for the time being.”

“You are a trusting soul, Mr. Kath. I will have one made in ordinary steel first, just to make sure the design is functional. This may take time.”

“The honor of your people is legendary and I am in no rush, Master Golord. Your nephew knows where to find me.” 

_________________-------________________

Nag Kath and Eniece were very happy together. She decided that whatever he was, it was just fine. There would be surprises. After being spurned, Eniece made her life orderly to protect her from pain. This man relieved her pain. And he knew things the two other men had not that made her feel warm; at times careful, others urgent, always just what she wanted.

After two months of trading time between Dale and Esgaroth, they decided to marry. The harvest would be in early this year. Once militia training was over they would have the ceremony on the lake and a celebration here. At some point they would return to Buhr Austar for her people there.

Now, what to do with Brenen? He was a faithful retainer but he was also filthy rich. The solution was quite elegant. Their money in the bank earned little. There were attractive properties around Dale that paid good rents. Kathen Properties was chartered and they started buying buildings that needed a bit of work. The builder who fixed their roof was engaged and then the places were rented. They mostly bought business structures rather than homes because it was the renter’s job to keep them up. Brenen bought an apartment for himself in a nicer section of town as part of his immersion in society. Nag Kath liked his home and so did Eniece. They also had hers on the lake.

The couple talked about money. The King offered Eniece a generous stipend as mother of his Lady Sister. She thanked him but could not accept. Her husband had left her comfortable and one day she would come into her parents’ legacy. Mostly she did not want to be beholding to the crown. Nag Kath had already explained his situation. It came as no surprise. Elves were always rich, even if he wasn’t really an Elf. She liked Brenen. He was doing most of the work on the property business. His cousin Bard was working as well. No one had heard from Brenen’s dad in months. 

The Elf was not sure which militia training to take. He poured half a pitcher down Burry and the big man said the only thing left in soldier’s archery was learning to shoot in formation. Near the bottom of the pitcher Burry said that was mostly a matter of being able to tell your right hand from your left. Since he had a cavalry horse, the Sergeant would introduce him to a Lieutenant Curtheon. Sergeants usually avoid Lieutenants so that was high praise.

On training day, Nag Kath arrived with Regalo in the same tack from Buhr Austar. He wore his Rohirric sword. The first thing that was obvious was that he had no armor. Everyone else had thirty pounds of plates and mail. Sometimes their horses did too. Since they wouldn’t fight any Easterlings this week, he had time to get properly fitted later. 

Regalo saved him. The horse knew exactly what to do even when Nag Kath didn’t. The Elf had learned to be a fair horseman alone and being lighter than men helped the steed’s speed and stamina. Five days in was spear-training. He had never carried a spear. That was the primary weapon of the Uruk-hai but he was a messenger. His pod were runners because they were usually beaten bloody by the heavier Uruk pike and swordsmen. If being scrawny was Saruman’s legacy, things could have gone worse.

They practiced spitting loose straw bundles individually. A successful spear hit on a man destroys or loses the weapon. There is no wrenching it out of an enemy at a gallop. Most spears shafts were weak at the head to break easily so they could not be used by the enemy. That’s why you have the sword. If dismounted, you use whatever is to hand. 

Many of the Rohirrim and a few here carried what they called “Fine Axes” in addition to or in place of a sword. It was a steel head that only weighed about two pounds with a curved hatchet face for flesh and a spike on the other side for armor. The arm's-length shaft could be turned quickly and usually had a lanyard through the handle to stay on the wrist if the grip was lost. The lanyard was thinned so as not to tear a man’s arm out at a gallop if the weapon could not be pulled free.

After stabbing straw, the group practiced charges in formation but not with targets. That was too dangerous. Even if everything went right, spears would buckle or hold so the butt hit the rider behind. Horses tripped. If your opponents stood their ground, even a successful charge lost two in ten.

Lieutenant Curtheon had forty mounted men in his training group. They usually worked in two different squads on attacks but together in fanning out and closing formations. Nag Kath instantly saw what Burry saw; Curtheon was not a fancy soldier. He had a two-part ear split by a scar down his cheek. It was a good thing the Lieutenant did not lead the Revanthars at the granary.

Curtheon would also have a beer after work. The traditional military hierarchy did not quite hold in training. Prominent men who spared no expense on their gear served in the reserve cavalry levies. They would be acknowledged. Nag Kath survived training, made a number of new friends and was fitted for armor in the mannish style. Again, he had to talk the armorer out of “Elvish Elements.” 

He also knew that if it came to war, his uses would be behind enemy lines.

_____________--------_____________

It was time to get married! There were professionals who helped with such things. Eniece engaged Mr. Turn. This fellow could mind a dozen problems at once. If the palace had him, the Carstors would have been hitched in a thrice. Nag Kath wrote the invitations himself. He had no idea he knew so many people. Bard delivered to local folk and packets were sent to Esgaroth. Dwarves were invited. Hobbits were invited. This was not a statement of prestige. They asked people they liked.

The night in Esgaroth, Eniece was very quiet. She must have been wondering how things could have changed so quickly. But she was ready and deeply in love. Nag Kath’s view of commitment was different than most. He would probably live to see Eniece die. He would love her as much then as now. People often thought commitments impede freedom. He thought the opposite. Once one had a clear idea what they wanted, distractions were easier to ignore.

Vows on the lake were dignified. Mr. and Mrs. Borenne were very proud of their lovely girl. Eniece had married once for security. Now she was marrying for love. The Borennes married for love and it sustained them. The Rulverics were there and held court with stories of the old days when Eniece was little. Nag Kath had no people there to speak for him. A friend of Eniece’s from the lake was her Lady's-Sayer. Nag Kath knew she had a fatherless child at about the same age. Eniece cried. Friends came to her parent’s home afterwards and were mostly home by dark.

The event in Dale would be a bit different. Mr. Turn engaged the Merchant’s Guild Hall for the large ceremony. There was no pledge formality since both bride and groom spoke for themselves. Several guests who started celebrating well before nuptials had funny stories about Nag Kath. The Rulverics came here too and said nice things about their honorary niece.

Everyone had a wonderful time. That Nag Kath could throw a party! A cask of red beer was specially brewed for those who preferred it to the local tan. Nobody cared. The newlyweds slipped out a side door while the event was still raging for a private party of their own.

A week after the marriage Golach came to the home while Eniece was on the lake and asked if Nag Kath could return with him to the Master’s shop. They were admitted immediately and walked back to the studio. Golach came inside this time.

Master Golord was sitting at his table. In front of him were two knives. The Dwarf rose and walked to shake hands saying, “This took longer than I expected, but I made the case at the same time I made the working model. I found the material you needed.”

That thought produced the hearty chuckle Durin’s folk do better than anyone else. “There was more dealing than crafting in the mountain halls! You sorely tempted our smiths! I needed to reduce the strength of the spring, else you could never open it.” With that, the Master returned to his chair and slid the knives to Nag Kath.

Other than the slightly radiant surface, they were identical. Golord continued, “The one is plated in silver so it will tarnish.”

Nag Kath picked up the mithril knife and opened it with the small score on the back edge of the blade. It looked like it could cut without touching. Perfectly balanced, it closed easily. He looked up and said, “Master Golord, this is exactly what I wanted. I made the right choice in choosing your family.” Adding ‘family’ was another compliment. These people thought of family first. “There is the matter of your payment.”

Golord raised his palms and said, “Let us simply say that the ingot you brought was adequate.”

Nag Kath tried the test knife and it was flawless as well. He rose stating, “Now all that remains is hearing of your bargaining in the mountain hall over a pitcher of red at Druron’s tavern!”


	13. Creeping Shadows

** _Chapter 13_ **

** _Creeping Shadows_ **

Life slowed. Brenen did most of the work organizing the properties. Not long after the marriage, Ardatha sent a letter with a merchant train that she would be coming to the capital with Reyald and the Thain and would return in the fall. A month later, another letter arrived through the government post that Conath’s meeting was cancelled and she was expecting a child in early spring. Nag Kath and Eniece planned to visit friends and celebrate their wedding in Buhr Austar anyway so Eniece asked him if they could go and stay the winter for the baby. Nag Kath agreed and they started preparations. 

In agreeing to go, Nag Kath had a request. Eniece only rode sidesaddle, as proper ladies did. Rough lasses from the provinces could ride however they liked. Perhaps in trying to make her the lady some suggested she wasn’t, her parents made her too demure. Nag Kath was never insisted she do anything, but he leaned on riding astride as much as he dared. It was more than making good time. Sometimes you were on a horse because you had to outrun someone else on a horse. He knew in him they would find more than they bargained for but that wouldn’t stop arrows aimed at her. She would try. 

The merchant caravan season was slowing since either of the roads could expect terrible weather in a couple months. Fortunately, the King and Queen offered an eight-man escort out the Dwarf Road. That included food and provisions for the cavalry men who had been this way many times. Nag Kath had not traveled that route and was glad of their company.

Eniece had a quick series of riding lessons with Fengulin, who taught ladies the skill. For all her physical grace, Eniece was not an athlete. On the second day, she pulled too hard on gentle Vandery’s reins. He stopped and she slid over his head. Thankfully she landed on her bottom. Nag Kath was more than happy to apply healing to the injured area but it got him nothing else for a week.

She was almost competent when Sergeant Gurrath reported to their home with seven troopers. They met before when two cavalry units formed for a single, three-deep charge formation on the last day of training. They knew nothing of each other in battle but the soldier thought the blonde man could handle his mount. The woman was obviously new to this. They were here to make sure she got across the country safely at her own pace. Eniece had crossed this road there and back nine times but always in a carriage with a merchant train protected by paid escorts. 

Vandery was borrowed for Eniece. A’mash was lightly laden and eager to join. They first crossed the river immediately before Lake Town on a solid bridge. That was the start of the Merchant’s Way leading to a more southerly town on the lake called Londaroth. From there the road was called the Wineland Way after the vineyards along the path. It veered left to skirt marshes along the River Running. Celduin Village was three days out. It was a nice little town at the crossroads of the Wineland Way and the Dwarf Road that continue south to the Anduin. Celduin was crowded with the last of the north/south trains. There was an inn with a room reserved for Nag Kath and Eniece, that or the soldiers convinced someone they would be more comfortable elsewhere. Nag Kath did not ask. It was clean and there was no bill.

The Dwarf Road was how goods made their way to most of Middle Earth from the Iron Hills. It divided the Nether and Upper Marches of Dale. Most of the fertile farmland in the country was along one of the two rivers that defined the Kingdom. Further in were bogs or sand. As important as the route was for trade, there were no inns or taverns. There were large, established campsites where merchant trains could gather for protection. Small bandit bands lived in the swamps. And you only traveled by day. The soldiers wondered why Nag Kath preferred the lonely northern route, but he was tougher than he looked.

Eight days out put them at two thirds through the marches. The ground wasn’t so low to either side of the road. At mid-afternoon, the van trooper rode back with his fist raised and pulled alongside Sgt. Gurrath. Gurrath circled his hand in the air and everyone drew near. The van whispered, “Mounted men, at least eighteen in the swale between the last two hills on the right. And Sarge, they’re Lings.” Had they gone another quarter mile they would have been in plain sight. Their troop of ten horse should easily discourage local scofflaws but this was another matter. Gurrath looked around. They were exposed. It was half a day back or forward to defensible ground. Back was the only choice. The Sergeant nodded that direction and the train started walking. 

Nag Kath heard the arrows before he saw them, three or four from due south. One nicked a trooper’s thumb and another buried in a saddle pad. There was a small rise on the south side of the road a hundred yards ahead and they ran for it. One Atlier crawled to watch the north while the rest of the men peered over the ridge. Eniece and the last trooper held the reins. He gave her his helmet. Two larger flights were launched high to fall on them until their corporal shouted to save arrows. They were pinned.

An hour later at dusk, they heard the main troop from the hills pulling even with their position about two hundred yards south of the road in a low flat just out of sight. The choices were few. Either they could run in the dark or hope the attackers realized the pickings weren’t worth the risk at daylight. Gurrath decided to wait. If it came to it, they probably had the better horses but no one liked their odds, especially if these were the Lings who made dog meat of the old Thain. What were they doing so far north? And why bother with penniless, armed soldiers on a merchant route? 

The troop ate dried rations. They could see the campfire glow of the marauders. About the ten-bell, some of the Lings walked to the ridge shouting taunts in their dialect. The troopers only caught enough words to not discuss them with a lady present. Three men stayed on their side of the hill with another watching north. The other four, Eniece and her Elf huddled at the lowest point on the road. Nag Kath asked gravely, “Who are these men?”

A senior trooper replied, “Easterlings, though it is rare to see them mounted or so far from the rivers. These dougsh will be their elite.”

The changeling asked specifically, in a tone that had a hint of orc, “What do they fear more than anything in this world or the next?” 

At high-night, he kissed Eniece, unsheathed his new sword and vanished into near blackness under a crescent moon. An hour later he was back. They would not have known except he left a bundle at the sentry’s feet.

First light brought wailing and shrieking from the Ling camp. A rider crested the ridge one hundred twenty paces from their hill and screamed a torrent of oaths. From their side, the troopers only heard, “kik, kik, kik, kik, whoooo”. The rider stopped yelling to look at an arrow buried in his chest. When his mare bolted forward, he rolled off her back. With luck she would reach them before the Lings shot her to not betray their fittings. Ten minutes later, fourteen riders trotted south, half with horses on leads. Nag Kath watched until the dust cleared on the next hill towards Nauthauja.

An eager trooper blurted, “We should go see.”

Gurrath growled, “Got at least six unaccounted for.”

Nag Kath murmured, “No. They are counted.” He was covered in blood.

_____________--------_____________

They kept a good pace, planning to ride until dark with no stops longer than the woman needed. Eniece rode next to Nag Kath who had A’mash in tow. The trooper had his helmet back and she wore a brimmed hat to protect her pale complexion. She licked her lips several times as if to say something that never came out. After a while he consoled, “I am sorry, my love.”

A tiny voice asked, “Are such things drawn to you, Nag?”

“No, but I get my share. If these were the men who killed that poor Thain, we were next. And then someone after us.” Whatever else needed saying could wait.

Were Gandalf’s concerns bearing-out? The changeling borrowed a page from Saruman’s book of terror for a just cause. The first time he used ‘the fast’ with a sword, men were coming at him. This time he took the attack to them. As his powers grew, would he use them for his own purposes? Was that the excuse? No one is the villain of their own Catanard. Nag Kath decided that those were choices he could only make if he was alive. And his darling was still alive too. That would have to do.

The troopers had questions of their own. Looking back they could see vultures already circling. The man cursing on the ridge was not insulting them. He was terrified. He was warding-off devils that had come for their souls in ritual slaying! And the Elf?! They told their wives and sweethearts this was a picnic run; babysitting a high woman across the Dwarf Road to visit in-laws. And her pretty new husband was an artist, for Eru’s sake! At bedtime, they were soldiers. If the Kath wanted to do their work for them, let him! They should be under those buzzards, not the other way around. There would be two more nights of staring into campfires until they reached the eastern river.

______________--------______________

The Lieutenant at Northwatch stared at the head. “No, never seen him. He’s a Northman.” Looking at the horse, “But that’s a Ling saddle and blanket, and no error!”

The young trooper tasked with this unpleasant bundle said, “There were maybe twenty more on the road two days back. The survivors were headed for the ferry. Thank you for looking at our new friend. My Sergeant asked me to remind you we are the King’s Private Guard. This fellow has to stay private. We’ll camp away from your men tonight, meaning no offense sir.”

“None taken. I won’t mention this one, but those Lings are public and we will keep an eye out for more. Thain Durnaldar bought his end from the same sort, though in his own lands. Any idea what they are doing here?”

The trooper shook his head so the Lieutenant finished with; “Thanks for letting us know.”

Two days later the company went directly to Thain Conath’s stable, staying out of view until the cleanest of them walked to the lodge to ask for a word. The Thain and his first son walked out with two troopers. Eniece ran to them and threw her arms around her daughter’s father-in-law. Torrold got a hug too. Then she walked away from the men knowing they had dire business. Nag Kath went with her. There would be time enough for explanations. The men spoke for ten minutes, had a good look at the captured mare and then the Conaths walked back. 

Eniece brightened. She was with family. Her daughter and Lieutenant Conath were in town tonight at Eniece’s cottage. They could stay there. Cook threw a good meal together for all of them. Afterwards, Eniece joined Hadista and her maid so the men could talk.

“I think I’ve seen the man,” said the Thain. “Erland’s Ferry maybe. It has been a while. Sergeant Morgart can probably put a name on him. We will solve that. The horse bothers me more. Easterlings are foot soldiers. Only their very best ride. If they are scouting in strength, I want our eyes in Nauthauja peeled.”

His point was taken. Easterlings almost always crossed at or near Erland’s Ferry. They had the same problem as the Dunland hillmen; the worst land in the region. Middle Earth got its weather from the north and west. Places like east Eregion got too much rain. The Easterlings did not get enough. One in three years saw no rain at all in parts of their land. In the north, food could only reliably grow within a hundred miles of the river. Since the same clouds raining here rained there, the men of Dale generally knew how Ling crops would fare. In dry years, Thains were more cautious.

But this year had been fine. Moreover, these men were well off the border and up from the ferry. And what of the Northman with the swarthy raiders? He wasn’t a captive. He was probably in charge if the fine coat wrapped around his head was anything to go by. Sergeant Gurrath reported to the central army but he deferred to the Thain. If they were going to get answers, it was here. Conath was a likeable bear in peace but he was a fierce warrior in battle. That he respected the Elf mattered too. 

In the morning, one of the Thain’s men was dispatched to bring Reyald and Ardatha home. They were already on their way and arrived with the trooper fifteen minutes later at the barn. The royal couple walked up to the head sitting on a stump. Men scrambled in front of the King’s sister to protect her delicate condition. She pushed her way through with a frown, “Never seen him. Who is he?”

Her husband answered, “I have. That’s Captain Monterrith, master of Durnaldar’s horse. I do not know if the son kept him on. It seems Monterrith has been keeping low company.”

Sergeant Gurrath said, “This is one of their mounts, sir. I do not know this land as well as you, but that saddle blanket is not army issue. 

Reyald gentled the mare that seemed calm already. “That is an Easterling blanket, but people buy them for many things.” Looking to his own men, “What would one of them say to scold a horse?

A Buhric trooper leaning against a straw bale barked a sharp command and the horse skittered before relaxing again. Reyald said grimly, “I’d better get inside.” Looking at his bride, “Your mother will need you.”

Her mother was making a late breakfast for those hungry soldiers and more arriving with orders not to seem in a hurry. Ardatha ran to her arms for a long hug before the Lieutenant got his. Eniece said, “Come, dear. Help me with the eggs. Reyald, your father is upstairs.”

The cook and her staff had this in hand but the elegant woman was doing good work and they knew it kept her mind off the slaughter. Mother and daughter walked into the main room and sat in the stuffed chairs below hunting trophies.

“I’m sorry mother. Was it horrible?”

“They kept me from looking, but yes. My Nag killed many like a fox in the henhouse. He scared the troopers speechless.” Ardatha thought they might have used a different word but her mother was a lady. Eniece continued, “I cried and I fretted but it doesn’t change anything. He is my husband.” She managed a small smile, “I expect this will set the tongues a’wagging in Dale! Now, tell me of your handsome husband.”

The handsome husband was talking with his father and brother upstairs. Conath was curious, “Aye, the boy took the Thainhold. This Monterrith, how do you know him?”

Reyald said gravely, “He was in Durnaldar’s company when we met two years ago at the Ferry, commander of the horse. I would have thought him and the son thick as thieves, both about the same age. Monterrith had eyes on the daughter. Pretty girl. Always putting on airs about royalty. Ha! My own girl walked right up to the head and asked who he was. She’s a good ‘un, da. 

“Aye son, you chose well. Your mother and I are very proud of you and happy with your bride. You have a better mind for these intrigues than your poor old father. What do you make of this Captain riding with elite Easterlings? The city Sergeant said they maintained discipline even after your new step-da carved them like cheese. We’ll get to that presently. It seems to me if they settled old Durnaldar, they would have targets on their backs. Do you suppose Monterrith or the son were party to the assassination?”

Torrold considered that, “Good chance. I think a lady-love of the Captain should send him a letter at the Thainhold and we shall see who reads it.”

_____________--------_____________

Things settled down. Eniece was not a wilting flower. She stayed close to the lodge. Nag Kath spend a lot of time with her. He also did some explaining back at the barn that afternoon. “Well, I am mostly Elf but also part wizard. I am very fast and like all Elves I see well at night.”

One of the troopers from the Dornlas school of comment cried, “And you spitted that Ling at a hundred and twenty paces!”

The Thain grumbled, “No surprise there! You missed that target on purpose!” All his got for his good humored accusation was a sheepish grin.

Nag Kath did say, “I am new to these plots. Help me make sense of them. The Thain of those marches was killed along with a handful of men hunting where there was no game by people who should not have been there. Now, his captain turns up with the same sort of folk. But all summer, they have not attacked anything worth a filed nipper. My Lord Thain, that road fair teems with merchants. Why would they attack soldiers and what have they done in-between?”

Sarnt Gurralth chuckled, “They weren’t after my ten groats a week or anything we carried. That meant they were after someone. Who with us would matter to a pack of Lings?”

Reyald shook his head and said softly, “It wasn’t who was there. It was who was supposed to be there.” He looked at his wife, bearing an heir to the crown of Dale. The letter sent through merchants must have been read and resealed. This raid was ordered well in advance when Ardatha should have been in the party returning home. 

Thain Conath asked, “Nag Kath, do you need to get back to Dale?”

“No. Eniece intended to stay for Ardatha’s confinement. Things in Dale will attend themselves.”

The Thain addressed the city troop. “Sergeant Gurrath, you take your men home and inform the King that his friends in the hinterlands look to his guidance. We have heard nothing of infantry massing below, and they are noisy, quarrelsome folk. Our eyes in Nauthauja might not be what they were. Maybe these lads are outcast and helping themselves. If his Lordship could let us know quickly, the eastern Thainholds will be in his debt.”

“Aye, Thain Conath.”

“Good fellows, all of you. Thank you for protecting those dear to me. Take the horse. She needs a new home away from local eyes. Perhaps the northern route would be better.” The sergeant nodded. Conath concluded, “Fine, take your ease today. We’ll have you provisioned by breakfast along with a letter for his Lordship.”

** _To our High King of Dale_ **

** _Dearest Sire,_ **

** _Sergeant Gurrath and his men delivered their commission safely with great bravery. He will tell you of perils on the route. _ **

** _What they do not know is the real Easterlings are more conciliatory since the war. Halting communications with their new Bror suggest that they are more interested in trade than fighting. I have no ears in their councils but it seems reasonable that the Bror would not send a squalid raiding party deep into our lands when he seeks accommodation. My feeling, and it is only that, is that these fellows are in league with factions that do not wish peace._ **

** _I will make inquiries about the Dalelander in their midst and send those tidings to you by fast riders._ **

** _On a personal note, your Lady Sister is a delight and you have a niece or nephew on the way. _ **

** _With respect, Field Conath, Thain of Buhr Austar_ **

Torrold asked the same Lady Sister to copy a much different letter in a poor hand.

** _To Buhrl Monterrith, Office of Cavalry, Buhr Nauthauja_ **

** _My Dearest Buhrl,_ **

** _I am missing you terribly and count the owars we are a part. I no you will come for me soon and would not disterb you, but there is trouble here and you asked me to be your eyes. _ **

** _Easterlings have openly visited the Master of Ironhold and perhaps further north. It is rummerd they are in league with Thains who grow weary with Bard’s rule since our own belovd Thain was called to his fathers. If my lady’s confidante tells truth, some number of _ ** ** _<strike>comby</strike> combined forces prowl the Dwarf Road even now._ **

** _Please, for my sake, do not go there in search of them or you may find too many._ **

** _Noing I will soon be in the arms of my only love, Sillience_ **

Torrold used his horse’s name. Two troopers were to ride like the wind and commandeer mounts at any station to get this letter south. But when they arrived, one was to wear civilian garb and take the most moth-eaten nag in the pen to deliver this back-dated letter at the cavalry office before appearing to get stumbling drunk at a tavern. The other was to camp on the main trail to the Nether Marches and see if anyone left that way in a hurry. After that, they should report back at good speed.

Nag Kath and Eniece found time for tenderness. They took walks around the fatherly Thain’s grounds, played Dukks for groats and had a cup of sweet wine before bed. The third ceremony had always been contingent on their arrival. When Eniece was herself, the Thain sent invitations for a grand celebration in a week’s time. The week was just as pleasant and Eniece enjoyed introducing her handsome man to all her old friends from town. 

While they relaxed, two tired troopers reported back. The clerk of the cavalry depot fair ran from the office to Thain Durnaldar II’s Hall. Twenty minutes later, six steeds left the stockade like their tails were on fire. Perhaps they would find the Easterling’s view of Northmen had changed.

One thing was clear; the boy knew something.

______________--------______________

** **

Well, if the spy’s letter didn’t put paid to the man’s notions of marrying above his station, this certainly did. Young Thain Durnaldar had dismissed his cavalry chief after he learned the man was riding with rogue Easterlings, probably on behalf of his father. The Sergeant of the half-troop sent to find them said, “Aye, sir. They were riding for the Ferry. Did not want to fight, parley or celebrate. They saw us and detached a rearguard to watch until we were past, but they were leaving, no error.”

The young Thain chose his line of questioning carefully, “Only twelve?”

“They may have had van riders ahead, but we only saw a dozen, most leading horses behind them.”

“Why do you suppose, Sergeant?”

Theondul pulled his next words out like thorns, “It was a fearsome sight, sir. Seven men slain, some headless, no dead horses, no sign of a fight. One met his end with a goose-quill shaft but it had a sportsman’s head and no markings. It was as if a ghost dispatched them and vanished. Lings do not care for ghosts. They scratched some of the black wards in the dirt near the bodies.”

“And Monterrith?”

“We think it was him. No head. Wild dogs found them before we did.”

As all leaders seem to do when thinking, Thain Durnaldar II stroked his beard between his fingers. He was twenty three and looked like his mother, making him more pretty than handsome. That favored his lovely sister who had trouble concentrating. Poor girl; she imagined herself in a fairy kingdom. They were far from that here, but life had been comfortable until their father had trouble with his bile and employed the healer. The hag was shown the gate after the massacre but that did not solve this new headache.

It wasn’t the Lings that got his da. The mercenaries would not have slain their cash customer or whoever was in league with him. Now they were showing their tails to this land. Ghosts! Probably for the best. With the evidence eaten by crows it was one less sore to salve.

“Good work Sergeant, I should say Lieutenant. We officers should keep this to ourselves, eh?”

When the new Lieutenant walked out on air, Durnalath skipped in. She was seventeen but seemed younger. “Dear brother, you look as if you saw a ghost.”

“Cares of the office, dear sister.” Was her head as empty as it seemed? “I was just thinking about father.” She became grave but said nothing. “I am sorry for our loss. He never confided in me about your future. What would you like for yourself?”

“Forgive me dear brother. I am not sure. Father imagined marrying me to a grand Lord. I do not think he had one in mind, else he would have sent me to a city for finishing, and to meet high persons.” 

She frowned, “It all changed with the woman. I never liked her. She was not like mother. She was a bog tick. You were wise to send her away with all her spells and potions.”

“I thought she just treated him for gas.”

“You were much away with your men. No, they spent hours scheming. He was often confused, not himself at all. He paid me no heed, though I am a dutiful and thoughtful daughter.” In a distant voice she finished, “I will make a good wife someday.” 

He agreed, “Please give that thought, dear sister. My only concern is for your happiness.”

She will make a good wife. If Conath’s son likes girls, he should like this one. Now, just how far away had he sent the healer? He had a few questions.

So did King Bard. Conath’s second letter arrived ten days after the first. From what seemed reasonable evidence, the new Thain of Nauthauja was behaving like the old. He either had his own Easterlings or hadn’t put paid to his da’s. With the news that the Bror was keeping his men inside their borders, he agreed with Conath’s assessment that not all men of Wilderlands were in accord with their ruler’s policy. Young Durnaldar would know Easterlings had not removed his father. His hands were still tied though. No matter how this fell out, he needed friends. 

That also put Thain Fändul in a bind. The Queen’s father was an irascible Northman of the old ways. His fief stretched from Ironhold south to the ferry and into the marches as far as was worth going. It only took the merest mention that Durnaldar had been poisoning his baby girl and grandson to set events in motion, a blunt instrument, but not tidy. King Bard had not mentioned sorcery. It frightened and angered pious men of the southeast. No skinny women were among the known dead. Tensions to the south kept old wounds on Conath’s border to the north from festering. 

Perhaps Durnaldar’s girl might be of use after all. The King was told she was pretty and simple, just how they like them there. A strategic alliance between Nauthauja and a loyal Thain might heal the breach if the new Thain was not part of his father’s madness. Miss Quessan thought whoever devised the poison for the Queen could have addled the Thain’s mind in the bargain. It was time to get the Thains together and quash these squabbles.

Eniece and Nag Kath moved into her cottage in town. This had been her first husband’s eastern home and she spent about a third of her married life here. They engaged a woman for cooking and cleaning. Autumn was in full color and the newlyweds enjoyed their leisure with hospitable friends and in-laws. 

______________--------______________

Further south, Lieutenant Theondul walked to Thain Durnaldar at the hitch post and bowed. His Thain asked, “Have you secured the healer yet?

“No sir, there has been a problem.” Durnaldar did nothing, which was the sign for Theondul to continue. “I sent trooper Fellthur to tell her all was forgiven and she should return. She refused so he insisted. Then his face caught fire. It was not as bad as it looked but the woman vanished. He is being cared for now.” Theondul cleared his throat, “Sir, I need to know more about her.”

Theondul had guts. He reported what he saw and did not make excuses. The old Thain would have flown into a rage. His son was more practical. Time was solving some of his problems. His father’s Easterling mercenaries had been conveniently massacred or chased from his fief. Now, if his father wasn’t behind this latest outrage, who was? 

He had a fair idea that Fändul ordered his father’s assassination. What was more curious was that his father probably deserved it. He wasn’t sure why, but Fändul had not seized farmland below the ferry or even reinforced his borders. Young Durnaldar had always gotten along with the tough old Thain. This might be a good time to play stupid and let bygones be bygones.

The bargaining chip was his sister. She was fair and blonde which set the dark, bearded Northmen aquiver. At seventeen, it was time to test the market. This was the year for the Thainmoot. Every other year, the eastern and southern Thainholds met under a flag of truce to discuss mutual interests. After the war it was in Erland’s Ferry, Celduin before that. Now that Bard had four years under his belt, he would host the event in Dale and include the northern chieftains as well. 

In most places the attendees would have to worry about leaving the room in pieces, but in Dale, the King only personally commanded about a quarter of the men at arms. He was also only King because they locked themselves in a cave with the Dwarves until the orcs dropped dead. He needed the Thains more than they needed him and both knew it.

Durnaldar would attend the moot and bring his fair sister with him. There she would stay with her ladies and an advisor until she married someone useful. Now, who to advise? His father’s retainers were mostly killed with him except old Penlieff who was abed with gout. The man retired but had not forgotten much. If the healer could not be had, the Thain would see how the counselor was enjoying private life.

“This is a surprise, sir. I thought you had forgotten your old friend.” He had been kind to the young heir. Most of his father’s advisors viewed the boy as a nuisance.

“I apologize. We’ve been busy.”

“I understand.” More seriously now, “I’ve been expecting you, but I had to wait until you learned what I did not know. Come, let us go inside.”

They walked into the man’s modest home three doors down from the town hall. “Would you like ale? I’ve got hot tea too. Can’t drink ale anymore, makes my foot swell.”

“Tea, thank you.”

Making sure the maid was gone, Penlieff asked, “Have you figured out who did it?”

“I think Fändul, but it seems personal. He is not trying to take advantage of my supposed inexperience. No one has stolen so much as a goat.”

“Thain Durnaldar; I was of two minds. One was Fändul and the other was Easterlings who should not have been here. I think your father, may he rest among his ancestors, was hiring renegades leaving eastern lands in opposition to their new ruler, Bror, they call them. This new fellow is trying to make farmers of his soldiers. Their generals don’t like that.

“Dale is much stronger and so are the northern Dwarves. With no dark lord’s orcs, they best the Lings could manage would be stealing some wheat after a bad harvest. They’ve had rain for two years now so no one is starving. Generals don’t like that either.”

His new Thain asked, “Aquiith, what do you know of a healer, spinster woman who was treating da for stomach complaints?”

The counselor leaned back in his chair, “Ah, so we come to that. I knew less than Slieth or Vorondïl and now they molder for it. But I will tell you this; the old Thain was talking out of his head and farting more than ever, so she wasn’t there for his bowels. You commanded the fifth near the ferry so you missed much, probably no accident; that. Forgive me for not telling you, but if real Easterlings done your da, I could not be sure they weren’t working for you. Since you are here, you have earned the right to hear everything I know. Now, what do you make of the hag?”

Durnaldar shook his head, “Not much. I tried to bring her in but she burned the trooper with a spell. If anyone sees her, they are to get help first. Durnalath did not like her at all. Says they were scheming.”

“A dear lass. She must be almost grown by now.” The old adviser, who was not that old, said this; “Let us count our lentils; the hag was not working for your da. As much as I love my home, nobody would pick Nauthauja to start a coup in Dale. Your father Thain was not pulling the strings. I know he got letters from the capital and had ears among the merchants. Lings go in for that sort of devilry, or they did when Sauron paid the bills, maybe one of the lads that got sliced-up small.”

Durnaldar had not considered that. “And what do I do about the healer?”

Penlieff showed his old strength, “Fight fire with fire, son! Find out who scared the dougsh out of those Lings! I’d wager Florins to groats Conath knows.”

The young Thain said, “Then consider this, counselor. King Bard has called the other-year moot for Dale next spring. I was thinking of taking my sister with me and leave her there to seek the right husband. I cannot fight Dale. We both know that. But she is a fair prize. If marrying into this new land is the way of things, I have strong cards. I will not leave my wife, though. And that is final.” Antulie was a local girl of good parents but not political fodder. She would be suckling their son about now.

Penlieff followed that thread, “Conath’s older boy is logical. Excuse me, sir. I said boy but he is your age. The problem is that Fändul’s piles will rupture in the vise you create by allying with Austar after Conath’s other son married the King’s new sister, however the devil she managed that.”

“I believe Brand gets the credit. Would you consider going with us to guide Durnalath and protect our home?”

“I would be honored, My Thain.”

______________--------______________

The winter in Dale dragged on. They received more snow, wind and cold than usual. Farmers thought planting would be late. When the escort riders returned to the city, stories ran rampant about the avenging Elf of blood and sorcery. Gossip eased in his absence. People remembered slaying Easterlings was a good idea. 

The King officially called for a moot of the Thains or their representatives to present themselves here in the capital in mid-May. Folk with fine homes were generously encouraged to find other quarters for those two weeks. Until now, Thainmoots had been regional affairs. With military threats from the east and orcs reduced, The King felt it was time for a wider vision. Not all of these Thains saw eye-to-eye; Conath and the Queen’s father among them. 

Conath was busy at home preparing for his first grandchild. More correctly, Halditha was. The best local midwife was on call for grandmother’s every concern, though the mother was quite content to let nature take its course. Her stepfather had some skills in that area too. On April 19th Ardatha brought forth a healthy baby girl. They named her Haldiera after her grinning grandma. Eniece had been close but not underfoot and helped her daughter and new grandbaby as they settled into a new home on the Thain’s property. As much as Thain Conath would have had Eniece and Nag Kath stay forever, it was time to go. To him and others, the mother was more the daughter. With promises to return, they fared the family well and rode north. No one even asked about an escort.

Eniece handled travel fairly well but would only do this for people she liked. Nothing interesting happened. There was room at the inns. Vandery had a stone removed from his hoof in Iron Hills. They saw rain crossing the Iron Road. Nag Kath pointed to the troll hoard and was tempted to go up but those loose rocks were now slippery and Eniece wanted nothing to do with troll caves. The highlight of the trip was the Thain of Riding hosting an impromptu feast with plenty of meat and wine. They stayed with him else he would have shown his bride the original feather mattress.The weather turned fair near the capital the first week in May so Nag Kath asked a day’s grace to visit his friends in Erebor. Tombor was in residence and showed them in one of the lesser halls allowed to men. He said pointedly that it was too bad there wasn’t more of that mithril! Eniece glowed. How could anything be so grand? She had been just inside the gate when the Easterlings laid siege but not back into the Dwarf Realm. After a superb luncheon, they said goodbye and came home.

Eniece collapsed in bed and slept for a whole day and night. Nag Kath would watch her for hours. It made her uncomfortable at first but what else was he going to do? For such a delicate creature, she slept soundly and shuffled at waking for a few minutes while finding her feet. He treasured it all.

During the winter, Eniece thought she might be pregnant. That caused a wider discussion than for most families. What kind of child would the changeling throw? That could range from beautiful to unthinkable. Could Eniece carry it to term? Could he even have children? For her part, Eniece had changed as many swaddling rags as she thought she needed to. Concerns faded when her cycle started again. In the end, they decided they would be intimate as often as they liked and let come what may.

They also decided they needed more help. Brenen was assigned to find a new home along lines Nag Kath drew over the winter. A stone building that had been a tavern in ancient times just east of the royal compound would suit their eclectic lifestyle and had room for two staff, consistent with the Lady’s status.

In mid-May, the first Thain contingent to arrive was from Nauthauja. The new man, an advisor, servants and a dozen outriders pulled into the city and were housed in a private compound rented from folk staying with relatives. Among their group was the Thain’s younger sister who caused jaws to drop. She had just turned eighteen and could be an Elf with long blonde hair and pale skin. Durnalath was not what a country of Northmen had come to expect from provincial relatives.

A day later, Durnaldar joined Penlieff waiting in the ante-chamber and both were seated before the King. The Thain said, “Thank you for your gracious hospitality, Sire. We are quite comfortable.”

Not one to waste words, Bard proclaimed, “Good. I expect we have other things to discuss before the moot, yes?”

Penlieff agreed, “We think so as well, Sire.”

The King said slowly, “I am sorry for trouble in the Nether Marches. Is that in hand now?”

Durnaldar replied, “Yes, my Lord. It seems Easterlings in opposition to the new Bror crossed the river. He has since discouraged that.” He could have said the tyrant had his opponents wrapped in pig hides before roasting.

Bard continued in the same calm manner, “Then would it be fair to say that is behind us?”

The Thain’s counselor answered, “Yes, Sire. We are only looking forward now.” The King knew the man was only here because he was ill for the old Thain’s last ride, a fortunate malady, if true. 

This was easier than the King expected. The son was impressive and seemed to think before he spoke, something he had not learned from his impulsive da. And the counselor was no one’s fool. Bard changed the subject, “I understand your sister has come all this way with you, Thain Durnaldar. Has she been to the city before?

“Nay, Sire. She has stayed to the south but now hopes to meet new and interesting people on her trip. With your permission, she will stay for the season and learn more of our rich heritage.”

King Bard’s next question asked much more, “Thinks she to learn Queenly virtues?”

Durnaldar had been expecting that one, “Perhaps a noble match, Sire. As we all know, there is but one Queen.”

Good! That was settled. It was time for this young man to finish his ablutions. “Counselor Penlieff, I was told you were unwell earlier. I see healers were able to find remedies.”

The man gave a soft chuckle and replied, “Just cleaning living, Sire. Good healers are hard to find. One must vet them quite thoroughly. Alas, our late Thain’s healer may have returned to family elsewhere.”

“Let me know if she returns to my realm.”

Durnaldar said levelly, “We look even now, my Lord.”

Bard concluded, “Excellent. In four nights I will be hosting a reception. You already have your invitations?” They did. “I hope your sister is recovered from her long journey and can join us.”

_____________--------_____________

On their way down the corridor, Thain Durnaldar asked, “What news of the slayer?”

“No secrets there, sir. Everyone here knows much the same story. An Elf, who lives as a man, was traveling to the Austar with a half-squadron. His wife was with him. She was old Brand’s mistress and mother of Reyald Conath’s new bride. They were attacked by your da’s Easterlings, except he was already dead as Durok. That night, the Elf slipped into their camp as death itself. I can’t imagine the Easterlings chose them as targets for lack of cowardly merchant trains. My guess is that someone here paid their asking price.

“The strange thing is that the Elf returned here and lives as an artist, bless me. Never comes to the palace, pays his taxes and lives modestly. He clearly has skills but doesn’t seem to be in sinister employment. I will keep up my inquiries. It might just be those Lings picked the wrong fight.”

As curious as anyone would be, the Thain realized the sooner people lost interest, the sooner he could patch differences. It seemed the King did not thirst for his blood or his firstborn’s. Looking ahead, long abandoned farms to his west just over the river were attracting families to work them. It vaguely belonged to Dorwinion on the map but folk plowing the fields were Northmen. Extending protection to promising subjects might be in his King’s interests, something to bargain with.

Thain Fändul arrived the next day from the same road. He and his elder son greeted his daughter Queen in the palace after donning their court clothes. His grandson Bain was not pleased to taken from his nap but Delatha was so proud to present him. “He looks like mother, I think, dearest Papa.”

"Yes, daughter, I can see that."

His uncle leaned over and said, “Aye, it is her nose.” The prince was given back to his nurse.

The Thain asked, “What news my daughter Queen?” 

“It seems the trouble in the south is in hand. The new Thain is come with sword sheathed.”

“He brought his sister with him?”

“Yes, father. It is rumored she is a beauty, young and inexperienced.” 

“Humph.”

She asked, “And you brother, how is your family?”

Jurath said “Growing like weeds. Still all daughters. Perhaps we will follow your example and save the boys for next!” 

Her Highness smiled, “I cannot wait to hear all about them. The King allows me to dine with you tonight.”

_____________--------_____________

Any number of Thain companies arrived the day after. Thain Conath and Torrold were among them with reservations in a compound like several others that had their living quarters and barracks for the men. They also had the apartment in the royal surround and thought to use that for privacy. Before climbing the hill, they and two guards visited their Eniece and Nag Kath. 

Thain Conath asked, “What have you learned of this Eniece? It is strange that we should all be together in Dale of all places. I would not refuse our King, but the agenda seems unspecific.”

“I am as confused as you, brother Thain. But you must understand we are not included in Kingly councils. I have not seen Ardatha’s royal brother since we returned. Nag Kath?”

“Me either. But I do not insinuate myself.”

“No matter. There have been reports of orcs and wargs to the north. Old Riding hasn’t lost more than a few horses but the Iron Hills Dwarves are taking things seriously. I hope there is room for that in these royal discussions. Fändul must be here. He was just ahead of us on the Dwarf Road.”

Eniece sat with her hands folded in her lap, “Again, brother Thain, we live quietly.”

Torrold was not a busy-body but not shy either. He said, “Let me see if I can liven things. There is a reception tomorrow night. Perhaps the King will add you to the list.”

The next morning an invitation arrived by liveried messenger addressed to the Kaths asking if they could attend tonight’s festivities, an after-dinner affair starting at eight. At seven thirty they left their door in their finest and made their way to the gate. Some Northmen walked like their chests were bound with rope in their snug city togs. The reception was in the main Hall. With only a hundred and twelve people, there was plenty of room. Beverages were available around the perimeter. Eniece and Nag Kath hardly knew anyone. Folk looked at them but not unpleasantly. Conath and Fändul were on opposite sides of the room. Torrold Conath was talking with a subaltern from Buhr Wenjen and his wife. 

Thain Durnaldar, his sister and Penlieff walked in a little later and started greeting people they knew. The young Thain had often been with traveling cavalry from the age of fifteen and knew people on most staffs. Some of those men were also up in the world. Everyone either stared at the young woman or pretended they weren’t. Durnalath appeared Elvish but without the confidence of time. 

The lass seemed tired. Other than her retainers, she did not know a soul. Her brother carefully steered her around the room until the King and Queen were announced. The Queen often separated herself from her husband at these events. She did not need guidance and had friends in several groups. Among the first people she visited were Nag Kath and Eniece. Nag Kath offered, “Your highness is radiant tonight.”

“Thank you, Nag Kath. It has been too long. And you, my dear. I am glad you are restored to us after unpleasantness in your journeys.”

Eniece said, “Thank you, my Lady. I was in good hands. Please accept our best wishes for your son.”

The Queen changed from energetic to content, “Thank you.” Looking at Nag Kath, “I was in good hands also. Please make merry. These are many of our nation’s Thains.” Leaning over more quietly, “I hope you will help put them at ease. Some of them look miserable.”

“We will, my Lady. Enjoy the evening.”

It was no accident that Torrold Conath met Durnalath. He was talking with one of the heirs of Celduin when the brother and sister approached. Conath was impressed but was not the sort to stammer like a youngster. They spoke for a while and hoped to see each other again in the course of the moot. 

Dural Finrales, Counselor of the Arrow, recognized Nag Kath as the fellow standing by the pictures that soothed the King last year. Nag Kath introduced Eniece. Finrales said, “Ah, Lady Eniece. I am glad you could come tonight.”

Excusing himself, Finrales turned and accidentally bumped into the young Thain and his sister. He apologized and Durnaldar assured him it was nothing. As the Counselor was leaving, Penlieff recognized what could only be the infamous Elf and his wife. This was not on the agenda but too good an opportunity to miss. They introduced themselves as Durnalath walked to a food table and picked-up a small serving knife. As she was making her way back to the other side of the room, her brother caught her elbow and said, “Durnalath, these are Nag Kath and Eniece of Dale and Esgaroth.”

She looked unsettled and kept turning to the royal entrance. There was something wrong with her eyes. This wasn’t the blinking or squinting of someone with weak vision. They were fighting something inside. Nag Kath told her she was very brave for coming all this way. She produced a vague smile and thanked him. Knowing this was not the time to pursue her upset, he told the Thain and counselor that he hoped they would meet again so he could learn more about their proud land. Pretending to consider it, they agreed it was a capital idea.

On their way home, Nag Kath mused, “Lady Eniece? Have you been elevated lately?”

“Not that anyone told me, husband.”

“Lady Eniece Thurnë, it has a nice ring to it!” She kept her first husband’s name. They agreed it sounded better than orc number six. “The young woman; did you see anything unusual?” 

She giggled, “Other than all the men drooling?”

“I never drool in public. I think she has been drugged. Wasn’t it her da on the wrong end of those lads we met?”

Eniece said thoughtfully, “I don’t remember. It was all something of a haze. Do you think she is in danger?”

“I am sure of it.” 

______________--------______________

The Thainmoot was in its third day. The King proposed national granaries against floods or drought. Several Thains said people were settling just outside their lands, many of them from Dale, and saw benefits to the King’s continued governance. There were endless border disputes. The King would create a commission to draw those maps fairly. Some thought that grand. Others would prefer to leave things vague. In the north there were wargs and unconfirmed reports of orcs. No one wanted to send their own troops. Neither did the King unless the Dwarves would too. There were two main meetings per day with a long lunch for side deals. Conath and Fändul spoke privately for half a bell without smashing any furniture. Their sons would talk later. 

Thain Durnaldar said little in public. Borders were discussed and his father’s misjudgments had been privately absolved. He wanted his sister to be presented properly but the girl was fatigued and sat alone or with her maid in her quarters. 

The next afternoon was specific to the northern clans so Penlieff reminded his Thain that the Elf creature might still have some use. A messenger was dispatched to see if Nag Kath might join them for lunch. 

When he arrived he was shown to the main room. Durnaldar and Penlieff both came out of the corridor in welcome. The Thain said he looked forward to telling the Elf of their beautiful land. Penlieff did the same for a minute until Nag Kath interrupted him, “Gentlemen, I have come about the girl.”

They looked at each other. He was married and she was destined for higher things. Nag Kath continued, “She is ill, yes?”

Durnaldar said brusquely, “I fail to see what business that is of yours.” 

Nag Kath leaned back in his chair and mused, “None, and much. Mr. Penlieff has been asking about me. You both know what I am capable of. There was sorcery here last year. I think the child is under a spell now.”

The Thain scoffed, “Nonsense. My sister is merely fatigued.”

Nag Kath rose and set Lentaraes’ hook, “Then I am sorry to have wasted your time. I will show myself out.”

He almost reached the door when he heard, “Wait.”

Nag Kath turned and asked, “A woman, a childless woman?”

Penlieff said, “Aye.”

Nag Kath sat down. “I should see the girl. And I warn you, this will not be pleasant.”

The Thain demanded, "What will you do? She is my baby sister and I would leave this place tonight ere I see her die.”

“I do not think she is in peril yet. But time is short.”

Thain Durnaldar turned to his advisor and nodded. The man rose and walked down the hall with a slight limp. A few minutes later he returned with Durnalath, still tousled from mid-day sleep. The Thain cajoled, “Ah dear sister, you remember Nag Kath. He is come to help you feel better.”

“Nay brother. I need only rest.”

“But dear sister, we …”

“Nay brother! I am quit of remedies!”

They never saw the Elf cross the room to grab her wrist in one hand and her face with the other. Her skin changed from peaches to a bilious yellow as she screamed from the depths of her soul. It started with anger and ended with fear before she lost consciousness.

Nag Kath laid her on the couch and sat beside her. His own color changed with hers. Blood trickled from his nose. He wiped it with his shirt sleeve and checked Durnalath’s breathing before laying his head on the back of the cushion to stare at the ceiling. 

The Thain rose to comfort his sister who was sleeping calmly. Nag Kath brought his head back and said, “Your sister will sleep for a while. She is improved, but the only person I know who can banish the spell works for the Queen. If you want the lass back, we must go through her.”

Nag Kath staggered to a small desk searching for pen and paper. Finding neither, he asked Penlieff to help. The man fetched his own satchel for materials and Nag Kath wrote;

** _My Lady,_ **

** _I fear a similar spell to your own afflicts Miss Durnalath. She is very ill and needs a good manicurist. Time is short. There is more to your mystery and the lass is the key. I will stay with her until then. The messenger knows where we are._ **

** _Your loyal subject, Nag Kath_ **

A drop of blood landed on the page before he folded it and wrote the Queen’s name on the outside. “Mr. Penlieff, your fastest man needs to take this to her Highness.” Then he sat back down on the couch and fell fast asleep.

_____________--------_____________

He wasn’t sure how long it took because he was dead to the world. A trooper showed Miss Quessan into the room. She was much the better for recent company. Someone untangled her hair. She was well dressed and eating better. The more a healer heals, the thinner they are.

She walked over to him on the couch and said, “Figures,” before kicking his boot. He shook himself awake as she added, “You want to tell me what occurred?”

“Hello Mooan. Let me introduce Thain Durnaldar and Mr. Penlieff.” Looking sideways at the girl, “and this is Durnalath. Same sorcerer as last time. Daughter of the … ummmm … late Thain. I … I pulled something rotten. Did … did not get it all. I think they, they are trying again.”

She cracked a smile, “Nag Kath, you wizards aren’t what you used to be. Heard you got married.”

“Yes, I …”

“Was that you carved-up the Lings in the marches?”

He blinked trying to focus, “Umhmmm.” 

She turned to the Thain and advisor, “It is a pleasure to meet you.” Healing rashes for high hill-women had improved her social skills. “I need to examine your sister. You can leave if you like.” They sat where they were but the Thain had gotten an ale while Nag Kath was sleeping. Mr. Penlieff had tea.

Nag Kath rose so Quessan could sit next to the girl and pointed to the tea mug next to Penlieff. He handed Nag Kath the pitcher on a side table which the Elf drained before sitting in an adjacent chair.

Miss Quessan held the girls wrist and felt for pulses. Then she did the same at her throat. Taking Durnalath’s left wrist in both hands she applied the spell and let it build. The girl shook for a moment and relaxed. A few minutes later, Miss Quessan leaned back on the couch the same way Nag Kath had and said, “It was not as bad as I feared. I think he took most of it.” nodding to the Elf. “She will wake in a moment.” Durnalath slowly came around and shrieked her brother’s name when she saw him. 

Miss Quessan said, “There, there, dear. You are all right now. Can you sit up?

Durnalath sat in the couch and looked frightened. If her brother wasn’t sitting across from her she would have run screaming. The healer asked gently, “Now dear, I want you to count to six very slowly.”

The first three numbers took an age but she finished strong. “There, that wasn’t so hard. Someone has tried to hurt you but you are better now.”

The girl considered that and said, “Yes. Yes. It was like I was dreaming and could not wake up. Daddy was so cross. Brother, did I come to Dale? I remember riding so far.”

“Yes, dear sister. We are in Dale now. And you are going to be fine.”

Miss Quessan looked at Nag Kath who was still green as spinach. No help there. She continued, “Child, who must you kill?”

She mumbled, “I am a good wife. I, I don’t know. I had to wait. They told me to wait. It is gone now.”

The healer thought a moment and turned to the queasy Elf. “She could not have sustained this. Some signal had to be made recently to dredge this up after so long. Turning to the Thain, “How long has she been listless and confused?”

“Some months.”

Back to her, “Child, did you touch anyone new recently?”

Later that day, the same large men who spoke with the larder vendor visited Dural Finrales, Counselor of the Arrow. He did not see the need at first but soon changed his mind. Prince Bain would need a regent. Finrales had been promised things by Brand. 

But then, who hadn’t?

______________--------______________

Miss Quessan slowly took Nag Kath back to his house. Once inside, she sat him more-or-less upright on the couch as Eniece walked down the steps. He looked at his wife and said, “Eniece; Miss Quessan. Mooan; Eniece.”

Eniece half said, half asked, “You are the healer?”

Mooan replied, “That’s me. Fraid your man was in over his head again.”

“Will he be all right?”

“Yeah. He is tougher than smart.” Looking at him, “Tried to cure a confusion block with a healing spell, didn’t you?”

“Ummhhh?”

Miss Quessan sat on a chair and said, “Give him a couple days. He’s been through this before. Good thing it was subtle spell or he would be a simpleton for a week. He will do anything you want for the rest of the day.”

Eniece sat as well. “I suppose Nauthauja has some explaining to do.”

Quessan said gravely, “As we speak.” 

Eniece rose and walked to the stove, “Would you like tea?”

“Thank you, cold if you have it.” She did. The lady of the house poured a mug of hot for herself and handed the healer another from the jug. 

Nag Kath stared at the wall and asked Miss Quessan, “The healer in the south is a witch?”

“It seems so. I haven’t seen much healing from her. And she is for hire. She was controlling the father, the daughter and tainting supplies for the royal larder. I think they got the bad ‘un. They’ll ask him politely about his friends.”

Nag Kath said to no one, “She is still out there. Where would … would someone draw that kind of pow … pow … power?”

“Oh, so you’re learning, eh?” That produced a cackle, “It is beyond me.” Miss Quessan leaned towards the edge of the couch. “Minor powers are minor because major powers crush them. Now that the dark lord and your old boss are dead, there’s no one keeping them down. Elves pull from those too but they’re leaving. These humors do not come because you are strong. They come because you are open to them.”

Her tone became more serious, “You have to be careful Nag Kath. Powers will run to you like cats to the cream. ”

The healer looked at Eniece who was not as distraught as most wives would be learning their husbands had absorbed black spells. “You are very fair, my dear, and wise. I can see why he loves you.” She looked at Nag Kath whose chin was on his chest. “I give him a bad time but he has a kind heart. Be patient. Take good care of him.”

Eniece said softly, “I will try.” Miss Quessan rose and left for the palace.

After an evening of the King’s hospitality, Thain Durnaldar II of Nauthauja was escorted into Bard’s office by four armed guards who now stood against the door. The man was not offered a chair. 

“You will tell me everything you know, right now.”

“Yes Sire. I knew father contracted Easterling mercenaries looking for work after turmoil in their lands. I do not know how, but the blonde man convinced them to leave. I also knew my father employed a healer for digestive ailments. He had a history of that so I paid it no mind. My troop was much on our border watching Thain Fänuel but poor Durnalath was at home with no one to protect her from devilry."

The Thain showed honor, “My Lord, if harsh justice is your decree; take me but spare her. Her mind was disordered. She deserves better than she has gotten.”

The King said with menace, “You have an infant son, yes?”

Durnaldar swallowed hard, “Ten months old, Sire.”

They had something in common. King Bard had heard enough. Finrales had done some explaining. Even if the young Thain wasn’t completely forthcoming, he wasn’t involved. “I think we have this solved for the time being. I will take your oath of fealty where you stand and return you to your lands as the acknowledged Thain of Nauthauja. But I don’t want an Easterling so much as peeing on our side of the river that I don’t hear of it. And you will mend fences with Fändul and Conath before you leave Dale.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Good. How is your sister?”

The weight was lifted, “The healer says we will have to wait and see if her mind regains its vitality. She was always such a happy and loving child. Her body is healed. The creature, Kath, cured most of that, though he took a beating for it.” He thought of Lieutenant Theondul’s description of the massacre. “Your Lordship has powerful servants.”

The King had no idea what to do with the monster but there was no reason for the young Thain to know that. “He has his uses. What will you do with the girl?”

“My plan was to leave her here with her ladies and Counselor Penlieff. Suitable husbands are not pounding on our doors at in Nauthauja. I now think it best for her to visit Minas Tirith.”

The King said coldly, “Since I am still alive and married?”

The young Thain rubbed his own chin, “May I speak plainly, my Lord?”

“I prefer that.”

“I am not so sure that I want her to marry anyone for a while. She is barely eighteen and knows little of the world. She has also been ill-used in my father’s madness. I would see her sweetness restored and be treated better than barter. Forgive me if this is not in accord with your designs, Sire.”

Bard wasn’t so sure the Thain intended to whisk her out of his reach, “And if a match was in the offing in my realm, who then?”

“Conath.”

King Bard leaned forward, “Then you had better be very nice to Fändul.”

Thain Durnaldar swore fealty to his liege. Leaving his beloved sister here to recover made her a hostage against his good behavior until the King let her go south. But he was leaving with his head. It was more than he expected.

Eniece only took one liberty with her suggestible husband that night. They would try it again. The Thainmoot ended the next day. Eniece and Nag Kath came to wish father and son Conath well on their way home. By the strangest coincidence, Durnaldath came to fare her brother well at almost the same time. Torrold Conath approached her and said he was glad she was recovering from her ague. As he mounted his horse he thought she did not seem as silly as the first time they met.

King Bard learned a great deal. Most important among them was that he needed to meet his neighbors more often. With the orcs staying above the north road and Easterlings staying east, the land just south and west of his country was settling with solid farmers and townsmen. On the map, it could belong to Dorwinion of the Reunited Kingdom or Rohan. He should see how they felt about that.

Then there was the issue of Thainhold borders. Some Thains welcomed definition. Others would rather have the lines blurred since that let two districts squeeze local farmers and merchants rather than just one. Everyone should pay their taxes but the local Thains would have to manage their budgets themselves. Counselor Earkinford would head a new commission to set boundaries. That would let folk know that he was still active after Counselor Finrales’ sudden heart seizure.

Finally; what to do with Nag Kath? He was plainly dangerous. The King knew what all in Dale did by now. After the incident in the marches, his clerk of the purse told him what his brother the scholar said of the repatriation moot in Orthanc. He tore the heads off wargs with his hands?! The Dwarves all knew and didn’t seem to care.

But the Elf had also saved his Queen, his heir and probably the King himself. He was even a relative through some tangled association. It seemed the Elf just wanted to be a law-abiding taxpayer. And one of these days, Bard might need someone who could see to the missing healer. Fine! He would grant Nag Kath a Captaincy in his Elite reserves and name Eniece a Lady of the Realm. His Sister Princess’s mother should be at least that. 

In an odd way, Brand got his wish.

______________--------______________

Life settled down for the couple. Nag Kath spent a lot of time designing or working on the new house. He liked physical labor. It reminded of building the barn in Isengard. 

Even though they liked their home, it couldn’t fit full-time servants. Brenen was running their business, rather well actually, so he wasn’t cleaning the ashes or the porch or anything else. Neither of them could cook more than eggs or fish. And Eniece was the mother of the King’s sister which almost required attendants. A woman from down the street came to cook and clean part time but did not want to live-in. 

Married life truly caught-up with them one afternoon before they were to move. In good light, they sat on the couch and unfurled ten pounds of rolled paper. Except to check for mold, he seldom looked through them so the outside sheets were generally older than the ones in the middle.

Near the top was the large study of Erebor. Eniece remembered seeing Nag Kath for the first time and his comical advance that she was one of two matching goddesses in Middle-Earth. She asked, “Was I really like a woman you drew?”

“Oh yes. She was having dinner with her husband at a fancy restaurant in Minas Tirith. Her husband bought it for a silver, first thing I ever sold. My teacher was amazed! I’ve got a picture of Quastille somewhere in here too.” They decided he should finish Erebor and give it to Master Golord. He would draw another for Tombor. 

The discarded picture of Lord Carstors and quite a few more he saved because although they failed as first drafts, they were his diary now. 

There were pictures of the Elven King’s Halls with pillars to the sky. He had drawn an Elf next to one of them to show just how big they were. Eniece would not have believed such places existed if not for visiting Erebor. In the same vintage were watercolors of hidden gardens in the Elf Realm along with three sketches from Danethiur. “That is King Thranduil. He is as tall as me. Ummm, that’s what’s left of Tharbad.

They reached the picture of Talereth. “Oh, Nag Kath, she is lovely!”

“My first love. That was the woman in Trum Dreng. They had to go to Minas Tirith and I could not follow.”

“They?”

Tal and Mrs. Skilleth; crafty old healer. She spotted me in a minute! When you have absorbed or expended energy in healing or spells, other healers can tell. I fixed a broken leg a few days before. The man was attacked by the villain who owned Vandery.” He said thoughtfully, “I hope Tal finds a good man. She is probably a healer too but once you embrace the gift, you should not have children. They would suffer in the womb.”

Eniece looked at the picture again. No one who looks like someone else ever thinks so, but the two women were quite similar. Tall, fair, reddish hair and elegant, lovely rather than pretty, with delicate chins. They both had the same smile. The eyes were different, though. Tal had a little mischief in hers. Eniece’s were a lake in the morning. Eniece asked with no jealousy, “Would you have stayed with her?”

“Oh yes. I tried everything. I would have returned to the White City but she would not risk my destruction. Ah, now here is the Wild Huntsman! He is ten feet tall, at least. I had to do this from memory but I think I got it. Those eyes! They shined white but turned to a rainbow. I hope he is faring well. He lives here in Dunland.” Pointing at the map on the low table. “Miserable place. I suggested he find Gandalf and return to Valinor.” Two pages down, “Those are Numenorean kings. Very serious; Numenorean kings! This page is a pit saw and this one is an idea to haul logs out of the Dusenorn.” 

The pages in the middle of the stack were of Orthanc. It was hard for her to imagine the scale of the tower so he penciled-in Mendos standing at the door. He looked like an ant. “This is one of my favorites. It’s Gandalf trying to light his cheap pipeweed. He would get so frustrated that he couldn’t get the good leaf from the Shire like Saruman. “This is Radagast. He is a wizard too and lives in Mirkwood. I think I will try to visit him next spring since the Woodland Elves probably won’t shoot me. He would have to want to be found, though.”

She marveled watching him relive these drawings. Here he was, discussing the most powerful creatures on earth as if they were Mortner the baker. But then, he was a changeling from their world, a bridge between the worlds. 

Many of the pictures were architectural detail in Orthanc. He set those aside for Woralth. “This is my friend Dornlas” showing a tall rangy young man with a Rohirric helmet. And these are Lord and Lady Altheras. He gave me the sword. That’s King Eomer in Meduseld. This is a tsitsi warag.” 

That brought them to Minas Tirith. The architecture was beyond her understanding. For a girl from Lake Town, anything over three stories was a palace. He described the levels and the switchbacks and how you had to avoid getting your feet run over by the man-carts since they would not stop for anyone. This was Osgiliath, much bigger than Minas Tirith but a ruin now.

He flipped the sheet. “Oh, Nag Kath, is this another lady love? She is so beautiful!”

“No, she wanted to kill me. That is Queen Arwen. She thinks I am Sauron. I don’t remember any of this but when the One Ring was destroyed, it sent a surge of dying power that killed everyone like me. Except me. She thought I was Sauron escaping. Gandalf thought Saruman used his blood in my pod of Uruks and sorcery kept me alive. I have no idea. Saruman was tall and thin and so were we. All the other Uruk-hai were thick and stocky. Here’s what I used to look like.”

He flipped back to the Orthanc era and took out the picture of Nag Duhl he drew for Gandalf. “He went to Rauros after the Hobbits.” 

She felt like someone stepped on her grave, “I like you better now.”

“Oh, here we go. This is the lady with King Aragorn. He reminds me a little of our King Bard. Except he is ninety years old! She is twenty nine hundred years old.” They were looking at the first draft of the sketch he gave the King through Quastille. It wasn’t as good as the gift but most of his best work had been given away or sold. There were small sketches of men shoeing horses and plastering walls. One was a woman yelling at her child splashing in a second-level fountain. There were several of the “Prow” and where the Nazgul had ripped out the catapults. “This is Quastille with Lentaraes and Tim. That’s Mr. Tallazh.”

About a third of the pile went in the fire box, mostly because it wasn’t as good as his stock now or discards he kept because the backs were unused. It included the picture of Orthanc with the charcoal smear that made him go upstairs to demand his pencils. 

The satchel was more organized but he did take out a picture of Eniece from Buhr Austar with her “thinking face.” It had to be drawn from memory because she only used it when she was alone. He admitted, “I still haven’t captured your eyes.”

______________--------______________

This began the happiest period of Nag Kath’s life. He spent some of most days at the new home either designing or working. He liked working and ran occasionally. Roughly a week a month they spent on the lake. Eniece’s woman did not live-in and having a husband around was not much different. He got to know her parents, fine people and very pleased their daughter had returned to the world. Now they were great grandparents as well and still fit enough to go visit the Buhr. 

He did not see much of the royal family although Eniece had tea with the Queen every few months. She had been elevated to Lady in Attendance which was an honorary position. Nag Kath was commissioned as a Captain of the Primary Reserve. That was also honorary until war. He would see where he was assigned in the fall training. Durnalath of Nauthauja went to the White City and was presented at court by her brother with proper attendants. Not three months after, she married a handsome Marine from Belfalas, of all places. 

The only long period of time Nag Kath spent away from home that year was traveling to the Elven Kingdom to visit Danethiur. He had to wait a day at the border until he was cleared but was then escorted directly to the King’s Halls. He did not see the King or Prince Legolas. The changeling spent four days trading ideas with the Elvish Master. When he said he would come back in a couple years, the Elf wistfully told him they would have left for Valinor. That was sad but inevitable. Chances were good that most of these people would be gone. Several years later, Dale had an economic downturn when those who supplied the Elves had no customers.

Years passed. He did have a seventh birthday but didn’t get stinking drunk. It was official that the Uruk-hai was gone. After her first child early, Ardatha had a boy and another girl when she was in her thirties. Brenen became a handsome man and married the daughter of a former head of the Mason’s Guild. And like many of the burghers in town, he filled-out around the middle shortly after. Uncle Stifo made it to age 93. 

As he thought she might, Eniece aged slowly. He was warmed by her kindness and thoughtfulness, taking more of the orc from his instincts. She made friends in Dale but never lost contact with the lake. Her friends played cards, which Nag Kath never mastered. And they traveled, usually to Buhr Austar but one time they went down the eastern edge of Mirkwood looking for Radagast. He was nowhere to be found. They met interesting people, including one of the Beornings who sensed something uncanny in the dubious Elf and stayed in his human form. 

Easterlings kept to their side of the river, though raiding parties came over at opportunity. The relationship between the countries was never cordial but they had an understanding. Enough of them became farmers they could feed themselves. Miss Quessan retired well. There was no word of the healer in the south.

Nag Kath and Eniece had no children. They would have been welcome but their lack was not cause for despair. Other children were born, friends died and life went on. They saw family here during the Thainmoots and often spent the off-year in Buhr Austar. At home, Nag Kath struggled to read Sindarin for lack of effort. He had a hard time imagining the sounds. No one spoke it. His healing powers were developed by helping others, especially after a wet spring when the northern streams feeding the lake flooded and a bog fever set in. As time went by, his ability to shrug-off the humors improved. The Elf purposely ignored his sorcerous powers. Sometimes when he was alone in the wild he would test ‘the fast’ or launch arrows at speed. The colors remained as well. That gift was waiting for sterner tests. 

Shortly after their seventeenth anniversary the wasting began. Eniece started losing weight and balance. She had pains in her chest. Nag Kath tried to help but the disease had taken hold. He was able to ease her pain but drawing the growth ravaged him as much as her. By the time he recovered, she was that much further away. Such skills are no match for the gift of men. 

“I am afraid, Nag. I thought I had learned to live with confidence, but it slips away. Will I see you again outside the Circles of the World?”

This was hard. He had to compose himself. “I hope so, dear Eniece, but I cannot say. My own ending might be worse. I will look for you.”

She managed a wan smile, “You made your seventh birthday. There is still hope.”

With the barest smile himself, “So I did, to confound many. Sleep now my love. I will be here.”

Always very much in love, Eniece died just before her fifty second birthday.

_____________--------_____________

Nag Kath was lost. He knew this must come but it did not need to be this soon. He cried many times. Friends were as kind as they could be but there is nothing anyone can say or do to can remove the pain. They can only cushion it. This was terrible piece of his emotional puzzle; loss. It only means something when you have loved, and he had learned love.

He would wander the familiar streets as if a stranger or sit somewhere they used to sit. He wondered if this brought him closer to the Elves. They had to leave everything behind in their long lives. Perhaps that was why they seemed so unemotional. Life was too long to live with grief.

Eniece told him all those years ago that she had made her life small and orderly to keep from her pain. When she was ready, she rejoined the larger world. Nag Kath had spent eighteen years here, always busy but still in one place. That was his time to be small and safe and let his maturity blossom in tranquility. He did not know it then, but in coming here, he was escaping trauma that should have taken the heart of any person. Dale offered him succor, a place to not be running or killing or hounded for things he could not leave behind.

But that was not what Gandalf told him. He barely looked any older than when he arrived. Even Elves mature. It was time to see what else the world held in store.

Brenen waited. He knew Nag Kath needed quiet. After three weeks of contemplation, Nag Kath came to him. “Hello Brenen!” Brenen’s sons and daughters always gathered round when Uncle Nag came to call. His youngest boy started sword training the summer before. Where had the time gone? Brenen looked at Nedille and said, “Come along, boys! Mother has a treat for you!” She probably did and understood that the men would be off for a private walk. She was a dear woman and devoted to her husband.

Business had been good. Nag Kath had almost nothing to do with it anymore. He spent more of his time on city building projects or just doing whatever he wanted. The last four months had been entirely with Eniece. 

“Brenen, I want you to know how good a friend you have been to me. Sometimes I still see you as the lad from the docks. Perhaps that is because things do not change for me as fast as for others. Now you are a man, a father, you have made yourself something and I am very proud.

Brenen started to cry. The father Nag Kath had become was leaving. And as Elfkind measure time, he may never see him again. Nag Kath waited. He had more time than he knew what to do with now. “You have already guessed that I should move on. I intend to return every so often. Keep the house up. I will leave a few things in your care or your children’s care that I may need someday.

“Bren, I have already drawn the contract to give you two parts in three of my share of the business with the rest going to Bard. I know you will treat everyone well. My first trip will be to Buhr Austar. Ardatha has been a daughter to me as you have been a son. That will be a hard goodbye also. 

“Forgive me, my son, but I will leave quietly. We have had a great many parties over the years but I cannot bear another. Let me remember everyone as they are now. Tell them I love them and that I hope my journeys bring me here often.” 

The blonde man stood and hugged the creature who had given him so much. He cried like he never had before. They shook hands and Nag Kath walked back to his house.

He traveled light. He knew he could get anything he needed on the road. Regaldin was a son of Regalo. More of a chestnut and not as large, the horse was just right for his needs. He kept a hundred Florin against finding a new home tucked in the bag and four hundred in the bank. Banking relations with Gondor were such that he could produce a letter of transfer if he needed it but he was still outlaw in most of the south. The sword of Rohan he left behind along with almost all of his art but he did take the old tube with paper and supplies. At dawn, he lightly nudged the horse out the south gate and started for Buhr Austar only stopping to see Eniece’s parents. She was still fit and strong but Elmos was failing. They knew he had to go. 

Time on the road flew by. Perhaps it was because this was the first time he was alone. Barely a week later, he arrived at the Thainhold. Old Conath was still kicking and feisty as ever. So was Halditha. She gave him a hug. His letter to them and another to Ardatha had arrived four weeks ago. The couple was sad for him but would not let him wallow in it. Seeing Ardatha and Reyald was harder. She had filled-out with three children and good cooking but was still young-at-heart. Seeing him made her cry, both for her pain and for what she knew he must feel. The man made her mother so happy. She blossomed with him. 

He called her daughter. With the Thain she had two fathers, three if you included dear Mr. Thurnë. It was more than any girl could ask.

** _This ends the first book of Nag Kath_ **

** **


	14. Skills Made Manifest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the unofficial start of book two of three of Nag Kath

** _Chapter 14_ **

** _Skills Made Manifest_ **

**The maps of Ithilien are helpful for this and future chapters. [https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8 ](https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8)**

Nag Kath took the Dwarf Road to Celduin Village and then back towards Dale. He did not make it that far. His plan was to discover more about himself. And he had to do that with the Elves. Saying goodby to his mother and father-in-law in Esgaroth, he took the Forest Road to Thranduil’s Halls. There were a number of Elves still there. He heard the birdsong as he approached the checkpoint and respectfully dismounted to watch the world go by. 

Two ohtars soundlessly slipped out of the brush. They wore the same brown and green garments as past troops but their hair was darker. Nag Kath bowed in their manner and greeted them in his halting Sindarin. One asked, “Are you traveling through to the Grey Havens?”

“No, I came to visit the Elven Kingdom and learn what I may.”

“The Ñoldor have all left.”

“I am sorry, your tongue is not my own. Who are the Ñoldor?”

The sentries wondered if he had been left behind on purpose. The other said, “The Ñoldorin are those who returned. We are Silvan. We remained.”

“Then I am pleased to meet you. I am Nag Kath. Are you the keepers of the Great Halls?”

The first one replied, “We are. And you should come with us. Do you know the way?”

“Yes, I do.” Nag Kath walked Regaldin along with them.

“The second Elf said, “You must forgive our appalling manners, Nag Kath. It has been some time since we have seen an Elf coming from this side of the mountains. I am Destirfin and this is Legantiir. May I ask what brings you here if not passage to the sea?”

Nag Kath said amiably, “I want to learn more about the Elvish people. I know very little.”

Now sure they had a simpleton, Legantiir stated, “Perhaps we can find answers ahead.”

There were no guards, no livery, no exquisite robes. These were working Elves. The ohtars took Nag Kath to an antechamber and presented him to a tall, brown-haired Quendu with chiseled features. Speaking in a language he had not heard before, his escorts conferred with their chief and waited. The chiseled Elf squared up to Nag Kath and said in Sindarin, “I am Fearnold. Thought you to visit Thranduil’s court?”

“No, Fearnold. I knew him long gone. I came to see the city itself and to learn more about Elfkind.”

Not quite sure how to approach that from someone who looked like Nag Kath he said, “Are you new to the subject?”

“Yes, Fearnold. I am but one and twenty years old and have always lived among men.”

It was possible. “Well, most of the libraries are gone. And the teachers with them.”

“Please tell me if this is not my business, but why are you still here, Fearnold?”

We have chosen to stay in our home and resist the call of Valinor. We were subjects of the Sindar and do not want to continue that in a new place. The Nandor are …” looking to his Elves, “… more of the earth and sky.”

Nag Kath said, “In any event, I am most pleased to meet you and glad to learn what I can of your people.”

Fearnold could not be insulted by that. “Very well. I’m sorry, your name?”

“Nag Kath”

“You may stay as long as you like. You must hunt or do other work, though. We are quit of table service in the Elvenking’s halls.”

“Thank you, Fearnold. I will make myself useful.

And he did. He performed any task they asked except hunting. Fearnold had underestimated the books and other historical items. Not only were there volumes, two of the Elves were avid readers and historians. Nag Kath would spend three or four hours with them or exploring the Halls and the rest of the time he cleaned or worked wood for building and craft. That earned him his rations which was all he needed. 

Eniece still pushed her way into his thoughts. He would have asked the Elves how to clear his mind but he wanted her there. She was with him, encouraging him. That was a legacy of love.

Two weeks into his visit, Nag Kath wandered up to the throne room. It was unused now. In a corridor leading downstairs he saw his waterfall picture. All of the other pictures had been taken down. He studied it for a time, both critically and as a measure of how time had passed. He hoped it would be there in a thousand years.

Most of Nag Kath’s learning was on healing. There were several volumes, perhaps duplicates of books taken, that dealt with Elvish medicines. Going through them was painstaking. Elvish languages changed over the eras. He read Sindarin better than he spoke it, but his learned friends did not mind being asked intelligent questions. Only one small chapter in one book was devoted to spells and applications of humors. Healers of that sort were as rare among Elves as among men.

Nag Kath established himself as the simple cousin of Elvendom which gave him excellent cover to ask oblique questions about supposedly sorcerous Elvish healers of antiquity. Folk knew of Elrond, now just as gone as Thranduil. And the Quenda of Lorien had greater powers but she was over the sea as was her husband. Their grandsons might still be here in Middle-Earth but that family had not been close to the northern Elves since the Second Age. None here had such talents or were much interested. They were very skilled in herbs and woodcraft. He had to tell himself; Elves did not need much healing.

Nag Kath also studied what he could of Elvish architecture. Largely in Quenya, he studied the pictures and made copies. Often he redrafted structures he had designed in Dale and thought he could have made better. Hard work away from the library kept him fit. After two months among these people, he was granted permission to use the Elvish trail that brought him to this place so long ago and saddled Regaldin for the trip south. 

The changeling remembered the turns even though the path was less used. Three days later he reached the Old Forest Road and turned west. Along the way he looked for the poisoned streams. Not only were they not fouled, they weren’t even there, as if filled-in by wholesome dirt. Near the western edge of the forest he took a long break. For eight days he rested and sketched pictures of birds and other animals of the forest. His patience was rewarded. The area was called Rhosgobel and the old, brown wizard spoke to him as he boiled water. “Well, it seems I am just in time for tea. With whom do I have the pleasure?”

Nag Kath turned to the sound and bowed. “It is I, Nag Kath, honored Radagast. We last met at Orthanc.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” The old man walked right up to him and put his hand on Nag Kath’s face. “You drew those pretty birds.”

Nag Kath said softly, “I can only offer you a log to sit but my house is yours.” The water was just hot enough so he pinched tea leaves into the pot to let it steep. Then he sat next to his guest.

Radagast looked him in the eye and said, “It seems you have done well.”

“I have, thank you. I have been long in Dale living quietly. Now I will widen my horizons.”

The old wizard considered that and mused, “Both good. It would have taken this long to sort all of the things you are ... perhaps long enough to for those on the route to forget old troubles. But tell me, Nag Kath, I sense a heavy heart. Is that something you should leave behind?”

“I am recently widowed and she comes to me unbidden. I do not regret that.”

“Gandalf told me before he left that you were a student of right ways. I am glad to see they continue.”

“While we are waiting for our tea, here is a bird I just drew. I thought you would like it for your home.” 

Nag Kath took the sketch-board leaning against a log and gave it to the brown wizard. He looked at it for the longest time. “That is a forest thrush. They are often close to me.”

With that, Nag Kath poured the tea through the wicker strainer into tin cups and handed one to his guest. They tinked the cups in a toast and sipped a little. Neither of them said anything else for a few minutes. Finally, Radagast asked, “What are your plans from here, young Elf?”

“As you said, though I did not know it then, I needed a long time to fit the pieces into place. I confess; I have been a bit lazy, always busy, but too much concerned with my little world. As Gandalf advised, I want to learn more about healing, and something of myself in the doing.”

Nag Kath looked directly to him and added, “I sought you for a purpose. My healing skills amount to pulling common ailments from people and retching afterwards. I could not save Eniece.” The Elf took a sip of tea and continued, “After I left Orthanc and was making my way across Dunland, I met the Wild Huntsman. He came to slay me. I told him I was a mild healer, and that he should speak with you and Gandalf about returning home now that his labors were done.” Nag Kath chuckled, “That made him want to kill me even more but I talked him out of it. The giant placed his hand on my shoulder and gave me a rainbow of colors through his gaze, said I should take it for his sake. I think it was a healing gift. Do you know?”

“The Huntsman never found me. I do not know him very well.” Radagast rose and lifted his staff leaning on the log. Wizard’s staffs had not been enjoyable for Nag Kath but he would grin and bear it. The wizard simply set the butt of the staff in the dirt and watched the small crystal on the head glow. Then he whistled softly and muttered, “You don’t seem particularly evil. Come with me.”

Nag Kath was always surprised by how fast these wizards moved. To all eyes they were old men with walking staffs but he had to keep up with his long strides. Radagast led Nag Kath who led Regaldin through what could barely be called a trail. Four bells later they reached an amazing shack. Now with some building experience under his belt, Nag Kath could not see what kept it from collapsing. Radagast told him to make the horse comfortable in a small shed and waited to escort him in the home.

The inside seemed bigger than it seemed from outside but in no better repair. Ever the landlord, Nag Kath saw a few leaks on the planks -- no more than any old house. Radagast walked over to his kitchen area and somehow manufactured a warm meal in minutes. Bringing it to his small table he recalled, “Do you still not eat meat?”

“Yes, honored Radagast. Since the gaol I cannot abide the smell or taste.” 

The wizard said, “Hummph”, and sat with the portions. There was no meat on his plate either.

They had said little on the trail. Now with dinner served, Radagast explained, “Power springs from many places. Saruman reached his through air. That was probably why he could change the weather. Gandalf controls fire. Mine comes from earth, mostly. I can’t say about the Huntsman but I sensed in you power coming from water. He may have been simply testing you. Most healers find theirs in water also. Yours is stronger. How much remains to be seen.”

Nag Kath asked, “And the colors?”

The wizard furrowed his brow before saying, “I do not know but I can’t help but think that the colors identify sorcery. Do you see colors in healing?”

“Yes. I am silver. Men are shades of yellow. I feel evil in green, green and black combined.” He had another bite, “I have worked with two female healers and they both said that for the longest time, the dark Lord dominated fell influences. Saruman hardly signified. That did not mean they owned or controlled all magic. Some humors were malign and yet unaffiliated with the Lords. Some wandered off on their own so long ago that they were not controlled by the rings of power.”

Radagast nodded, “I agree, serpents and beasts hiding in foul pools answer to no one. We have friends too but they are only seen when they choose.” 

Nag Kath thought out loud, “Miss Quessan said that with the Lords gone, powers would seek me.”

Radagast hardened, “That is why you must be strong! Ancient forces need someone up here to wield them. That can go very wrong. You must trust to your nature. Never accept abilities without reason or because it is easy. That is your lifelong test, Nag Kath.”

Radagast was content to let the Elf stay as long as he wanted. Most days they only spoke for an hour or two because the wizard was abroad in the forest. Sometimes they went together but said little. Nag Kath wondered if the wizard’s very presence healed the hurts of Dol Goldur. 

In his third week there, Nag Kath had sketched how he could repair a storm shutter on Radagast’s largest window. The pencil rolled away on the lopsided table. The wizard told him to call it to him. The Elf strained his head trying to influence the stubborn pencil but it would not budge. 

“You are trying too hard, Nag Kath. Draw from water and imagine the pencil pulling to your hand through your feet, as if on a string.” The pencil sat there mocking him. “We will try that again.”

He left the pencil on the table. He tried to move it for the next three nights until it moved half a roll. Radagast was right. The ‘Fast’ came from water as well. It was something drawing through him. As with the brown wizard’s ability to nurture plants and beasts, the power was not inside him. He was the conduit. That was what Miss Quessan called it too.

Another thing the brown wizard told Nag Kath was that powers from earth and water were finding their way into trees that could think, talk and move in greater numbers than before. The Ring War had woken them from millennia of slumber and they were flexing their muscles, in a manner of speaking. The balance of between forests and the tree shepherds was broken. Ents were few and dwindling. It might be long years before trees challenged man for territory, but it was coming.

When it was time to go, Nag Kath sat next to the wizard and said, “I want to thank you for your trust. There can’t be many of me in this world to try your patience.”

Radagast wondered, “Probably just you.”

“Where do you think I should go for more answers?”

“Gandalf thought to keep you from Elves early on but they are largely gone, except for your new friends in Thranduil’s halls. I think you should try Rivendell. Some of you comes from Saruman but most of you is Elf. To understand yourself you must understand them.”

Nag Kath gave a small smile, “Not an easy place to find.”

Radagast said, “True. And it is that way on purpose. Take out your map and your new magic pencil. There are several turns that cannot possibly be correct that you must take regardless.”

The parted the next day as friends with promises to come visit again. Nag Kath nudged Regalid towards the pass.

______________-------_______________

A half-day’s ride brought horse and rider to the Old Ford. At this time of year the Anduin was not as treacherous as spring but he was not looking forward to fording it. He didn’t have to. Merchants along with regional governments had built a new bridge. The river tightened and ran deeper because of solid rock faces on either side of flow. It would have been an exciting project and for the first time in oh so many years, he wondered if the huge oliphaunts had helped. 

From there he was only another day and a half to the foothills into the Misty Mountains. The High Pass was as he remembered. He also remembered it was steeper on the windward side so he paced Regaldin who made it with only minor slips in the shale. This was also where he had to start looking for trails that should not be there. Nag Kath memorized the map but still referred to it frequently. 

There it was. The crushed rock looked no different than any of the crumbles sliding down the hill. They turned left and started back up a steep grade. After several turns, the path became much smoother, almost manicured. They walked slowly up for another half hour when they hit the side of a mountain. That was good. Unwelcome folk who got this far would turn around. 

Nag Kath led Regalid downhill to the right another twenty paces and saw the crack in the stone. From the path it was only a shadow. Staying on foot they followed the seam until it cleared into an opening. To the eye it was just more shale but he could hear the Bruinen now, flowing strong and fast as it washed a thousand feet down in less than two miles. He felt a wind pushing against him but there was no breeze ... a ward against men perhaps?

Pressing on, another half hour brought them to the most amazing view he had ever seen, the valley of Imladris and the last Homely House of Elrond. By this point he had expected to see sentries. He had also heightened the “Fast” if he had to pick arrows out of the air. Ten years before he had an archer shoot cloth tipped arrows at him to see if he could snatch them. He got about half. The problem was that the condition only lasted a split second and arrows could come in waves. Hearing them in flight was the trigger.

It took another half hour to reach the courtyard using paths that concerned Nag Kath more than Regalid. They were made for Elves on horses and his horse understood that sooner than he did. Tying Regalid to the post he saw several Elves going to and fro in the building surrounding the hall. They looked at him but kept about their business. As long as his luck was holding he thought to see the library first. That was just off the main hall in the second level if Radagast’s memory was right.

It must have been magnificent twenty years ago. It still was for just the architectural elements but there were only perhaps two hundred books or paper boxes left on the shelves. No matter! They took what they wanted but that did not mean they took everything worth learning! Keeping an ear out for his horse, Nag Kath walked the rows looking at titles and box labels. Many were in Quenya which meant they would just have to wait.

Rounding one row of shelves he almost ran into a small creature beyond his experience. The fellow was between the height of a dwarf and a hobbit but rail thin with a huge hooked nose presiding over a long wispy moustache and beard. He thought this might be a gnome. The creature was dressed much like the Sylvan Elves but had breeches with hose ringed in red and white and a tall hat.

The fellow stared at him for a moment and demanded in Sindarin, “Who are you?”

“I am Nag Kath.”

“Orc six?!”

“So I was told.”

“Hughmmmm, Very well, six, what are you doing here?”

“I have come to read and learn about my people.”

The gnome, if that is what he was, walked a few steps closer, almost as if sniffing the Elf and said “Hummm, don’t remember seeing you before.”

“I am just come from Dale.”

His questioner did not seem concerned. Nag Kath supposed that since he looked an Elf and had gotten here, he must be entitled to visit. The gnome ventured something along those lines, “I thought Thranduil’s people already gone, not that they spent much time here. Straight for the coast, they went. Took their books with them.”

“Ah, good sir. I was not of their company, though I knew some of them. If it would not be impolite, may I ask who you are?”

The creature thought about that, as he seemed to do before answering every question, “I am an Elf-keeper. We protect the sacred places.”

“I confess; I am not familiar with your kind. But then, I am not well-traveled. Please excuse my ignorance.”

“Hummmm, you are a strange one, Orc Six. I cannot place your accent.”

“Stranger than you know, good sir. May I ask your name?”

Courtesy dawned on the creature and he said, “I thought everyone knew. I am Logass, Elf-keeper. There are seven of us here, though I am the one mostly in the library.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Master Logass. Only just arrived, I have not considered where to stay or what to eat. I do not want to impose.”

“If you are here, it is our duty to feed and house you. Did you arrive on horse?”

Nag Kath said, “Yes, he is tied below.”

“Well, then let us get him settled and then deal with you. You have some explaining to do, young Orc Six.”

_____________--------_____________

Regalin was placed in a very large stable with only three other horses that did not look like they had been ridden in a while. They had been fed recently so that was comforting. Logass walked on his tiptoes with a great deal of bend at the knees. He also crouched forward slightly giving him a hunched appearance. It did not seem painful. 

He led Nag Kath back up a side entrance to the main hall passing by a variety of gardens and nooks that were looking the worse for neglect. There were flowers and bushes but they were volunteers and not trimmed. Whatever else the keepers kept, they were not handymen. Logass looked over his shoulder and said, “You have your choice of accommodations; either you can stay in the old Elvish quarters or you can stay with us.”

Nag Kath answered, “I supposed it depends on food. What is most convenient for you?”

Elf-keepers are not often asked about their convenience. What could this number six possibly be? He looked of the Teleri Elves but had such a difficult accent. And he was dressed as a man. After so long away from the looms of Elfkind, he supposed one did what they had to. “Well, we stay in the back rooms close to the kitchen and there is plenty of room.”

“Then I would be honored to stay with your folk.”

“Very good.” Logass knew the other three Elves here now were riders from Lorien staying in the highest of Elf apartments and leaving for the Grey Havens in the morning. Should he introduce this one? No, they had kept their own counsel so it was none of his business. Not all Elves could even see the keepers. This one spotted him right away. “This way, Orc Six.”

Nag Kath was shown to a small room that had a long bed, dresser, wash basin and a small desk with a real glass window overlooking one of a dozen waterfalls. He would worry about organizing his studies tomorrow. For today, he took his sketch book out to a bench and started drawing pictures worthy of a gallery.

Rivendell had not used bells when inhabited. Folk were supposed to know the time. Not wanting to risk being late, he went to the mess hall. It was pandemonium! Logass said there were seven of them but that did not count their women who were carrying steaming vittles of all sorts around a long table. The same food had been taken to the Lorien Elves in their own dining room. Nag Kath took a chair against the wall and marveled at how none of these remarkable creatures ran into each other busting to and fro. 

As if on cue, they all stopped dead in their tracks and looked at him for several moments before resuming frenzied preparations. When the table was laid, Logass returned and sat at the head. “Friends, joining us tonight is; Nag Kath, who is orc six. He is come to study in the library and other things. We are the first Elf-keepers he has met so please explain what we do, should he ask.”

With that, food started flying around the table. He was served all manner of viands he had never seen before. And like with Radagast, there was no meat. There were eggs and cheeses of different colors. And ale, but only one mug each. Nag Kath took the largest chair among many sizes. A fellow three closer to the head said, “I am Norgarn. Welcome to our table, Mr. Six. Are you traveling to the west?”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Norgarn. No, I plan to be here for a little while and then make my way south, perhaps to Ithilien.”

They had to consider that a moment. That was the wrong direction for the flow of the Firstborn who generally moved north and then west to Linden. The last of the Lorien Elves were still active but they were not expected to be here much longer and would cross the Misty Mountains much further south. And some of the northern Sylvans were staying but this curious fellow was not one of them.

In his favor, he seemed to like ale, rather then the wine of the Eldar, and had chosen to dine with the keepers so he must be a fine fellow indeed! Nag Kath leaned forward to see around two women who were much stouter than the males and asked, “Forgive my provincial upbringing, Norgarn, but what manner of beings are you keepers?”

“We are simply the keepers. We have always been such. Our business is keeping the spirit of the Elves alive in their high places if they cannot do it themselves.”

The Elf said, “That is a noble goal.”

The woman next to Norgarn offered, “It is what we have always done, Mr. Six.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I look forward to hearing your tales.”

A keeper across the table from him regaled, “Then you will get chance in just a moment. The telling of tales is our entertainment after the evening meal!”

And so it was. One of the younger keepers, a mere sprig at barely five thousand years old, sat in an Elf-sized chair near the fireplace and opened a book in his lap. Nag Kath did not know but it had been chosen for being in Sindarin, the only language they knew him to understand.

It was a tale like the ones Gandalf read to the guardian children in Orthanc with shining knights in battles against the worst sorts of foes. It was not a fairy tale. There were casualties on both sides and sorrow for their losses. Nag Kath did not recognize any of the names. Elf names and titles were fairly long and they did not use nicknames. No matter, he enjoyed the story. Then it was time for bed. It seems Elf-keepers actually slept so after making sure it was permitted, he walked out to a balcony and listened to the water falling everywhere around him. 

In the morning he made his way to the library. The valley did not get full sun even now in high summer. Men would have a hard time reading in winter without lamps. The remaining books were arranged by subject rather than language so he had to thumb through several in the first shelf he reached to find one in Sindarin. He did not find any in the common-tongue. In the courtyard he heard horses so he rose from the couch and watched the three Elves preparing to leave. He waved and they waved back but were soon on their way.

Returning to his book, it was a history of Elf migrations in the Second Age. The language was very courtly which made it repetitive. His halting understanding of Sindarin was unusual because he did not say it to himself in his head as he read. These old books were meant to be read aloud. Many of them were written after the stories had been handed down orally for thousands of years. Mannish troubadours of today repeated their verses to establish a rhythm and remind listeners of aspects they should not forget. Men did not do that when conversing. No matter how long someone’s name was, there was something shorter. If a man was the King of four realms, people accepted he still was a chapter later. Nag Kath imagined he might return here many times over how long his life might be but for this trip, he wanted to concentrate on healing and origins. A quick conference with Librarian Logass explained these books were in the order they were left but he did not care if Nag Kath rearranged them. He could not take them though. Copying was fine.

Several days into his studies, Nag Kath saw one of the keepers hauling a bag towards the kitchen. The poor creature seemed bent double under the load. The Elf ran to him and took the sack off his shoulders and asked where he might take it. That got him a look he would never forget. The gnome, and he would think of them as that even if they would not say, told him, “It is just a bit further this way, Mr. Six.”

That evening before dinner, Logass came to him in the dining hall and said, “Teurvan explained what you did for him today. He said he forgot to thank you.”

“It is of no matter. I am strong and can serve. That reminds me, should I be paying you for your care and cooking? I am used to earning my keep.”

Now it was Logass turn to look stunned. “We are Elf-keepers, Orc Six. You are no trouble at all.”

Three nights later, it was Nag Kath’s turn to tell a story. He had never written them down. He had pictures to remember some. Tonight’s tale was of the Wild Huntsman. He added some drama against the obvious fact that he lived. Many of the keepers had known the Elves or known of them during their lives but this was the first yarn in an age where the teller was a participant. 

Nag Kath made spotty progress in healing. Counter positions between different writers on the same malady were common, sometimes inferring those opposed to their treatments were respectfully ill-informed. There were themes though, like which plants seemed to help in most cases. By a stroke of luck, one book had a list of those plants and pictures of them. Nag Kath copied those as precisely as he could.

Two weeks in, he thumbed through a very thick tome on northern migrations and was on the verge of putting it back on the shelf when he saw the name Morgoth. That was the first dark lord. He brought the book back to the table and pored over references to his early malcontent among his fellow Ainur. Quite a bastard; old Morgoth. The book was in the oldest and most formal writing style of the age, which made it almost impenetrable for our modern Nag Kath until he found the making of the orcs.

It was only a paragraph but the contention was that the foul one captured an unknown number of Elves of northern clans and subjected them to horrible sorceries and surgeries to make the first orcs. Most died but a few survived. Their offspring had no memory of better lives and the parents were murdered. Without dark lords of any kind to rain malice down on Middle Earth, Nag Kath wondered if he had changed back to the ancient form like they said?

A week later he found the tale of Sauron being defeated and forced to change form to an Elf. Even then he brought ruin to many lands. That must form the Lady Arwen’s assertion that he might have done it again. Nag Kath never felt like a dark lord, though he did ask himself long and hard after cruel killings in Eregion and on the Dwarf Road if he could do that for his own purposes? He decided then he could but would not. That was the best anyone could hope for. When no one was looking, he did roll escaping pencils back to his hand.

______________------_______________

Nag Kath decided to stay in Rivendell for the winter. It was quiet, beautiful and in some ways its grace reminded him of Eniece. He wished she was here.

A few Elves came to visit during the autumn but they spoke little and seemed to be very busy doing something they saw no need to explain. No new Elves came to visit after the first snow. Nag Kath learned a great deal more from the keepers than the books. He asked Naurice, wife of Bondo, about physical maintenance. 

Nag Kath understood a bit about wood. It dies slowly. Wood needs painting or sealing or waxing every so often or it breaks down to mulch for new trees. The keepers were primarily custodians of the spirit of place. Rivendell and Lorien were repositories of memories and cares and parts of us that never leave. As long as there were Elves in Middle-Earth, they would watch those things and keep them safe for future need. Another time, Nag Kath asked Yevijj about the northern kingdom. He agreed it was quite Elven but had not been a place of thought. Their mighty King was more in the mannish style so the more southerly Elvish settlements kept their own records and memories. And of the Silvans? They were Elves as much as anyone. As long as they lived, this place would be here for them to renew and refresh. 

That rest was less than perfect. The call from Valinor was strong. To resist was to be diminished. Unless the power pulling them west dissipated, they would eventually succumb to all of the ailments and aging of men. It might take centuries but it would find them. Yevijj was curious about Nag Kath. This Elf was no Silvan, nor, seemingly, any other kind. Nag Kath said he had never felt the call of The Undying Lands in his blood. He didn't mention he might be part wizard.

Nag Kath loved story-telling. Sometimes both men and women would gather afterwards and discuss it like scholars. If they were truly six or seven thousand years old, you would have heard them all enough to have an opinion. 

It was his turn again in mid-November. He would test his path.

“Here now is a tale of great powers fighting to their doom. A dark and terrible wizard created an army of slaves whose only purpose was to destroy the world of men. They numbered in their thousands. The fastest and fiercest of them were sent forth to capture four Halflings who carried a fell tool lost to the darkest of Lords. 

“The fell servants went to a river hoping their quarry would stumble that way. Instead, they were all slain but one by soldiers of light who imprisoned the servant in the deepest and foulest dungeon. There he was forgotten for a long while.

“While he was there, the dark Lord and the wizard were destroyed utterly. When that happened, the servant was bathed in the light of their demise and became a warrior of light. But he did not know how to be one. He had only known hate and death.

“He found that in this new land, there was love if you looked. There was beauty if you stopped to see. And there was forgiveness if deserved. He strove to do all those things. He continues in his search. And every day he finds more proof that the dark Lord has no sway over the land, and that free people of every kind have a place at fair tables.”

The keepers looked at him and looked at each other. At least it explained the accent. Fencïl, who knew as much lore as anyone said, “That is a very new story, is it not, Mr. Six?”

“It goes on as we speak, Honored Fencïl.”

Yevijj commented, “Then the memories we preserve have grown. That could not have been easy, Mr. Six.”

“It gets easier every day.”

It snowed often but never very deep. Nag Kath would often stroll the grounds and look at the astonishing architecture. Did it make Elrond sad to leave? Would he find someplace as nice where he went? Over time, he asked the keepers almost to the point of annoyance about Quenya. It mostly eluded him but even a little helped him understand a section of books on building. Some had pictures. One collection of drawings was of the little waterways cascading down the homely house to the Eiaontal Garden. He hiked every inch of the homely house grounds. It seemed water was everywhere, but gates above the property kept it from flooding the rivulets through the buildings. Some places in Rivendell were very loud.

By April Nag Kath had looked at every scrap of paper he could find. Healing and sorcery texts were limited but there were bits and pieces. Most books were military histories which he skimmed and placed back on the shelf. One of the most important things he learned was hints how to bake the Elven waybread. Mrs. Yevijj showed him. Laying hands on the ingredients in the wild would be hard since some only grew in a few places. That was rendered a problem for the future since the lady keepers gave him pounds of it when it was time to say goodbye.

Saddling Regalin to leave, Nag Kath realized he had new friends. He would see them again and share stories yet to be lived. They would wait, patiently, as they always had.

______________------_______________

Nag Kath’s plan was to cross the High Pass again and take the path along the Anduin far to the south. Belfalas was the goal. It was part of Aragorn’s realm but said to be independent, the same of Ithilien. He kept to the western bank where there were fewer swamps by most accounts. The first important river he had to ford was the Gladden. There were folk about, mostly farmers, but they were timid and did not speak to him, even the famous Gladden Kaths. The road was clear and smooth. It was not for wheeled-traffic but a horseman could make good time through the Dimrill Dale. The first real settlement might be the Elves of Caras Galadhon. He stayed on the path and camped in plain sight. No one approached and he did not feel watched. They had been traveling almost a month at an easy pace when they reached the Celebrant River leading from Fangorn. 

The pretty little river gave way to homely scenery. Across the river were the aptly-named brown lands. The Wold on this side looked little different. This was the upper edge of Rohan, well away from most people. Easterlings from the Rhûn region often beset this place for all the good it did them. Saruman convinced them their fortunes would be better if they took the horse and grainlands from the Rohirrim. They might have if they got that far.

Two weeks later he reached the Falls of Rauros. The last six days had been slow going because the river passed through a series of rapids with no easy trail. Much of the time he led Regalid well west of the rapids. Nag Kath made a point of seeing the Argonath statues which, while Gondoran, were done in the Numenorean style of stern kings standing sentinel over their boundaries. 

They had to pick their way past the falls on the western side before reaching a ford into North Ithilien. It was a nasty bog for much of the way on either side and took another six days to reach decent footing. Upon gaining Cair Andros they took a rest to let Regalid enjoy good grazing and dry wet things. The day after that they reached the main north/south road that ran the length of Ephel Düath range separating Gondor from Mordor. For better or worse, Nag Kath was back in the Reunited Kingdom. After twenty years, he hoped no one was looking for fugitive Elves.

______________------_______________

North Ithilien was still largely undeveloped until about twenty miles from the Morgulduin River dividing the two halves. Nag Kath saw hard work being done. Men were building and repairing and farming this land but still leaving many trees and wildlands to grow naturally. Getting closer there were villages and more folk on the road as well, but along the banks, where one might expect the best farms, no land was tilled at all.

When they reached the river he saw men setting footings for a new bridge. He introduced himself to about twenty workmen on the north bank and a few in a large tent. It was near quitting time. Chief Engineer Durambyn asked if he would like to join them for a half pint and fish. That was the best offer he would get so Nag Kath gladly accepted. With them were Durambyn’s assistant, Heinieth and Architect Finenbrad. This ran to his old trade so it wasn’t long until they were talking about all manner of construction that would have bored their women to sobs.

Camp stirred at daybreak with the smells of breakfast. Men here were fed a good meal before their labors. Heinieth walked out of the tent with a cup of strong tea and stood next to Nag Kath looking at the outline of Osgiliath in the distance. The Elf mused, “It must have been something in its day.”

“Aye, it could be again except the water goes bad. It is too flat to keep drinking water from the waste. When it backs-up, we get fevers.”

Nag Kath turned behind him and remembered the waterpath to the Eiaontal Garden. “Why not run an aqueduct from the headwaters in that vale to the city. It doesn’t seem very far.”

Durambyn wandered out with his tea and overheard the conversation. He took a sip and said, “That flows from the Morgul Vale. The towers were crushed to rubble but no one will drink the black water, especially after they drowned the spider.”

Not one to give up easily, Nag Kath ventured, “It looks clean.”

Durambyn turned to look at the pass behind them before saying, “Looks are deceiving. It would solve a lot of troubles, though.”

“How far from there to the city?”

Heinieth this time; “Perhaps twelve leagues. The last third is all flood plain.”

Architect Finenbrad walked out barefoot with his tea. He was in his fifties and on loan from Minas Tirith for the bridge. It was time to get home again and see his grandchildren. The good-natured man chuckled, “Are you fellows solving the problems of the world.”

Hienieth answered, “We are. Nag Kath was telling us about chuting water from up there down to the city.”

The sage architect sipped his tea and thought, “We have those in Minas Tirith on the south side where the river inside the rock dried-up ages ago.” He looked behind them as well and said, “Job for a younger man. Wish we had that before the pox last year. Water’s rank though.” 

Durambyn turned to Nag Kath and asked, “Here and now, I don’t suppose you are interested in a week’s work? That bank is giving us fits. I could use an extra hand.”

Nag Kath brightened, “Done! What do you need?”

The Elf helped with the crew, organizing hoists and spent time in the sun. He also worked on sketches from different angles to give men perspective. Men waded in the cold water at need but drinking water was carried here from further north.

___________-------___________

Five days later an attendant was laying out his Lord’s attire. “Good morning, Sire. It is a pretty day.”

King Elessar Telcontar was staying in East Osgiliath and would meet Prince Faramir for breakfast before continuing to see the new bridge. This was the last ford spanned on this newly important stretch of road. The two friends left together with sixteen outriders along the north bank of the Neussan. Two hours later they rode up to the working men who hastily assembled and bowed. The engineers and architect were with them but Nag Kath had gone back to the tent for a drawing.

Lord Aragorn pronounced, “Thank you for your good work men. Please, go about your business.” Heinieth took the laborers back to the bank. 

The two lords dismounted. Prince Faramir asked his long-time engineer, “How fares your bridge, Mr. Durambyn?”

“Reasonably well, My Lord. Some of the rocks were stubborn until we threatened them with Dwarves.”

Nag Kath heard the horses and finished what he was doing before walking out of the tent holding several scrolls. The King saw the Elf but it took a few seconds before he realized which Elf. Nag Kath bowed deeply. Aragorn walked to fifteen feet and said, “Hello Nag Kath.”

“This is an unexpected pleasure, My Lord.”

“I should imagine. Will you visit Minas Tirith while you are here?”

Nag Kath replied in Sindarin, “I was not sure of my welcome.”

In the common tongue the King said, “You would be most welcome. Please come see me.”

“I would be honored, Sire.”

The King asked the builders, “What are you fellows working on?”

Architect Finenbrad had been on the building committee for years and was comfortable with his liege. “Sire, I am wrestling with the same rock as young Hienieth and Mr. Durambyn. Mr. Kath is an architect too, newly arrived from Dale to help with the renderings. He was even talking about an aqueduct from the headwaters to Osgiliath until we told him about the source. A very ambitious young man, if you ask me!”

Prince Faramir came forward at that. A good friend died of the fever in the city last year and he was sore grieved for the man’s wife and daughter. Looking at Nag Kath he said gravely, “A noble idea indeed, but that water comes from cursed lands and has poisoned men. Folk from here have seen this.”

Nag Kath gave that a moment’s thought and stated, “It would be easy enough to test.” He scanned the incredulous faces and then calmly sat in the grass to remove his boots. Everyone, including men who were supposedly working just upstream, watched the young engineer walk waist-deep into the flow. He unfolded his little knife and held it underwater for a few seconds before examining the blade. 

Then, in a story that would outlive his warg adventure, he dunked himself into the river and stood, raising his arm to the sky. The arm began to glow shimmering silver as if encased in a beam of moonlight firing well into the sky. The rest of him lit the same color lasting five seconds until fading back to his natural shade. As if he had done no more than wash his hair, Nag Kath walked back to his boots and told the Lords of Gondor, “I felt only the slightest evil, though I suppose the headwaters should be tested individually.”

Reactions ranged from horror to astonishment except for Aragorn who just laughed, “I would be interested in hearing where you learned that trick!”

Nag Kath smiled too, “Dunland.”

Lord Faramir watched his King closely then approached Nag Kath who was pulling on his boots and asked, “Is it possible to transport water from those hills to Osgiliath?”

The Elf climbed to his feet and surmised, “I am not sure, sir. My comments were in idle passing but the elements are in place.” Standing-up, he looked to the King, “Sire, do you recall the Moria Stair or the Eiaontal Garden trough in Rivendell?”

Aragorn looked up the hill for a short while before turning back to the Prince and Elf. Nodding slightly to Faramir, “I do.”

Prince Faramir said to Nag Kath, who, to all-the-world, looked like an oversized farm-lad, “I would hear more of this. What do you need?”

“First to climb those rocks to test the headwater streams. If clean, see which of them can be diverted west into a collection pond so it doesn't mix with the river. Then I must ride the line-of-sight towards the city for the lay of the land. Perhaps two or three weeks work for a rough guess.”

Faramir turned to his engineer, “Can you do without him for a month?”

“Aye, My Lord. He was on his way to Belfalas until he made the mistake of giving us good advice.”

The Prince said to Nag Kath gravely, “Would you consider this labor?”

“If the King can wait that long, it would be my pleasure.”

King Elessar laughed again, “I will manage, Nag Kath. Please help Prince Faramir.”

That was the first anyone mentioned he was a Prince. Nag Kath bowed and said, “At your service, My Lord.” Looking to his fellow builders he added, “Though I may need a few of their strong lads.”

The Lords of Gondor parted with the King returning to the White City and the Prince going overland to his capitol of Emyn Arnen. When they were well out of earshot, Durambyn said to Finenbrad, “Well, now you have him in neck-deep.”

_____________-------____________

This morning Nag Kath was two days from riding to Dol Amroth where folk were said to look like him. Now he was un-exiled by the King and considering a great labor. Durambyn looked at the changeling in a combination of awe and curiosity. Architect Finenbrad did not seem troubled at all. The next morning after breakfast, Nag Kath saddled Regalid and added a backpack with food, rope and one of the engineer’s bubble levels along with his art satchel. At the ruins of Minas Morgul he held his hands over the rubble as he had the streams of Mirkwood looking for fell humors. They seemed like ordinary rocks.

If he continued into Mordor, this road would take him to the pass of Cirith Ungol but he was interested in the first peak to the north. Water poured into the vale from either side of the gap. Nag Kath had Regalid pick his way up the foothills looking for the westernmost stream with enough water that could be diverted due west. One looked promising so he left the horse to graze and hiked from the plain into the rocks. Another hundred feet up he found a pool pounded by a waterfall in solid rock before making south for the Neussan. 

It would serve and tested clean. Even better would be a lower pool so he edged his way to the western lip of the pool and tossed a couple rocks down to see where they landed. Masons could build another pool below with a more gradual decline towards the flood plain.

The next day he impounded three of Durambyn’s nervous workers, more rope, a barracks tent and food along with a donkey and Regalid to carry it all. They hiked two days back to the pool and made camp. For the next two days, Nag Kath had them fell a small tree and limb it so the branches only stuck-out half a foot. That was wrapped with the barracks tent to make a crude pipe long enough to reach from the fall to the western edge of the pool. It collapsed twice and everyone was freezing by the time they got it under the waterfall but it worked well enough to show a definite divide between west and south. Nag Kath swam over to the lip to see where the water landed while the men shuddered.

There was enough light in the day so they broke camp and made a new one near where the water was spilling. The chute failed after a few hours but now Nag Kath knew where it would go if the open side was dammed and the north lip carved away.

After breakfast the men took the donkey back to camp. Nag Kath mounted his transit level on the line of sight from the water supply to Osgiliath. He was three leagues from the new bridge and another seven or eight to the city. There were no hills of consequence in the way but he would not know the valley depths without riding the line. 

That went well until about three leagues from Osgiliath where the aqueduct would have to be raised above the lowlands. Nag Kath got as good a look as he could without riding the horse through stinging brambles. Several ravines would have to be bridged. But it was possible. A mile outside of the city he saw a large solid rock about eighty paces by forty by perhaps thirty feet high. He would remember that on the way back.

_____________-------____________

Osgiliath was bustling. Development started at the waterfront after the war and had moved outward since. Most of the city was still uninhabited except for squatters, but other areas were open for business. A dozen food smells wafted through the streets at the same time. Nag Kath went to the northern end of the city to be close to the water supply and found a nice inn with its own stable. After seeing to Regalid, he took his satchel and wandered around looking for fountains and pipes. He also scrambled into a bell tower hoping it would not be rung while he was atop. That gave him a good view due east towards the Ephil massif as well as the rock. He was climbing down when the ringer arrived to sound the late six-bell.

He had as much information as he needed so he took the room for an extra night thinking that he could make better sense of his notes and sketches with a proper desk and cooking rather than beans and porridge. When those were complete he rode back to camp.

Durambyn spent several hours going over the plans and made a few changes. It was ready for the Prince so they saddled-up the next day and rode to Emyn Arnen where Faramir made his home. It was a pretty place with rolling hills leading to steeper cliffs on a semi-circle of peaks. They arrived at the Lord’s halls and let his steward know they had arrived.

Usually waiting for a high lord meant looking at one’s fingernails for several hours but Durambyn’s office was here so they studied other projects in progress. The engineer also had a boy run to his home and tell his wife he would be there after meeting the Prince. At four, an attendant came to the office apologizing profusely and asked if the two could join the Prince for tea. That meant food and Durambyn never missed free food.

Prince Faramir was seated at the head of a small dining table with an attractive blonde woman to his right. Next to her was an older man followed by a middle-aged man, both immaculately dressed. The attendant showed them to the Prince’s left with Durambyn nearest. After bowing they sat and waited. The Prince said, “Thank you for coming. I have been looking forward to this.” 

Durambyn opened by saying, “Thank you, My Lord. I will turn this over to Nag Kath since he has done all of the work.”

The Elf did not look like an Elf. His hair was much shorter than the Elves wore theirs and it was over his ears. His clothes were mannish and not very clean. And weren’t the Elves all gone? Whatever he was, that silver glow was unnatural. Nag Kath followed his introduction by saying, “My Lord, My Lady, gentlemen. Thank you for the opportunity to serve. When we met, we had only mused about the idea of bringing water from the hills to Osgiliath. Those ideas are better formed now. I believe it would be possible to collect water from the headwaters of the Nuessan and channel it through an aqueduct to East Osgiliath, similar to structures used further north.”

The older of the two men asked Durambyn, “Alad, have you given thought to cost and time yet?”

“Nay, Telvin. We are only at possible. Practical will come much later.”

Faramir said, “Forgive me, Mr. Kath, but you hardly seem old enough for experience in such work.” Not to mention turning into a silver statue. No matter. If his engineer trusted the beardless lad and the King liked the fellow, he would see where this led.

Nag Kath smiled and said, “I started young, sir.” At the second mention of his name the woman gave him a more penetrating gaze. The Elf did not notice because he was unrolling his main plan and sliding it in front of Durambyn so the Prince could see before explaining, “The idea is to direct a stream on the Düathin massif of Cirith Ungol into a collection dam below and then create a long stone trough to the city. That would require digging and some bridges across ravines to come in high enough to pressure the city fountains.

“This will be a Numenorean effort. The surveying alone will take two years. They were used often to the north as in Moria. Rivendell has them as well and this sketch is the remaining portion of the gate and chute on the Rohan side of Isengard.” That last example was a bit pretentious. The main idea came from the penstock tubes from the orc dam on the Isen that fed the trip-hammer. 

The Lady had heard enough. “Pray, sir. Have you been to Rohan?”

“Long ago, My Lady.”

“And how was it you were there?”

Nag Kath rubbed his chin in kingly fashion and replied, “It is twenty years past, but I helped a train of wounded Rohirrim after the war from the White City to Edoras.”

She smiled sweetly and stunned every man in the room, “Did you have any trouble with wargs this time?”

That brought forth the famous Nag Kath grin, “Nay, My Lady. I think they learned their lesson.”

After that, Prince Faramir couldn’t end the meeting soon enough because he needed to speak to his wife about wargs. Durambyn went home. Nag Kath stayed in a guest apartment. The next morning an attendant asked if he would come to the north garden. Prince Faramir was sitting alone on a stone bench overlooking the flowers. The changeling bowed and the Prince gestured for him to sit.

“You have a colorful past, Mr. Kath.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Prince Faramir.”

“My wife tells me you killed a pack of wargs with your bare hands.”

“Just one. Is she from Rohan?”

The Prince looked down on the valley and said, “She is Éowyn, sister to King Éomer.”

“I didn’t see the resemblance. She reminded me of Lady Altheras.”

“I knew Lord Altheras in the house of healing.”

“His wife, a lovely woman. He gave me his sword when I had to use my hands.”

The Prince pulled the conversation back to his purpose. “Why would you help my people?”

Nag Kath leaned forward and folded his hands together, “I was just passing through the bridge camp. As conversations among builders go, I wondered why nobody had built a pipe from the springs down to the city when Engineer Durambyn said those waters were fouled by the dark Lord. It seems time has healed the wound." He paused a moment, “A true friend of mine told me to develop my gifts and use them to heal the hurts of man. If my help could keep many from being sick, I count that a blessing, My Lord.”

“Will you do that?”

“I will.”

“And what would you ask of me?”

“Tea in Osgiliath.”


	15. See These Walls Again

** _Chapter 15_ **

** **

** _See These Walls Again_ **

** **

He never thought he would be here again. Not ever. So these were the famous new gates, a combination of mannish and Dwarvish craft. They stayed open during the day as a constant stream of merchants, travelers and soldiers came and went. Was anyone he knew still inside?

Nag Kath would seek everyone in their turn but the royal invitation came first -- after a stop to get his bearings. On the third level he knocked on the door of a modest house south of the prow. A stout gray-haired woman answered. She had a youngster clinging to her skirt peering around her hip. Nag Kath waved and he smiled. Then he said to the woman, “I am looking for Mr. Tallazh. I remember he lived here long ago.”

She smiled and said, “He still does. If you will come in, I will see if he is receiving.” He had never been inside the home. It was very nice with sketches and painting on most walls and a full bookshelf, a luxury even here in the capital. He scanned the titles while waiting.

A few minutes later Mr. Tallazh walked into the main room and clapped his hands together in delight. He was fit and spry with the same wise eyes and said, “I did not know if we would ever see you. Welcome back!”

“Thank you, Mr. Tallazh. It has been quite a journey.”

“I am sure it has, and please, Amiedes. I think we are past mister. Have a seat.”

Nag Kath smiled, “I will try.” Tea was served. It was the same smell he remembered both from Quastille’s and Mr. Juguesh in Trum Dreng. That was lucky tea. It was too hot to sip just yet so Nag Kath asked, “Please, tell me of your life. I must have missed so much.”

“You are the one with adventures but yes, I will begin. After you left, the King asked my humble advice on matters of trade outside the old borders. Once a month, a man-cart takes me up the hill with other old fellows who talk more than listen. We still get things done occasionally.”

Nag Kath told him about Orthanc and the Huntsman and Elvish places. He talked about Dale and love and loss. Mr. Tallazh knew that by heart. And of all things, the Elf actually spoke a little Elvish! After half an hour, Nag Kath asked, “Amiedes, I hope you got my letter from Dunland.”

“Oh yes, forgive me. I should have mentioned that first. Yes I got it with the messengers too. They arrived safe and sound. The ladies stayed with me for a week and then found an apartment on the other side of the prow. Mrs. Skilleth died a few years ago but I still see Talereth. She married well and has two children. His name is Toroldinar, officer of foot.” Mr. Tallazh took a piece of elegant notepaper from his side table and wrote her address. “It is next to a bright blue building on the fourth level, north-side.”

Nag Kath leaned forward, “And now Mis … Amiedes, I need a little advice” He went into how he was discovered in Gondor and that tomorrow he was to present himself to the King to discuss, among other things, the possibility of an aqueduct from Minas Morgul to Osgiliath. “I have experience in design and building work and have some good ideas, but this will be a project not seen since the last great kings. It seems a noble cause and I have time. You know the moving parts. Do you have any recommendations on how I state my case?”

Tallazh paused for quite a while and asked, “Are those sketches in your folio?”

Nat Kath unrolled the same ones he showed Prince Faramir. The elderly advisor studied them carefully with a pair of half spectacles. Folding the specs back into his pocket he said, “The main job will be organizing who will help. Be prepared to require, not ask, that good people be made available. And say you want nothing to do with the money. They have to provide that. All the surveying work should not be too expensive, give them time to count coppers for moving all those rocks.

“Now, and this is important, you need to discover if the King or the Prince is driving the cart.”  
  
Nag Kath said, “I think I know that already. The Prince has seen this already and is enthusiastic. I suspect the King will make sure it is built. I will let both know that I am not the middle-man as subtly as I can.”

Tallazh sat back in his chair and put his palms on his thighs. “I cannot help but marvel at you, Nag Kath. When you left you could barely put a sentence together. And now … you have done well. I am proud of you. I know you have things to do. When you have more time, come by and have tea with your old friend. And please visit Talereth. I know that was a hard parting but she landed on her feet and I am sure she would like to see you.”

Nag Kath found an inn near the prow. Dinner was not appealing so he walked along the rail until he found a bench looking at the river and sat down for several hours to breath-in the air of his first real home. It seemed natural but also surreal. He thought he would be in Belfalas. Now he was waiting for the King of Gondor.

The next morning he reported at eight with the other supplicants at the main hall. He had only ever been to the palace under arrest. A throng of folk waited adjudication. Except for dismissing known complainers, their pleas would be heard by administrative staff with very few making it to higher or highest ears. After leaving his name he sat in the same place where the fat gaoler had slept against him all those years ago. An hour later, an attendant walked to him and quietly said the King would see him at five that afternoon. With time to kill, Nag Kath went back to his room to change and the stroll the city. Minas Tirith was up in the world. The rubble and debris had been cleared away. Every level had been promoted a notch in status, even the humble first with fresh paint and sober soldiers.

Nearing five he was shown directly to the King’s study and made comfortable in the same chair Mrs. Skilleth used. The office looked over the north-side gardens in full bloom. Not long after, King Elessar arrived and dismissed the guard. Nag Kath stood and bowed. They sat down and Aragorn said, “I did not know if we would see you here again.”

“I doubted that myself, Sire.”

“I met the two ladies from Dunland and got a better report from Gandalf before he left. But I have not heard since. Have you been well?”

Nag Kath nodded, “I have. I fought my way to the Elven Kingdom and stayed a while there and then lived in Dale for eighteen very good years. I married and spent considerable time designing works for the city.”

“Did your wife accompany you here?”

“I fear not, My Lord. Eniece died last year. That was my call to go forth as Gandalf advised to understand my gifts.”

Aragorn said more gravely, “I heard about those gifts. Wargs?”

That story would not die. “I have healing skills too. On my way here I stopped to see Radagast and visited both Rivendell and the Elven Kingdom now that I can read Sindarin.”

The King shook his head and said, “Those must be lonely places now.”

“I only saw three Elves in Imladris but I had a grand time with the Elf-keepers. There were seven plus their wives and a youngster who was probably a thousand years old. We sang songs and told tales. I learned much more from them than the books. I think they are gnomes, though none admitted as much.”

Aragorn had heard of the creatures that keep hallowed Elvish places against their return. He asked, “And Thranduil’s Halls; are those empty?”

“Nay, Sire. The Silvan Elves remain in their thousands.”

That was unexpected. The worker elves? Aragorn supposed they were welcome to it and Lorien too. “Did they say why?”

“In no uncertain terms, My Lord. They did not look forward to serving those they called the High Elves in a new place. They would stay in their beloved home and resist the call of Valinor, though it may mean diminution and mortal lives. Fearnold said they will meet Mandos on their own terms.” 

Nag Kath leaned forward in his chair, “Speaking of terms; am I truly welcome in your lands, King Elessar?”

“Yes, and I am sorry it took so long for you to learn.”

“Please, Sire. Do not trouble yourself. I have led a fulfilling life. I have two splendid children and was welcome in Dale. I will visit them again.”

“I keep up with my brother King Bard. Those lands are much like Gondor.”

The Nag Kath grin, “He has even better stories about me. As it happens, my daughter is his sister. It is an entertaining tale best told over Dorwinion wine.” As the King smiled, the Elf changed the subject, “I told Lord Faramir about the aqueduct. He seemed interested but has concerns over my credentials.”

“Leave that with me. His Lady wife is sister to King Éomer. You caused quite a sensation up there.”

“I met her, Sire.” Nibbling at the subject, “Other noble ladies were concerned as well.”

  
Now it was the King’s turn to grin, “I think Gandalf put those to rest. She even let me put our picture in the study. And speaking of pictures, let us have a look.”

Nag Kath opened his satchel and pulled the main sketches of the collection pool and noodlings of bridges and ditches borrowed from the north. As the King looked the Elf said, “This is not the Argonath but it will certainly be the largest construction since the days of your kingly ancestors. The surveying and preparation work will take two years. If Architect Finenbrad is right, some of those folk will have to be trained. Property will have to be acquired. I have Dwarf friends in Erebor to consult on all those rocks”

Remembering Tallazh’s recommendation, “And Sire, I need to know the relationship between you and Prince Faramir so I do not step on Lordly toes.”

“We speak as one, Nag Kath. Most of the money will come from here.”

The King was not expecting what came next. Nag Kath said matter-of-factly, “Since there will be so much preliminary work, I will provide the first hundred Florin myself. When that runs low, the Purse can manage from there.”

The King started to protest but Nag Kath kept talking, “Please, Sire. I think that will let everyone know that whatever they have heard, which is mostly true, that I am to be taken seriously in these matters. And I do not want to be cap-in-hand for niggling expenses when I should be working.”

Aragorn nodded. He would have required the same thing before taking on a project of this magnitude. “Very well, what do you need from me?”

With his least Elvish grin of the day, “I need you to throw a party.”

___________-------___________

At seven the next morning, an indecent hour by municipal standards, Nag Kath visited Architect Finenbrad. He was in early with hot tea ready and glad to see the fellow he caused so much trouble at the bridge. The Elf opened by saying, “Yes indeed, I am in deep. The King has decided to pursue the aqueduct.”

Finenbrad slurped the too hot tea and smiled without guilt. “That is a good project. How can I help?”

Nag Kath said, “Four surveyors. I know the local lads would rather sleep in their own beds. Can men be trained for distance work in a reasonable time?”

“I don’t see why not. They won’t all be greenbottoms.”

In a gray area of civic finance, Nag Kath broached, “Would you consider finding and training such fellows? This would be a private contract with the approval of people we know and love.”

“Certainly. I retire in a month so I am available then, sooner if this is official. What did you have in mind?”

Now it was time to see old friends. Nag Kath walked down to the second level and knocked on the door of the Quastille School. To his surprise, a taller, balder Timalen opened the door. He did not recognize Nag Kath until the Elf said, “I thought you would have graduated by now.”

With that Tim gave him a bear hug and said, “I do not believe my eyes! Come in, come in.” Calling down to the kitchen, “Marie, come out and meet Nag Kath.” Tim told him to sit in one of the chairs and flopped in another. A short, dark-haired woman came out wearing an apron and Tim repeated, “Marie, this is Nag Kath. You remember me telling you about him.”

Marie smiled and assumed, “Would it be fair to say he has not offered you tea?”

“Fair and typical, I should think. Cool if you have it.” She walked over to a jug in the same place it had always been. Turning to Tim he asked, “Yours was not the face I was expecting. How are you here?”

Tim took his mug of tea and said, “Quastille died about eight years after you left. I was making my way as a sculptor and renting the bottom level. Sylveth decided to sell and wouldn’t you know it? The fellow who was going to buy it married her. Looks just like her! Instead she sold it to me and I reopened the school. I’ve got three students downstairs beetling away right now.”

Nag Kath thanked Marie for his tea before saying, “I hope she is doing well.”

“She is. She is!” Tim took one of dozens of scrap sketches lying around and wrote her address. Handing it to Nag Kath he said, “Please go visit her. I am sure she would like to see you. Her married name is Multö.”

Marie sat in the third chair and listened to almost an hour of catching-up. Nag Kath talked about the wizards and the Huntsman and life in Dale. After a decent interval Tim asked, “Forgive me, old friend, but wasn’t there some stickiness when you left?”

The Elf thought for a moment and said, “Less than I thought. I was trying to sneak through Ithilien when the King himself rode up. He welcomed me back and said I should present myself at the palace. You could have knocked me over with a feather! Now he wants me to work for him.”

Marie had heard the stories about this fellow but wasn’t expecting someone visiting on royal command who hobnobbed with wizards and ten-foot specters. Nag Kath begged pardon to make a couple more visits but they would all go out for a fine dinner soon. As he was leaving Tim mentioned, “Oh, it seems you are almost famous. One of your sketches sold for half a nipper last month, picture of a woman having dinner.”

Nag Kath kept his face straight but that hurt.

________________--------________________

His next stop took a little more nerve. He dawdled checking the number and the blue building twice before knocking. The door swung wide open revealing a boy of about fifteen with a riot of curly black hair.

The Elf said, “Hello, I am Nag Kath and I am looking for Talereth. I was told she lives here.”

The lad gave him a long look and said, “Wait here” before shutting the door. 

Less than a minute later, the door swung wide again and Tal put her fingers over her open mouth the way she did when surprised. “Oh my goodness! I … I … come in! Make yourself at home.” Pointing to a couch in the main room of a very nice home, “Ecthialladrin, this is Nag Kath!”

“I know mother. He told me.”

Nag Kath thought with a name like that most young men would be surly. ‘Orc Six’ was no grand sobriquet but at least it was over quickly. His mother was not to be sassed, “Well then you had better go see what Mrs. Tippi has for our guest, hmmm?”

Ecthialladrin retreated down a hall while his ma arranged her dress. Nag Kath said, “I got your address from Mr. Tallazh. He is well.”

“He is a dear man. He opened doors for us when we arrived. You have the nicest friends, Nag Kath.” That was followed by her same intoxicating smile. The sentence was barely out when a maid arrived with a tray of finger-foods. 

Nag Kath had no idea how a woman with Tal’s appetite kept her figure after children. She was largely unchanged with traces of gray in her dark red hair. She asked, “When did you find you weren’t banished?”

“Last week. I was traveling south in Ithilien and the King himself told me to come visit. I wasn’t about to say no so here I am. I confess; of all the people I wanted to see, this was the visit that worried me most. Have you been well, Tal?”

She became very still before replying, “Yes. I married a wonderful man and have two lovely children. You met Ecc. My firstborn is a daughter. She is learning languages and I’ll have you know, she is an artist.” Nag Kath raised his eyebrow. Again, she put her fingers over her mouth before saying, “Too young for you, dear Nag. Now, what of your adventures! I have held court with the last charge of the Revanthars so many times no one wants to hear it again.”

He told her about the Wild Huntsman and the Elves. “I moved to Dale and met a lovely woman. We married and were very happy until she died last year. Eniece reminded me a bit of you.” He became more serious, “That was when I decided to take Gandalf’s advice to widen my horizons.”

She said, “I am sorry Nag Kath. “Did Amiedes tell you Mrs. Skilleth died? A bit too fond of the barley spirits, she was. But feisty to the end! And before you ask; my healing ability did not amount to much. Swaddling rashes are about the limit of my skill.” Looking at the sun level on the wall she said, “Ectilliad should be home any moment. I would love for you to meet him.”

“I will, but I have to prepare for a trip to the seventh and an errand in the east. When I am back, we will have time to relive the Revanthars over dinner.”

She kissed his cheek.

_____________--------______________

Nag Kath supposed he was now a citizen of two countries. Dale would always be special and he planned to return. Free and clear in Gondor would make that easier. And now he had something important to do. It would test many of the things he learned.

As a base of operation Nag Kath would buy homes in both Minas Tirith and Osgiliath that could double as his offices. He needed another Brenen, maybe two! To start he opened an account for twenty of his cash Florin at the Royal Bank and executed a transfer of three of the four hundred Florin from Dale. It would take months to verify but he couldn’t spend it there either. 

Then he had estate agent Finad Duluthar scour the fourth level south of the prow for just the right place. He wanted a large, two or three story building where the ground floor could serve as a business and he would live above it. He was in no hurry. The place could need repair as long as it was sound with a stable and water close by. 

A few days later the estate agent found the right place on the fourth level not far from the switchback. It set him back nine Florin. The home was bigger version of his first place in Dale with an open first floor - more for storage than living with only two windows. The second floor was the main room with another, outside entrance. The sleeping quarters were on the third with balconies. A block stable was fifty paces further west on the third-level. He sketched out what he wanted in the way of furniture and found firms that managed such things.

Each of the three stories had its own stone stove plus a smaller one on the second for cooking. Before the builders and decorators arrived, Nag Kath took the new-fangled ash screen out from under the stove on the first floor. In the space he slipped the mithril hair circlet and some cash before grouting rocks on the front of the slide to match the ones on the stove. Back in place, it would look like an older-style stove that one had to shovel the ashes out by hand. 

It was time to visit Osgiliath again. It was a city of towers, some still standing, where no one lived above the second floor. He stayed in the same inn and visited the city works building, asking for the water manager. A young fellow came out and said Mr. Sepulvath was quite busy and would he like to make an appointment? Nag Kath replied, “This is a matter for Prince Faramir.” The man disappeared into a warren of corridors and came back quickly to usher him through.

Mr. Sepulvath was a round, florid man with strands of jet black hair placed from one ear to the other as if they had been raked. Like other administrators Nag Kath knew, he had a key ring on a fine chain across his vest. The man rose to no great height and shook hands as his assistant closed the door.

Reseated, he said, “How can I be of assistance, sir?”

Nag Kath answered, “Thank you for seeing me on short notice.” He pulled rank to get in but he would need this man’s help beginning today and wanted to be on very good terms. “My name is Nag Kath and I am doing preliminary work to see if the headwaters of the Nuessan can be brought here to replace your current supply. It seems to have lost its Mordor taint. Please understand this is in early discussions and must remain confidential.”

Sepulvath nodded his understand as Nag Kath continued, “I am seeking ways to get it here but then there is what to do with it.”

The water manager could not contain his enthusiasm, “Mr. Kath! You are a blessed soul! How can my humble office help?”

This was going well, “Mr. Sepulvath, do you have a map of the current city supply?”

He did indeed and went to a large rack like Annas’ cubbies but much deeper to withdraw a large rolled sheet showing the pipes in the city with dozens of erasures and additions. They studied it for a few minutes before Nag Kath asked, “If you could control the flow, where would you put the distribution tanks?”

Short, fat fingers pointed at four points east of the river. The western bank was a separate city and was supplied, somewhat weakly, from the Mindolluin above Minas Tirith since ancient times. If there was enough, new water could be piped across the bridge.

It was time to spend some money. Nag Kath took a Florin from his pocket and gave it to the manager saying, “This is an official expense. I would like you to hire someone to work only on this project or do your work for the time you spend. This will take years, but I believe it will happen and when it does, there will be thirsts to slake. There is more where that came from.”

He left the big rock out of the conversation. No reason to get the land speculators excited just yet. Before he left, Nag Kath asked the excited water manager to recommend an estate agent for his own residence in the city. He was assured Mr. Portrous was the man to see and got his address. The woman at the property office said he was out with a client but would return after lunch. Nag Kath ate his own lunch and returned to explain he wanted the same sort of place as in Minas Tirith. Things were cheaper here so this should have its own stable. Riders would be coming and going all the time. 

That night Nag Kath engaged in one of his best talents; acting the innocent lad wondering aloud about things drinkers could not but help but answer. There was a tavern about a quarter mile from the big rock. He tied Regalid to the post and went inside. The stew was inedible but the loaf was fresh and the ale fair. 

“Tell me, good sir, that large hill just past, it must be made of stout rock.”

The good sir was probably in his forties and had the broken nose veins of a man who knew his ale. “Aye, it is a piece broken off from the mountain long ago, must be two hundred feet long.”

The young man observed, “And now sheep graze at the base.”

“And goats! They climb up and eat the bushes. The ground around is too rocky to till.”

In a voice that suggest only the most passing interest Nag Kath offered, “Not much return for the farmer then.”

“That is old Enoch Farantie’s land. He has plenty more.”

The next morning, a young artist knocked on the door of the Farantie home a half mile north of the rock. The farmer’s large dogs might have taken a piece out of a mannish visitor but they only circled and sniffed as the lad waited on the porch. An attractive woman in her thirties opened the door and looked at the tall, pale fellow and then at the dogs who had not made a sound. The visitor said, “Good morning ma’am. I am an artist and wanted to know if I could climb the large stone. I think a picture of Osgiliath from there would bring a few coppers.”

Since he was still alive, he may as well come in. She showed Nag Kath to the main room where sat an elderly man in a comfortable chair. There was some art on his walls. The woman walked over to him and spoke in his ear. The gentleman noticed the vague shape in his hall. “What can I do for you, young man?”

“Good morning, Mr. Farantie. I came to ask permission to paint pictures on top of your rock.” Nag Kath had to repeat that after the man raised a hearing trumpet to his ear.

Farantie looked to what might be his granddaughter and said, “No, I don’t mind.” Then he gestured to the woman to come close and asked her a question before looking back to Nag Kath and saying, “You didn’t have any trouble with those hounds?”

That earned him a grin, “Nay, Mr. Farantie. Dogs like me.”

“Very well. You might see my sons or laborers out there too. Just tell them you spoke to me. Come back and let us see one of your pictures.”

No one bothered him as he climbed the rock except two goats trying to pick his pockets. When they tried to steal the paper from the easel, a wargish bark sent them running for their lives. One sketch was back towards the mountains. Two others were of Osgiliath, one for the Faranties. Then he set his bubble level on the easel and found the point to the east that corresponded with his height. That was marked on the first sketch. Raising the front of the level with three thick scraps of paper he made another mark.

As he climbed in the saddle he thought the kindly Farantie family would get a fine sketch for the effort and a generous settlement for their rock.

_____________--------______________

Nag Kath had asked the King to think of an excuse for a diplomatic reception. That wasn’t necessary. A conference of Free Peoples was scheduled in two weeks and Nag Kath was invited. The renowned skills of many folk would be a benefit in bringing clean water to the river and this would be a chance to sound them out on generalities. Again, tailors had to be dissuaded from “Elvish Elements” but he needed court clothes for his new job. 

Nag Kath walked into the reception room after most of the guests had arrived. There were ambassadors, wives, embassy staff and a number of the King’s men, about fifty all tallied. He was not expecting to know any but that changed quickly. “Lord Kath!”

From across the room he saw Colonel Rosscranith. It had been some years since they laid eyes on each other. Nag Kath walked to him and shook his hand in the northern fashion. It is hard to squeeze a Northman into stately clothes but the Colonel cut a fine figure. The beauty here was that Rosscranith would introduce him fondly as a hale-fellow from Dale which avoided prevarications up-front. Rosscranith was the new ambassador of Bard’s court and liked Minas Tirith. Nag Kath said he might be here for a while and they must have some Dorwinion wine together. And if the Ambassador had mail service, he would love to send his royal step-daughter a letter. It is always nice to hit the red stripe on the first shot! 

Rosscranith’s wife Journa joined them a minute later. Nag Kath had never met her. Courtly dressmakers had a harder time with her Ladyship. Tall, broad-shouldered Northwomen always look like they are on the verge of splitting fine garments down the back. She was pleasant and seemed to like the posting here as well.

The Colonel caught the arm of Ambassador and Mrs. Fouringalas of Belfalas. That was technically part of the kingdom but the fiefs maintained diplomatic missions as if they were separate countries. Regions with no such status also had folk here to represent their constituents. The ambassador, as one would expect of a professional diplomat, was cordial and glad to meet Captain Kath. She looked at him strangely. He was not sure if he reminded her of someone or her vision was weak. His hair was over his ears for the occasion.

They were on the verge of another introduction when the herald announced the royal couple. Everyone in the room turned towards the entrance and bowed deeply. As they usually did, the King and Queen bowed as well. Lord Aragorn said, “Friends, thank you for coming tonight. It is always a pleasure to see you. Please be merry and make new friends.”

This would have nothing to do with the aqueduct but Nag Kath excused himself and approached two Hobbit couples in their fine brocade vests and woolly feet. He bowed and introduced himself. They were Mr. and Mrs. Rembyl Higgenboth and Ambassador and Mrs. Lemuel Took. The Elf told them of his friends in Dale and knew some of them had family in the Shire. If the press of official duties wasn’t overwhelming, perhaps they could enjoy a fine meal at leisure.

That is an offer few Hobbits refuse. Mr. Higgenboth gave him a card. 

When Nag Kath turned, the King and Queen were approaching. He bowed and waited. Arwen looked just as she had and said, “Thank you for coming, Mr. Kath. It has been quite some time.”

“Indeed, My Lady. Thank you for your gracious welcome.” That could apply to tonight or generally.

“The King has told me of your ambitions. I think those worthy and wish you the best of success. There is much to consider, I am sure.”

“There is, My Lady. Thankfully, I made pictures of your peoples’ building history in Rivendell. I confess; most were in Quenya which I do not speak.”

Arwen asked, “Think you to include such artifacts? That is most flattering, Mr. Kath.”

“I hope to, My Lady. And please, Nag Kath is fine. My crude drawings are practical but ugly as a tumlg dog. Your folk make beautiful things with less material so that may help as well.”

“Then I am glad you have that tool.” She had accepted Gandalf’s explanation of Nag Kath’s origins years before. That this creature had been admitted to Rivendell supported the contention.

He said with a smile, “Logass was a great help.”

She wracked her memory before saying almost to herself, “Of course. They would be there now.”

King Elessar spoke, as arranged, “Let us meet the Dwarvish Ambassador.”

He followed the royals to a pair of Dwarf couples who bowed deeply. The King said, “Thank you for coming, my friends. Ambassador Tulinn, may I introduce Nag Kath who is recently visiting from Dale. Please enjoy yourselves.”

That was all the King needed to say. For half an hour, Nag Kath and the four Dwarves regaled each other with stories of the north. This was a good fellow of an Elf, not snotty at all! They had come from Erebor after visiting Rohan two years ago and knew a few of the folk Nag Kath knew. He showed them the knife made by Master Golord. There was no reason to discuss building now. Ale would be had soon with his new friends. 

It came as no surprise that other than the Queen, there were no Elves. The Silvans in the north were not really a country. It was said Arwen’s two brothers were still in the east as was Legolas of the Woodland realm, but they came and went as they liked. Nag Kath considered the party a huge success but there was one more pleasant surprise. Nag Kath said to a passing couple, “Mr. Maedos. How good to see you again.”

Third son Davet was escorting his wife to the finger-foods. He stopped and cudgeled his brain for the memory. The Elf helped, “I am Nag Kath. I had the pleasure of drawing your honored father the Shurat some years ago.”

The younger Maedos opened his mouth in an “O” before saying, “Oh yes, in the west. He is still well and hardy. I thought you might have aged like the rest of us.”

“Not yet.”

Mrs. Maedos did not look the part of a diplomatic wife. She was small, dark and Dunnish, an Orthanc miner’s wife in finery. Smiling looked like it took a great effort and Davet prompted the conversation, “Doussha, this is Mr. Kath who made the picture of father in the gallery.”

She mumbled, “How nice to meet you.”

Davet added with a fine grin, “I heard about the mayor’s boy before we left long years ago. They will remember you better there than I did this evening.”

“No casualties, I hope.”

Mr. Maedos shook his head, “A few bumps and bruises.”

Nag Kath said, “I may be much in the White City. When I am better established, perhaps we will meet again to hear of your lands.”

_____________--------______________

Seeing Mr. Tallazh made him think of the College of Scholars. If anyone could find out how these massive buildings were created, it was them.

In his studies he found how many things were assembled but almost nothing about the sweat needed. There would have to be a market-town of workers, families, animals all needing to be fed and sheltered. Gondor did not have legions of orcs or slaves who would work until they dropped.

The word was out that the tall blonde man was a friend of King Elessar so the clerk of the archives was helpful. After a few questions he was directed to Scholar Heralda, a tall, thin man in his forties with the red cap of tenure and thick spectacles. 

“Thank you for seeing me, Scholar Heralda. I am Nag Kath and I was told you might be able to help me with questions about the ancients.”

In a voice that sounded on the verge of coughing, Heralda replied, “Perhaps, my work has been on Numenorean and early Gondoran society.”

“I seek information on large building projects. So far I have come across a great deal about techniques and which kings ordered the work but precious little on the people who labored, how many, where they lived and what they ate. In your research have you found those references?”

Again; the near cough, “As you said; precious little. I do not think the great men of the day thought it noteworthy.”

Nag Kath explained that he was in Orthanc when the White Council archives were disbursed. “Many of them were lists or Purse records that bored the readers to tears. Perhaps the record of ordering five hundred pairs of boots matches the year a sewer was dug. Forgive me, I am clutching at straws.”

Scholar Heralda asked, “This is the water project isn’t it?” Without waiting for the answer he continued, “After the war my father caught a river-palsy. I will do what I can for you.”

“Thank you. I am interested in anything on their building techniques. And forgive me for such a tawdry question, but does your sponsor allow individual compensation? This is not intended to be a voluntary project.”

With what could arguably be called a smile, Heralda answered, “I am sure the Gerandur Endowment will appreciate any help easing their burdens.”

Nag Kath’s card and a nipper somehow found themselves sliding across the table.

No matter how these investigations played, at the source they would have to move a lot of rock. All of the streams in those mountains eventually made a sharp turn into the Neussan and they needed to convince one otherwise. In the Fourth Age, that meant Dwarves. Nag Kath presented himself at the Embassy of Master Tulinn. He was told the Ambassador was in a meeting but should be free shortly. Knowing what he did about Dwarvish scheduling, Nag Kath sat in the reception room and studied his notes. Tulinn came out about an hour later and shook hands with the towering boy. Tulinn’s assistant asked what he was drinking. Refusal would be an insult so he said whatever the Ambassador was having.

“Good day, Master Tulinn. I am working on a project to deliver water from the Morgul Vale to Osgiliath. It will take great knowledge and skill in working mountain stone and I thought first of Durin’s Folk. The primary cascade would be along the lines of the Moria Stair Bridge. Would your people have an interest in such work?”

Tulinn lit a pipe of the best Shire leaf. As he shook the match out he said, “Considering who this is for, I have to be diplomatic. Our masons and cutters are occupied but there may be engineers in the great halls if Gondor can provide the men. You did not hear this from me, but the King’s dear friend Gimli of the Glittering Caves is the one to ask.”

“Forgive me, Master Tulinn, I know very little of these caves.”

“There are caverns leading away from Helm’s Deep in Rohan. It is more extensive than men knew. Thanks to our alliance in the war, Dwarves have been ceded a colony there with our folk from Erebor and wandering longbeards. It may eventually be as important as Erebor, perhaps even Khazad-Dûm in its day.”

Tulinn took another puff and said more gravely, “Then there is the issue of you.”

“You are well-informed, Ambassador. Both the Rohirrim and Durin’s Folk seem to have taken my original condition in stride, though few know the details. This is important enough that I will defer to King Elessar’s choice of emissary. If I am chosen, I will go with goodwill and without fear.”

The bowl exhausted, Tulinn placed the pipe on the table and added, “Speak with your King. For what it is worth, I will have a letter of introduction delivered to you shortly.”

“Nag Kath grinned and sipped his ale, “And now for the important question. How do you get Rohan red in the White City?”

“Tulinn raised a good point, Nag Kath.”

“I agree, Sire. I leave this entirely to you. Although, a letter from you to another member of your Fellowship worked well, even when I had scant words of my own.”

King Elessar smiled and conceded, “Very well. Go with my blessing. I will write a letter to go with the Ambassador’s.”

_____________--------______________

Nag Kath waited three days until Tulinn’s letter arrived and then took Regalid at best speed up the Great West Road. It looked the same as the first time although he saw it much faster. There were now a few inns at stream crossings for oats and rest. He did stop at the hill where he spoke with the warags. On the afternoon of his seventh day out he rode to the gates of Edoras. 

The way was shut. A guard called down, “What is your business?”

He shouted back, “I am here to visit my old friend and drink ale at the Falcon’s Lair.” That was good enough and a man below opened one of the two doors.

Edoras was still dreary. Nag Kath turned Regalid down the high street until he reached what was the Falcon’s Lair. It was still a tavern now operating under the name of The Rose and Hare. Inside nobody knew of Dornlas. He retraced his steps up two blocks and tried in another bar. Several people knew him in here. One who had not punished the local ale too hard even knew where he lived.

The house was well kept with a small garden on the side. Good for Dornlas! It seemed to Nag Kath that he had been knocking on a lot of unexpected doors lately, this one a little less so. A lanky, bearded man opened and immediately recognized his friend. They shook hands in the manner of Rohirrim and Dornlas walked him into a pleasant main room saying, “I always knew you would come back. It is time for an ale!”

“You are right, my friend.”

Dornlas walked over the kitchen corner and pulled two half pints from a house-cask. As he brought them over he asked, “When did you arrive, Nag Kath?”

“Just now. I am finally on my way to Helm’s Deep, hoping it is not so dangerous these days.”

“Probably not.”

A pair of twin girls, Nag Kath guessed about fourteen, came from the back rooms and smiled timidly. Joining them was the face he drew so many years ago. Nag Kath stood, bowed and was about to thoroughly embarrass himself. Dornlas saw the crash coming, “Nag Kath, I would like you to meet my wife Annlie and my daughters Annulka and Torenne.”

So, not Kateese, but not far from the tree. Annlie said, “Please, enjoy your ale.” Then to the girls, “Be home before dinner. I need you to help with the fish.” The twins bowed respectfully to both parents and delighted in visiting their friends, two doors up. Annlie walked to the guest and bowed.

Dornlas said, “Forgive me, wife. Nag Kath is the fellow who drew your sister. It is a short story with a happy ending.”

The Elf managed, “I am pleased to meet you Annlie.”

She said, “Please stay for dinner, if fish is fine.”

“I love fish, thank you.”

Nag Kath gave much the same version of his life he had in Minas Tirith. Dornlas and Annlie were fascinated. Having soldiered together, in a manner of speaking, Nag Kath spoke of the sword-work needed too. “And you, Dornlas? Life seems to be treating you well.”

Dornlas held Annlie’s hand in the chair next to his and said, “Yes, I have been fortunate. I came into a stake …” with a wink “… and bought a small shop. I sold that and bought a bigger one. Now I have a few and businesses in them. The girls are our only children and they are very fine indeed.”

Nag Kath said, “No conversation of old times is complete without asking where others are now. First; Sergeant Matelars?”

“He just retired. His oldest is a corporal in the King’s guard. Tall, tough fellow, perfect for the job.”

“I think I remember him peeping around his mother’s skirt.”

Dornlas grinned, “He is over that now.”

“Same King?

“Aye, and he’s been a good ‘un. He started late but he has a brood of kids now. The King has trouble with his back so he avoids long rides, but he is still hale and lordly.”

“I should pay my respects. I don’t remember him being over-fond of me but there are forms to observe.”

Dornlas grinned, “It is so odd to hear you speak now. I keep expecting you to stop in mid-sentence thinking yourself done.”

Nag Kath chuckled, “I am at the same stage of Sindarin. Now, tell me of Lord Altheras.”

“Fraid your string ends there. He died five years ago and was buried at his home. The King had a large memorial here, biggest since Erkenbrands’s, they say. Do you still have his sword?”

“I do. But it is in Dale along with most of my things.”

Annlie asked, “You were much there. Do you miss it?”

“At times. Thankfully, I make friends as I travel. Now, I need a little advice; I am here to visit the Dwarves of the Glittering Caves. What can you tell me of them?”

Dornlas shook his head, “Never been there. Our people used the caves for storage and defense but nobody ever wanted to go in very far. The Dwarves are fair silly about them. It is said they go a mile through the mountain with jewels and silver. I do not know more than that. Dwarves are very closed-lipped about their holes in the ground.”

Dinner was delicious. The girls were well-mannered and everyone retired shortly after dark. Nag Kath apologized for not knowing if he could stop on his way back.

Regalid got appreciative looks walking up the road to Great Hall of Meduseld. They know their horses in Rohan. Nag Kath tied him to the rail and climbed the stairs. Showing King Elessar’s letter got him to the door where he told another guard, who looked a lot like Matelars, asked his name and business. The guard showed him inside and took the letter to the chamberlain. There was no one to ask so Nag Kath sat on the bench.

Not long after, the chamberlain came out himself and asked if the visitor would follow him into the hall. They walked back where King Éomer was sitting at a long table with good sun. Nag Kath bowed and waited.

Éomer called, “You’re back! Come, sit here.” He pointed across the table from him. An attendant brought hot tea. “So, what brings you this way again?”

“I need a word with Gimli of the Glittering Caves and I brought Your Lordship a letter from King Elessar.”

“Then you haven’t come to hunt our wargs?”

“Wrong season. Your Lady Sister asked me the same.”

The King wrestled with a bread roll while saying, “That is a long ride to deliver a letter.”

“Lord Aragorn and your brother-in-law are considering a water project that could benefit from Dwarvish craft. I am helping so I volunteered to come.”

“Helm’s Deep wasn’t so good for your lot. Gimli will remember that well.”

“That was for the better, My Lord.”

King Eomer finished his bite and said, “Very well. You are welcome in my lands and I wish you success with the Dwarves.”

“There is one service you could do me, King Éomer; I do not know if the Dwarves have their own entrance or if I go through the fortress.”

“They have their own but you would never find it.” The King looked to a steward standing by and the man brought paper and pencil. Eomer scribbled a note and said, “If you go through the Deep, this will get you to the caves. The Dwarves will decide past that.”

__________-------__________

Helm’s Deep was a two day ride from Edoras in warm, dry weather. It must have been hell for the people fleeing on foot twenty years ago. The smaller gate was open but he did need to check with the sentries. They waved a Sergeant over who looked at the King’s note before saying. “Welcome to Helm’s Deep. That is a handsome horse. I’m afraid the caves are no place for him. If you will ride to the right about a hundred paces there is a small stable. Just tell them Sarn't Atlie said to bring him and they will do you right. 

“Now, sir, you have walking to do. All the way around the fortress you will come to the rear door that takes you to a meadow along the Deeping Stream. Follow that to the cleft between two cliffs and you’ll see a Dwarf door with their symbols outside. Just knock there.” In a tone that suggested he didn’t say it, “Might be a wait.”

The door was mounted in a sheer rock face with a bell pull. He rang it. A few minutes later he rang it again. Perhaps ten minutes later a young Dwarf, whose beard was merely a foot long, opened the door and stared at him until his eyes adjusted to the sun. Nag Kath said, “Good afternoon, Sir Dwarf. I am Nag Kath and I seek an audience with the Lord of the Glittering Caves.”

When the sentinel did not even blink Nag Kath added, “I have a letter for him from Elessar of Gondor.”

That got his attention. “Please wait here. I will tell my superiors.” The heavy door shut with hardly a sound. An hour later, an older Dwarf opened the door and squinted in the sun until he saw Nag Kath. In a booming voice he said, “Come this way.” Nag Kath hoisted his bag and followed in the long dark corridor.

For the first hundred paces it was just a mine shaft but then the tunnel opened towards a pale light. Clearing the mouth of the tunnel showed a vast chamber of many colored stones bathed in streams of light from holes in the mountain above. Erebor was all solid gray but this had areas of purest white where minerals had dripped from sharp spikes above to make dragon’s teeth below. Before long, they turned into a lower cavern after crossing an arched bridge over the Deeping Stream. Nag Kath asked his guide, “Tell me, Sir Dwarf, does this stream run deep into the mountain?”

“Aye.”

So much for conversation. He followed silently for another ten minutes and was led to a series of chambers formed naturally in the porous rock. Nag Kath put his gaol cell out of mind with an effort. The guide poked his head into one of them and then waved the Elf inside. Seated at a large, low table was Gimli, Lord of the Glittering Caves. Nag Kath walked to twenty feet away and bowed deeply. The Dwarf put aside his sheaf of papers and looked up at his guest, finally saying, “I am told you have a letter for me.”

“I have two, Your Lordship. May I present them?” The Dwarf nodded and Nag Kath laid them on the table. Gimli read the envelopes and opened Ambassador Tulinn’s first. It was a single sheet. Gimli chuckled and set it aside. The King’s was several pages and written, he supposed, in the common-tongue. That took a few minutes for the Lord to read twice.

Looking up again Gimli growled, “How is it that no one has killed you?” 

Lords did not intimidate Nag Kath. “It must be my charming personality.”

He was expecting an orc, not a wit. The Dwarf Lord slowly but surely went from scowl to smile to a hearty laugh. “Very well, we will proceed on that assumption. Have a seat.” Gandalf probably gave Nag Kath a passing grade with Gimli before sailing. 

A chair tall enough for Nag Kath had already been placed at the end of the table. The Dwarf shooed two attendants away and packed leaf into a long-stemmed clay pipe much like Gandalf used. The smoke dissipated quickly. Even small rooms in a cave have a breeze. “So, you were one of the Uruks that tried to kill me.”

“I was.”

“Didn’t work out so well for your lot.”

Nag Kath gave the Lord his first taste of the grin, “Bad management.”

Gimli puffed, “Hmmmm, I suppose so.”

The Elf took the initiative, “Then I became as you see. I have healed, fought, loved, lost and served. A good life, I reckon.”

Gimli took another puff, “Aragorn says you are here to ask a favor for his realm. That matters a great deal to me, but why you?”

“It was my idea. The King and Prince bade me bring fresh water from the mountain to Osgiliath because of plagues. Some of the work begs the finest craftsmen in stone for labors we have not seen in many a day. I rode here for your counsel.”

The Dwarf Lord said gruffly, “Well, you’ve got courage.”

“In addition to my charming personality. I also have rough sketches of how I see the craft needed to divert the stream. They are based on the Moria Stair and the penstocks of Orthanc. Would you like to see them?”

“I suppose so.”

They went through the drawings in some detail. The Dwarf Lord often reviewed plans for the constant working in his new fief but had never seen this sort of accuracy and detail. They beetled through two dozen sheets for almost two bells. Nag Kath made small changes or highlighted points for the Lord’s opinion. When his pencil broke he pulled his quill-knife to sharpen it. Then he handed it to Gimli saying, “This was crafted by my friend Golord of Dale. The blade is Elvish. The case is mithril/steel from Khâzad-dûm.”

Gimli held it and marveled at the balance of the tiny knife. He decided then and there that Nag Kath, whatever he had been, was a worthy man today. No one would have insisted on such care without passion. Free peoples need passion. He handed the knife back asking, “What can I do to help my friend Aragorn?”

Nag Kath had prepared his response, “We need an engineer, or team of engineers to come assess the work needed to carve away a pool edge and stair-step a quantity of water to this basin here. From there I expect we will need to build a stone pool with a gate to an aqueduct that will run about ten leagues. Any help on bridges would also be appreciated because we have to span several ravines of middling consequence.” Pointing to a different drawing, “I want to know the best way to get the water from here to here, including; men, time and skill. In short, Lord Gimli, I would like your best man to come behold this work and lend his counsel.”

Nag Kath looked at his host rather sheepishly and added, “And I would enjoy seeing your home while I am here. Your realm is extraordinary.”

Gimli laughed, “Ha! I knew it! You are no Elf at all! Yes, you will be my guest for a time. And I will grant your request, though I need to see who is best for your needs.”

For two days Nag Kath followed a terse, grumpy Dwarf through the nooks and crannies of the Glittering Caves. To the horror of all, the Elf swam in the clear, freezing water to explore how they reflected light back to the surface. For the next two days his guide was Thurgin who had done some of the building of bridges and walkways around these jagged rocks. Nag Kath sketched quite a bit and his new guide was fascinated at how he captured just the area he wanted in perspective. Dwarvish design and art is generally presented at right angles. Radagast’s house would have driven them to distraction. 

On the fifth day Nag Kath attended Lord Gimli. This time the Dwarf rose to shake his hand. “Thurgin says you have been more help to him than the other way around.”

The grin, “We have enjoyed each other’s company. I have always gotten along well with Durin’s Folk. Elves consider me undignified and Rohan red is my personal favorite.”

“MUHAAW! Come, sit down. I will tell you my decision.” Once seated, the Lord explained, “Thurgin has agreed to come to Minas Tirith this autumn when the walkway on our Fundir chamber is complete.”

The Dwarf Lord reloaded his pipe. Like with Gandalf, all talking ceased until it was correct. With the first acceptable puff he continued, “And I will come with him. If this is to be a joint effort for the Fourth Age, I would see my old friends to the south.” 

Sliding two letters to Nag Kath he continued, “Take those home and we will meet again soon. Is there anything else?”

“No, Lord Gimli, other than to thank you for seeing me. One of my personal goals is to meet the surviving members of the Fellowship. Gandalf was my mentor and said that would be good for me. I have met Legolas’s father thrice, but the son was never in the Woodland realm at the same time. And I understand tall people are forbidden the Shire.”

“Hughmmf! You may not be bound by that. Men are not allowed. You are not a man. It is a picky detail but you have sound references. Let us build your waterway first.”

There was one last piece of excitement. Returning to the Helm’s Deep stables he found Regalid anxious. That was not like him. He inquired of the stableman who ruefully admitted the admirable horse had been used at stud with a female some of the officers thought a suitable match. Tonight was to be their second mating.

One does not use someone else’s horse for such tasks on the sly. The purity and control of bloodlines, reputation of breeders and the value of the progeny can matter a great deal. Stableman Theonandar was following instructions from above, but that might not avoid a punch in the mouth. Nag Kath laughed heartily and said, “Then someone owes me a room and a meal tonight. Now, let us have a look at the lucky girl.”

Regalid was still jumpy the next morning but they rode out the gate after Nag Kath enjoyed a roaring good time with the Provost Marshal. He was not aware of the horse romance but glad to make amends for a few senior men. As usual, the stew was untouchable but the bread was excellent.

Nag Kath presented himself at Minas Tirith as soon as he arrived now knowing the right word in the right ear at the palace gate to avoid huddling with the supplicants. He had to wait an hour but the King walked into the main waiting room himself to take him back to his office. Aragorn scanned Gimli’s letter and muttered, “Nag Kath, whatever else you are, you are a fine salesman. I suppose this means the cat is out of the bag.”

“I hope not too soon, Sire. The long, tedious part will be laying the chute. Mountain work could be done anytime. Architect Finenbrad was going to tell you that in his retirement he has contracted to find and train four men who can do the long-sight work to bring that ditch into the town at slightly less than level.

“Forgive me if this is also premature but do you know the big rock just east of the city?”

“Indeed.”

“We need it. Running the water to the top will give enough pressure for both sides of the river. I have inquired discretely to keep the speculators from buying it or nearby land and driving up the price, but it is important. I also have an ally in the water manager on the east bank. Pieces are falling into place.”

Just as he had marveled at creating a genuine artist from the orc changeling so long ago, the King considered what he had become. “Good work, Nag Kath. What comes next?”

“Men.”

_____________--------______________

Nag Kath wondered about the home in Minas Tirith as he rode to Osgiliath. It was probably unnecessary since he would be mostly on the east side of the river. On the other hand; what else was he going to do with his money?

There was good news in Osgiliath. Mr. Pourtous was as good as his recommendation and found the perfect place, a warehouse on the north end of the city near the road to the Morgul Vale with a small barn and stable and a large house on the other side. It was unoccupied and filthy but he only saw the potential. Almost eight Florin changed hands and the estate agent recommended a man to make the property what Nag Kath wanted. 

He liked Osgiliath. Minas Tirith was beautiful, filled with living lore. This place was a beehive. Like Dale, a few older families re-claimed their heritage but everyone else was newly arrived. You were what you became. It had its pretensions. One restaurant offered “Elvish” food. Nag Kath didn’t think it all that Elvish but it was very tasty and might take a few stone off the round lords of commerce. 

Now for one of his most important personnel choices; he needed another Brenen. The new place would not be ready for weeks so he took a month’s lodging at one of the nicest inns on the northeast side. The Great River Inn catered to well-heeled and, according to Manager Sepulvath, sometimes fussy, visitors. They were often from the south of town which, in a city this large, was further than many folk wanted to negotiate after a few ales. Women seemed younger than their men. Acting the man of leisure, Nag Kath kept his eye on lads trying to pocket a few coppers by running errands. 

Several seemed promising. One was a small, dark-haired boy with bright blue eyes who was popular with local business men sending messages. Nag Kath called him over to his porch table while the boy was between assignments. “What’s your name, lad?”

“Tumlen, sir”

“Tumlen, I need a few things. I would like you to find me a packet of Khandian tea, a dozen pencils, two common shirts, and a second-hand compass. Do you know what that is?”

“No, sir.”

“It looks like a pair of scissors but it holds in position to measure distances on a map.” He pantomimed the motion.

“Like a circle cutter, sir?”

“Just so. Maybe this long.” Nag Kath handed him a silver tenth, far more than the items would cost and a tip for the errand. He specified second-hand to see if the boy knew where to find out-of-the-way things. If he saw the kid again, with change, Tumlen would pass the first test. “Off you go, then.”

By lunch Tumlen was back with all of the items and added something to his resume by saying, “The circler was at a shop that sells items for families of passed relatives. I hope it is what you want.” It was, but that didn’t matter as much as that the lad found it. “Here is your change, sir.” With that he offered a dozen coppers.

Nag Kath told him, “Keep them. I might need a few more things later. Will you be here late this afternoon?”

With a beaming, freckled smile he said, “I will make a point of it, sir.”

After an inconspicuous test that the boy could read and count, the southern division of Kathen Properties added its first employee. Tumlen was to help the builders at the home on the corner of Vu Rethal and Emerald Lane until further notice. He was to also learn the names and reputations of masons, trenchers, clay pipe makers and a few others. The boy would not attract attention.

Other than delivering Gimli’s letter to Tulinn, Nag Kath hadn’t mentioned the Lord’s visit to anyone except the King. Once the builders were set about their tasks, Nag Kath rode out to Minas Ithil and met the bridge crew. They were nearly done and it was fine work. Durambyn was long back in Emyn Arnen and Heinieth was in charge. The engineer was a practical fellow. Duranbyn was a good boss but had a city to build for his Prince and unlikely to retire anytime soon. Nag Kath explained most of what had transpired and asked if the man had ever considered other opportunities, ones that might last up to a decade of independent contracts.

Heinieth took a long pull of his ale and smiled. The bridge would be done in three weeks, weather permitting. That would now include three weeks of keeping his mouth shut. Deal done, Nag Kath headed towards Emyn Arnen to brief the Prince. He gave Regalid’s lead to the groom and was announced to the chamberlain who came out a few minutes later to say Prince Faramir was engaged but he would try to squeeze something in by tea. That was, of course, acceptable and Nag Kath would return then after eating at the chamberlain’s recommended inn. There was only one in this beautiful but out-of-the-way place. 

“Hello, Nag Kath.”

With a bow, “Your Lordship.”

“You have been busy.”

“Yes, sir. I thought it was time to keep you abreast. This shouldn’t take long.”

“I have time. Can I interest you in a cup of wine?”

“Thank you, sir.” They sat in chairs around a low table in the Prince’s study and waited until the attendant brought a pitcher with fine silver goblets. Nag Kath raised his glass, “To the King. Have you spoken with him about my efforts?”

“Not in person. We have both been much occupied.”

Nag Kath told the Prince the major points of his preparations, including stealing Durambyn’s assistant. “The most important thing on this side of the river will be securing the rights for a path to Osgiliath. I do not know if you can command it, or buy it or it is already yours. Men will need to start surveying fairly soon on official business.”

Faramir thought for a moment and said, “Most of it belongs to the fief. It is only where you start seeing farms that the land is free-held.”

“Your Highness can expect guests shortly. Lord Gimli is coming himself with Dwarvish craftsmen to consider getting water from the north side of the massif to the west. May I recommend Heinieth’s first job after the bridge be constructing a compound for Gimli’s noble visit and as headquarters when folk start chipping rocks?”

Faramir agreed, “Good idea, and I’ll tell Durambyn about needing a new assistant. I should go out there myself. Let us do that tomorrow. Now, what do I need to do about your expenses?”

“My understanding with Lord Aragorn was that I would personally pay the first hundred Florin in seed money and your Lordships would manage the rest if this is practical. That keeps me from waiting in Purse offices with receipts.”

As with the King, Prince Faramir was speechless for a moment. The Prince was well-off but that was a lot of money. He ventured, “Are you sure?”

“I count myself fortunate, My Lord.”

The next morning, the Prince, Nag Kath and six outriders made a comfortable pace to the base of the Düathin massif after collecting Heinieth. Two troopers watched the horses while the other seven men hiked to the pool. Even late in the season the flows were strong. Hopefully it moved fast enough to not freeze in a bad winter. That would be a time of year when the Anduin was drinkable.

Back at the base, Nag Kath showed the Prince and engineer where he thought the dam would go but he would defer to the Dwarves. They knew water and rock better than anyone in Middle-Earth. At the landing, the Elf aimed his longest bubble level at Osgiliath to give Faramir a feel for the slope-to-run. No different than the meanest farm ditch, the hard part would be keeping a gradual flow across uneven ground. 

After the Prince rode home, Nag Kath and Heineith talked about where to put the settlement. Nag Kath also gave him three Florin; one for him and two for the job. The engineer grinned and was sure the bridge workers would stay on.

Minas Tirith beckoned. Nag Kath always knew he needed expert help, he just didn’t know what kind. That was becoming clearer now. In the city he visited the best businessman he knew.

Mr. Tallazh clapped his hands together and the Elf was shown to the same chair. Nag Kath handed him the box of lucky tea. Once settled, Nag Kath said, “It is poor payment for the favor I must ask, Amiedes. I need a manager, someone who knows business, payments, the cost of goods and shipping. I was hoping you might know of someone with references.”

His wise friend said, “As it happens, I do. My grandson cannot rise far in my old family business now that I am retired. I think he would be open to new employment. This project will take many years, will it not?”

“It will if it is approved. In about a year, the Lords of Gondor have to decide if they are willing to pay the bill. I have a scholar looking into practical aspects of great works of antiquity. My best guess is that we will need a huge moving town for workers and families. They may come from here. They may come from Harad with their Mûmikils. Dwarf masters will craft the water stair.

“I need someone who can keep track of all, work with the Purse and issue orders that will be obeyed. Does your grandson have gravitas?”

“Oh yes. But you should decide for yourself. Come to dinner in two night’s time.”

Except for the eyes, Granthor Teldamir looked nothing like his grand-da. Tall and Gondoran, he shook hands as the family was seated. His mother was the woman Nag Kath met on his first visit. No water ditches were discussed but Nag Kath asked a few conversational business questions, mostly about getting people to do what you want. He got the right answers. 

Granthor Teldamir would be just fine. With Nag Kath’s permission, Tallazh had already briefed him on the project. The man had an enormous amount of work to do. He would oversee everyone Nag Kath wanted to put on the payroll, renew acquaintances with folk in the Purse, travel quite a bit and see to the money. That described what he did now and his family was used to it. Untangling himself from the mercantile business would take two weeks.

Work on the home was complete and they did a good job. Wandering through the bottom room Nag Kath realized he was lonely. Furious work and planning had taken his mind off Eniece. She was now gone a year. Some of the sting was helped by a return letter from Ardatha through the Colonel. Thain Conath was showing the years. Torrold would take his place but he never married so her children were the line of succession. There were opportunities in the court of Dale with Nag Kath’s ascension. Her son was now of an age that she and Reyald would discuss visiting. His bank transfer was in the same packet.

_____________--------______________

Something else that would take two weeks was the arrival of Gimli, Lord of the Glittering Caves. This was a state event even though the Caves were under the Overlordship of Thorin Stonehelm with only 300 Dwarves in residence. Gimli was a hero of Minas Tirith for his bravery against orcs, Haradrim and, especially, Umbar mercenaries. 

Nag Kath was in the east much of that time but he made certain he was there when sixteen Dwarves arrived on ponies with half that many pack animals. The Mithril intarsia gates swung open as horns announced their arrival. Aragorn, a name only used by friends like Gimli, and his knights joined the lordly procession just inside and proclaimed them true friends of Gondor. Since the flower season was past, folk threw little bits of colored paper as the stout folk made their way to accolades. A few mugs of ale made their way to thirsty riders as well.

The Dwarves would be here three days to rest and feast before making for Osgiliath. Gimli had not seen the bridge. His memories of the city were utter ruin. Nag Kath thought it better not to attend a party commemorating the destruction of his original folk. There would be plenty of time for conversation when they got to the rocks.

The King decided to come. He hadn’t seen the massif except from the plain and wanted a better look. That would overwhelm Heinieth’s little encampment. Prince Faramir joined them in Osgiliath to more colored paper and fanfares.

Now it was time for business. Nag Kath introduced Heinieth to the Dwarves and the two of them briefly went over the sketches. Then the party rode and climbed to the pool so they could see what the Elf was thinking. Thurgin watched carefully but kept his opinions to himself until he saw the idea to empty the pool from the western side to keep it from becoming part of the raging Neussan. This was the best stream on the dividing ridge. With confidence he shouted over the din of the waterfall, “My Lord Gimli, what Nag Kath proposes is much like the quench supply at the Nâin forge, only larger. 

Glorand the second engineer agreed, “Aye. It is further down but there is more water to work with. Nag Kath, how much of this flow do you need?”

The Elf yelled back, “No more than half, but I would like more down the face and make those decisions in the collection pool.”

Gimli, like most Dwarves, was comfortable standing on sheer cliffs. He peered over the edge and they returned to the horses. When they could hear at speaking volumes, the Dwarf Lord asked his two builders, “Well, what say you?”

Thurgin said, “If it were me, I would just let it all slide down the face with a larger pool at the bottom. They need to route the flow across the face, but they have to do that in either case. All that has to be done then is dam the side of the pool leading back to the river and hammer a gate over there, much easier to make a bigger pool below on flat ground.”

Glorand agreed, “I think so too. No reason to get too precise on the side of a cliff. Men of Gondor will have to do this work and they are not used to such heights.”

Conditions met, Gimli said, “Lord Aragorn and Lord Faramir, staunch friends both, your plan has favor. Engineer Thurgin will stay here over the winter and help with this and as much as he can with the chute going west. Let your fine city be free of poxes!”

Aragorn cried, “Thank you kind sir. We shall name this wonder the Gimli Cascade!”

The Lord of the Glittering Caves chuckled, “First let us see if it works! Muha!”

Then they all went back to Osgiliath. No one even looked in the little hospitality compound. Thurgin and an assistant hidden in the Dwarf company would be there quite a bit along with workers and surveyors fairly soon so it wasn’t a complete waste. On the way back Nag Kath had Tumlen rent a nice home for the Dwarvish Engineers and find a servant to cook and clean when they needed to get away from the mountain.

Back in Minas Tirith was more feasting and feting before the now fourteen Dwarves made their way home. Gimli had other business here but this was a good excuse to see his dear friends and help the King and Prince announce this lifesaving project. And as Lord Gimli said; now it had better work.

Within the week, Nag Kath had his first meeting of the ‘worker bees’. Officially the Aqueduct Council, they met in the big room of Osgiliath. When fourteen were assembled he started slowly, “Gentlemen, we are embarked on a great work, something not seen in nearly a thousand years. I believe in finding the right people and letting them do what they do best. Granthor Teldamir will be the master of resources. His job will be to get men and materials where we need them. For the time being, I am funding everything but we will exhaust that soon enough and then he will manage our Lord’s contributions.

“Turbun Heinieth is chief engineer. He and his assistants will supervise building all of this. I expect their number to grow and for men to distinguish themselves along the way. Master Thurgin and his capable assistant …” this with a nod to the younger Dwarf “… Fordosh will design the flow in the rocks from the waterfall. 

“Tumlen Gespath will be here and his job is to find what you need and run messages in Osgiliath. This will be our headquarters.” Neither Tum nor Fordosh expected to be more than flies on the wall and were honored to be mentioned. Nag Kath continued, “If you haven’t met, this is Manager Sepulvath. He is in charge of the water once it gets here. He will have to reinforce ancient piping in Osgiliath and will work with some of you from that big rock in.

Architect Finenbrad, to my left, is currently training the long-range surveyors and he will have a hand in their assignments. Four men are presently about two …?”

Finenbrad cleared his throat, “Maybe three.”

“Three weeks from joining the project. They will eventually report to Mr. Heinieth or me. Expect more folk shortly. We will need managers and cooks and people to make camps. As we speak, King Elessar is exploring getting Mûmikils and their handlers up here for the heavy work.” 

Teldamir spoke, “I told the Lords we will need at least two hundred men in the field in spring. Next year will be chiefly learning where to put the chute and counting the materials. We will also be building roads, shelters, barges and stockpiling many things for use the following spring. Think of those men as soldiers needing boots and shelter and rations to keep them fit.”

Nag Kath grinned, “And now, about me. Contrary to common belief, I am not a dark lord in disguise.” Some of the men in the room chuckled. Others were not relieved at all. Several here today saw the Elf turn silver in the cursed river. 

“I will be chief architect and share the vision. I am not perfect either. No one here has done this before. We will make mistakes. When you need help, ask. When you are wrong, admit it. Any of you can approach me at any time. Have passion and courage and we will do a great thing our children’s children will proud to see.”

There was one task that seemed nothing at the time. Finenbrad had an abscess on his calf that scraped raw after riding for the first time in months. Nag Kath saw him limping when the other men left and had him pull his boot while Tumlen brought a clean cloth and water. 

To the architect’s embarrassment, the Elf clicked his little knife and sliced into the sore to drain the wound. Then he grasped Finenbrad’s ankle and they watched his hand glow silver before returning to its usual color. That was a good start but the wound needed dressing. “Tumlen, where are the healing shops in town?”

Tumlen turned white. May Eru save and bless us! He mumbled, “The closest is four blocks east of the inn. Shall I go fetch something?” Anything was a good enough reason to get out of there.

“Nay, it is better if I look myself. See if you can find Mr. Finenbrad something to eat.”

Osgiliath was so large that there was no one central district for anything. Nag Kath would learn there were three areas where healers of varying abilities clustered. He needed a simple poultice of athelas and huren root which should be available anywhere but had to be fresh. The third shop he saw had supplies. On his way back he noticed another healer’s shop with similar herbs that also offered inductive healing. That was not common. The 'closed' sign in a small window was written in a Dalish hand. It was probably nothing so he took the weeds back to the ailing architect.

Before the snows fell, the surveyors had already done good work. Certand Lemdarin was the one who had some surveying before and took charge in the field since Finenbrad’s role was advisory. Materials were stockpiled to reinforce the road and camp sites were laid-out near spur roads or likely docking places for barges.

Nag Kath stayed with the Dwarves near the waterfall for much of the time since they would do the design but leave while work was in process. Fordosh had a fair hand. Nag Kath freely shared his drawing techniques, something that others might have jealously guarded. Building the pool below would come before tons of water was dumped on the workmen. 

_____________--------______________

Snows came early and heavy this year. Unlike Dale, which always had miserable winters, Gondor often saw little snow and manageable temperatures. Not this year, so Nag Kath went back to Minas Tirith. When he arrived he found a pile of letters under the door slot. Two were from Brenen and Ardatha courtesy of Colonel Rosscranith’s shuttle. He read them many times. One, in a perfumed envelope, was a note from Tal that he should join her and her husband and a few friends for dinner in only four day’s time. The letter had been there a week. Nag Kath dashed off a reply that he would be delighted and had a local lad run it across the prow for a groat.

In the meantime, he visited Sylveth Multö, nee Quastille. Now sixty, she did not look that much older. And as Tim said, her husband looked just like her. Both were happy. She deserved that, even if it took too long. 

He was warmly invited in for tea. At his first sip, both Nag Kath and Sylveth remembered his first taste of the drink and his dropping the cup with an orc curse-word at burning his lips. He had come unannounced at ten thirty and by noon they had lunch together. It was good to see her again. Master Quastille had a stroke in his sleep. Nag Kath told them about his art and how that became a waterpath. It seems Broughtur Multö bought and rented property so they talked about that a while. 

Nag Kath also dropped in on Tim and Marie. This time he went downstairs and met the students. One was good, one fair and one rich. At lunch, Tim chided him for not preparing his Syndolan Eve party! Nag Kath had not even thought of that. Tim was correct, of course. His big house on the fourth was made for festivities. Marie went home but the artists walked up to survey the possibilities. Yes, the tradition would continue!

Tal’s invitation said six but at the bell he was the last to arrive. Mrs. Tippi opened the door and let him in without a word. Not three steps inside his hand was firmly shaken by Ectellion Toroldinar. There was no wondering where his son got the curly black hair. The man reminded Nag Kath of Rogad, the guardi chief in Trum Dreng. He was shorter than his wife, stocky and fit with a soldier’s face. His warmth was genuine. Since Tal would certainly have told him of their experience, that was water over the dam.

His first introduction was to Ectilla, the older daughter. She was a pleasing blend of her parents’ different looks with better manners than her brother who was skulking by the finger-foods. “Mr. Kath, please let me tell you how much I admire your work.”

“Thank you. I did not know any of it survived.”

“I have only seen a few things.”

“Let us hope they do not lose value now that I am back. I should introduce you to my friend Timalen Brushta.”

“Oh, he is your friend? We met at one of his showings two years back. Very imaginative!”

That could mean anything when describing art. Tal joined them with Nag Kath kissing her hands. Mother and daughter introduced him to seven other guests. Included were Ferd and Bridgeth Comsairs of the merchants league and Hermad and Florice Murgrander, he being chief agent of the Furrier’s Cooperative. Mrs. Murgrander was beautiful. They both looked at him quite a bit.

Dinner was edible. Tal, as threatened, retold the last charge of the Revanthars now that she had corroboration. He explained how he stuffed Gandalf’s match powder into a tea mug and lit it with a fuse made of drawing paper. Tal also insisted he tell the tale of the Wild Huntsman. Nag Kath was not sure he wanted to divulge that much of his power so he offered an edited version concentrating on the Bilbo-like escape. Most of his conversation was about the water-path. He did not say he was in charge but there was plenty else to explain. Folk around the table agreed that if the water was safe, it was high time to stop those poxes in the basin!

As he was leaving, Tal took him aside and asked if now that his mourning period was over, would he like romantic introductions? She knew some respectable ladies. He had not really thought of that. And there was the notion of a mourning period. As strangely as he measured time, he had not considered short-lived men had to limit their grief or lose too much life in the waiting. His year was over, just as hers had been when they met.

He said he would let her know when his time was more his own. On the walk home he also thought that might be Tal’s way of saying she was happy with her choice and he should not keep a candle burning. It was what he wanted for her.

Nag Kath did not have to do much to organize his Syndolan Party. Sylveth knew a man who did that professionally. Mr. Fobe came to his home and agreed this was perfect for a fine event. Tables, chairs, crockery and festive ornaments were ordered. Syndolan pipers were hired, though the man explained the best of them had been booked years in advance. This trio had not been together long but were good and available. Food was arranged. 

Nag Kath sat with pencil and paper to see who he knew. The King and Queen were invited first, though they would certainly not come. The same went for the Prince and Lady Éowyn. Among the commoners were the Hobbits (always a must for the discerning host), his Dwarf friends and engineers, many of the water crew and their families. Tal and Tim and the Multö's must come. He had met a few neighbors so they went on the list. Rosscranith might come along with members of Mr. Tallazh’s family. He stopped at forty three names and wrote the invitations himself.

Winter offered a brief respite so he shuttled between here and Osgiliath twice. They had to rent a wharfside go-down near his compound to store the bits and pieces Teldamir was ordering. Tumlen stayed busy with that and also managed to find a husband and wife Dwarf team of cook and tusdar (houseman in the common tongue) for the Engineers. They traveled with them between here and at the waterfall to make their lives easier. There were still quite a few Longbeards who lived abroad with men. Not all of Durin’s folk loved caves.

Party day arrived. It was accounted a great success. A scholar of parties would explain that Nag Kath’s events went well because everyone was a friend. Fifth-level galas never had Dwarves singing Syndolan songs or Hobbits dancing with tall folk. Tal and Ecc came and danced themselves. She tall and elegant, he short and muscular. They cut a fine figure together. Ectilla came with them and talked with Tim and Marie most of the night.

Rosscranith and his bride came. He knew these events from Dale and would not have missed it. His mission here would end next summer but he expected to have his term renewed. Could he take any messages back home with him? 

The King set off fireworks at nine so everyone walked outside to watch. All agreed they were a sight to see. Nag Kath wished he had learned more about Gandalf’s craft in Orthanc. He had seen the best and last of the green and silver rockets in Middle-earth. Part of Mr. Fobe’s service was a crew of cleaners the next morning. The damage was not so bad. White City revelers were easier on plates than Dalelanders. Nag Kath drank his tea and flexed his toes in the rug. Another year had started.

Nag Kath wondered what he had gotten himself into. Cooperation seemed an excellent idea when the King and Prince surprised him with armed troops. It still seemed so. This was a noble project. It was too late to bow-out now. He began to understand the value of his gifts. They were still weak and ill-defined but save Radagast, he might be the last creature in Middle-Earth who could tell the water was no longer tainted by Mordor. How many years of poxes and plagues would have passed for someone to take that risk?

_____________--------______________

Spring of year two, year 22 of the Fourth Age, saw the aqueduct start in earnest. Dwarf Master Thurgin and his assistant Fordosh spent most of their time at the comfortable outpost below the waterfall and seemed to like it. Oddly, they did not drink much beer there, though what they did in Osgiliath was their business. 

Granthor Teldamir shuttled between Osgiliath and Minas Tirith. His job was to see how much this would cost in time and money. If it was approved, he would have primary financial stewardship. That looked increasingly likely. King Elessar had ordered Minas Morgul torn to rubble. He could find the men to bring clean water. Finenbrad’s surveyors worked through the winter when possible. Certand was the fellow who had done this before so he became the supervisor. They added three former soldiers to make camp, cook and leave them free to spot elevations. In the summer they split into two crews. 

Everyone thought of the project as three parts. The long span in the middle was easier since the aqueduct could follow the river until it veered south of the city. There were hills but no mountains or valleys. The surveyors set their heights from the rock and worked back towards the waterfall. The hard parts would be either end. Dead level from the top of the rock to the Anduin was about three miles. That span would have to be raised above the flood plain where the river veered more southerly. Fortunately, materials could be barged along the Neussan from wherever they were found. The prevailing design was to run the chute supported by arches like a bridge. To the east, rock had to be moved to get the waterfall pool to dump on the west face. From there it would have to be routed down another three hundred feet fairly quickly to reach the level of the road. The Dwarves were working on that. Nag Kath spent most of his time with them since they would leave before the work at the waterfall started.

Most of year two was spent making it easy for year three. The main road was reinforced with a frontage along the river to teams of horses could pull barges upstream. Spur roads were built from docks sunk into the Nuessan. Logs were cut in Cair Andros and floated down for camps, storehouses, barges and supports. Livestock was raised and penned along the route. Grain was moved to storehouses. Vegetables were prized so many folk in Osgiliath and Ithilien raised them as a cash crop. Farmers clamored for property along the formerly cursed river which came with a provision that some of the food was for the water-men.

Nag Kath’s idea of a private residence in Osgiliath was doomed from the start. It was just more space for everyone coming and going. He took his waking rest in a chair. There were never less than five horses in the stable. Once a month he was in Minas Tirith to consult with Teldamir or, occasionally, the King, including in August when the Dwarf Engineers went home. Aragorn held a banquet in their honor and proclaimed them heroes of his realm. Nag Kath was proud to call them friends.

In mid-October, posts had been driven every quarter mile for the entire length and marked for height. They knew where the aqueduct was going to go. With the first snow, Nag Kath was ready for a break. For all his supposed influence from air-wizard Saruman, he was a poor reader of weather. Men with sore knees were more reliable. Old knees were predicting a storm so he went to Minas Tirith to relax. And yes, Mr. Fobe would be glad to organize this year’s Syndolan Eve party. 

In preparing, Nag Kath hired Deltra who worked every day before the gala cleaning and cooking. After that, she came twice a week or when he was in town. Nag Kath also saw friends. All of them played matchmaker. He did not have the time or attention for that, though he did appreciate their thinking of him. One of his special treasures were letters from Brenen and Ardatha. The news did not change much but he read them many times and usually replied the same day.

In March of year three, Nag Kath met Teldamir for lunch with Mr. Tallazh. Somehow the Elf thought that Lords Aragorn and Faramir would consider the feasibility of the project and then decide whether to proceed. Everyone but Nag Kath knew the King would see it through as soon as he saw the Elf glowing silver in the suspect river. At Nag Kath’s count, he had spent ninety three Florin, not including the houses and other personal things after being reimbursed by the crown for the Farantie rock easement. 

Spring was mild this year. The trouble with mild springs is those are the years that tend to flood with snow melt. A fever broke out in April that killed three hundred in Osgiliath and sickened many more. Not many water men were working close to the city and they got their water from the Nuessan, but most of them knew someone who was ill or worse. Nag Kath spent the first two months healing until he collapsed. It was a harsh reminder of how important this work was.

When the fever abated, it was time to move dirt. Two Mûmikils and their birth-handlers marched along the eastern side of the Anduin. These beasts were females, much smaller than the males seen a generation ago and less likely to rages. Each of them had ten dedicated men to feed, house, clean and watch them at all times. Another eighty Haradrim came with them as laborers. 

Several thousand citizens of the White City lined the western bank to watch their progress. It seemed the rare beasts were from the deep south of the country while the east produced the soldiers. In the dark days, the Easterlings demanded Mûmikils as tribute. These days, southern men made their own deals. 

The huge animals’ primary job this year was loading and storing materials coming upriver in a steady stream of barges or sailing craft. A large supply of the soil that can be mixed with gravel and water for mortar was sent from the desert. That had to be kept dry. By late May, almost five hundred men were toiling between Osgiliath and the Morgul Vale. Haradrim worked separately from the men of Gondor but when they crossed paths, they got along. Very few of either folk were old enough to remember much about the war.

Heinieth now had four primary assistants who were that in name only. They had their own area to work and enough authority to only need to meet about every other week at alternating sites. Vensin Xangorand was the Engineer in charge of the main line between the city and the source. Since this was the flattest and closest to both the road and the river, he built a trial trench of three hundred feet using different design, build techniques and materials. 

There were five possibilities. Nag Kath did not know there was a bet when he was called to choose. Everyone’s favorite was a lackluster third and a dark-horse invented by one of the diggers was selected. It was said up to three Florin changed hands that day. The digger got a bonus and a promotion.

In August the Mûmikils were reassigned to start carrying logs from the river along the route. Their handlers fiercely protected them and insisted they not be overloaded. They effortlessly dragged several trees at a time and never seemed to mind. It took a crew of ten just to bring them fodder and other things they liked to eat. Gondorans spoiled them with carrots or other roots found in the digging.

Winter seemed to be coming early this year if old knees are reliable. The Haradrim had intended to return south and come back in spring but thought better of it when camps were built with stoves and good food. For many men of both the west and south, this was better than home. About a hundred Gondorans stayed in camp as well. Most of the rest lived in Osgiliath or Minas Tirith and would not have far to travel. 

Year four, year 24 of the Fourth Age, was dry with no serious disease and good footing. In late April, two more Mumikils were brought with their crew of ten men each. Thinking the war far enough past, King Elessar had them visit the White City. Some folk hid under their beds but the children were delighted to offer them hay that the creatures accepted with their tactile noses. 

Nag Kath plied the road between the city and the waterfall and also spent time with Teldamir. Special items had to be brought or made now that they had a better idea of quantity and size. He would also spend some days just working in the sun on the most basic tasks to give him a feel for the pace. 

It was time to start working west from Farantie Rock. Engineer Forshbrand had an idea to erect stone pillars every twenty feet and build an arched wooden frame between them. Men on scaffolds then mortared rocks in place to form the permanent arch with keystones and build courses up to form the water chute. He built five of them and then moved the wood under the first to the sixth. It was slow and dangerous at first but by the end of the season they could add a pillar every two days. 

There were problems too. A landslide killed four men and injured a dozen. Prince Faramir came to console the wounded and give cheer to all. It was the policy that disabled men would receive two year’s pay or the same money would go the family of those who died. Deaths were seldom but men lost hands and legs in such heavy work. These were not orcs or slaves who were worked until they dropped.

One of the more interesting meetings Nag Kath had that year was with Manager Sepulvath and representatives of West Osgiliath. Their difficulty was that the water would have to cross the river lower than the bridge, low enough that it would be hit by ship masts. They decided on a plan to attach an open metal chute to the bridge with a draw arm to raise it at the center arch at certain times or when a ship came along willing to pay a toll. The supply for the west would be the middle of three arms splaying from the rock. Crews were already surveying those paths for both smaller arches and large stone holding tanks for pressure and to strain out sediment.

Towards the end of year four, Nag Kath had turned over most of the work to the engineers. Architecture was now more adjustments to designs in progress than new work. He still had to finish the waterfall designs. Master Thurgen had done that but the exact measurements would depend on how high the trench actually made it up the hill.

That gave Nag Kath more time in Minas Tirith …

… which changed his life considerably.


	16. Florice

** _Chapter 16_ **

** _Florice_ **

His friends were sure he needed a woman. He probably did. He just had not tried. Tal invited him to tea at a fashionable restaurant on the fifth level. They did this perhaps twice a year and he was in town at the right time.

When he arrived he saw Tal and Florice Murgrander had already been served. Mr. Murgrander was not included. He remembered Florice as attractive but with a second look she was stunning; tall, blonde, late twenties. She could have been an Elf but for a small scar on her chin that would have healed. As he joined them, Tal said, “Nag Kath, you remember Flor Murgrandar, don’t you?”

“Certainly. It is nice to see you, Mrs. Murgrander.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Kath.”

“Please, just Nag Kath.”

“All right, if you call me Flor.”

Tal stage-managed the conversation masterfully touching on their travels, healing and bringing water to the thirsty. He said it was healing before it is needed. Very few people knew he was in charge. Tal held forth on this and that. In passing, she described someone using a derogatory Dunnish epithet for men who favor men, not something a Mrs. Murgrander of the fifth-level would be expected to recognize. Nag Kath raised his eyebrow which was answered with Tal’s impish smile. 

Completing her charade as the finger cakes arrived, the matchmaker exclaimed, “Oh my, what is the time? I must be off! Mrs. Tippi will wonder what has become of me.” She kissed Flor on the cheek and was gone.

Nag Kath wondered at the lovely Mrs. Murgrander’s complicity. He gave her the benefit of the doubt, managing to ask, “Have you known Tal and Ectilliad long?” It was inoffensive and gave him time to survey the battlefield.

“She smiled demurely and replied, “Not long before our dinner a few years ago. We met at a Syndolan party.”

“Ah, in Dale we were known for our Syndolan Eve parties. To keep the neighbors from complaining we invited them. I have them here too.”

“We?”

“I am widowed.”

She sincerely said, “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to … “

“Please, dear lady. We were speaking of gay celebrations.”

They talked for a few minutes about gatherings. Then Flor said softly, “Tal told me you met after her mourning period ended at some sort of party.” More softly, “She told me what you did for her.”

“Yes, we had to make a quick retreat but all was well in the end.”

“No, I mean what else you did for her. I …” Her nerves failed, “Perhaps I should go.”

As she started to rise he held her hand and offered comfort; “Please stay.”

After a while they walked down the switchback to his house. Thankfully he made a fire before he left. Flor was clearly distraught. He sat her on the couch and watched her wring her hands in her lap. Tal hadn’t given any hint if she had organized this tryst for the benefit of one, the other or both. Nag Kath interpreted Tal’s smile to imagine Florice took lovers or, like some ladies, had her maid help with needs. He would soon find out neither was the case. Her wedding night had not aroused her husband and she spent the last six years hoping the man would make her a woman.

Of course, his own love life was not legendary. Two women he either stayed with or tried to. Two were always temporary. Nag Kath put his arm around Flor. She cried in want and fear and shame. There was no bitterness, just loss. He let her sob. After she grew quiet, he applied a mild sleeping spell and stoked the fire before reviewing his notes at the table.

She woke at sunset saying in a small voice, “That was very kind of you. I'm told men are urgent and forceful in their passions.”

He sat next to her and held her chin in his hand. “You were not ready. I suspect you have been treated coldly. You need warmth. Tal is a woman of great warmth. She must have thought I could help.”

Flor smiled sweetly, rose elegantly and walked upstairs.

Nag Kath stared at the ceiling. Oh Talereth, are you giggling right now? Flor was very still but not sleeping. She was not crying either. The late nine-bell snapped him out of his reverie. Once again, the habit of not starting stupid conversations saved him. Concern about her reputation almost had him ask if she needed to return home. That could also look like he could not wait to get her out the door. He solved that by rolling over and warming her again.

At the ten-bell she asked in a little girl voice, “Do you think I am pretty?”

“Very pretty.”

She thought for a moment, “People have told me that and I think so too. That is why I do not understand why my husband does not find me attractive.”

Oh dear! Tal might have mentioned that not all men are interested to the perplexed Mrs. Murgrander before tea. “Flor, I should think any man would be proud to be your husband. But some men are not capable of such feelings. It is not your fault.”

Nag Kath thought she might start crying again but Flor became practical, “Father tried very hard to find me a good husband. In my family, such things were not discussed. It was a husband’s right. But da was very sick and I could not ask him.” She turned to him, “Have I been foolish, Nag Kath?”

“No. But I think you should talk to Tal again. She is very sensitive to such things. And you must protect yourself. There are those who would not approve. Must you go home?”

She bit her lip slightly before replying, “No, Hermad is in Osgiliath for a few days. He has friends there.”

Nag Kath had no doubt of that. “Then you will stay here tonight. Tomorrow morning we will go see Tal.”

After one of his camp-style egg-fries, Nag Kath walked Flor to Tal’s house. Mrs. Tippi opened the door and Nag Kath announced, “I think we’re expected.”

They were shown into the main room as the maid collected her mistress.

Tal wandered into the room with a yawn and smiled. Nag Kath gave Flor a kiss on the cheek and said cheerfully, “Tal is going to tell you all about me and men’s tastes.” Tal’s eyes widened realizing turnabout is fair play. The amorous changeling added, “I’ll be back in an hour.”

It took about that long to go to the stationer on the third level and order more of the big size of paper. When he got back, either he would collect the confused blonde and life would be different or no one would answer the door and it would have been a lovely night. For some reason he whistled the toneless trail song from Orthanc.

____________-------___________

Flor’s expression changed a dozen times in the twenty minute walk back to his house but she didn’t utter a word. Tal gave him a knowing smile when they left so he imagined the women’s conversation was thorough. Nag Kath hung her coat on the peg and went to warm the kettle. After adding more wood to the fire he joined Florice on the couch. She was sitting with her knees together and hands folded looking down. Slightly piqued she declared, “I cannot think why a man would have such thoughts.”

It was better than; ‘Tal told me you are a murderous orc.’ Nag Kath suspected Flor was smarter than she was trained to appear. Sheltered girls in Dale often seemed dim until they blossomed with the right husband. If she had been handed from a man who would not say to another who could not do, there was no guarantee anyone else filled the gaps.

Now, what would he do with her? She was gloriously beautiful, she seemed to enjoy intimacy, however delayed, and she was sitting on his couch. He had nothing to fear from any man, let alone Hermad. Did either man want her? His life was more complicated too. No, a better word was dedicated. But his own desires (and Tal’s mischievous good intentions) had placed Flor in this situation so he would protect her and be her friend until things became clearer. There was no time like the present, “Flor, has anyone has ever asked you what you want?”

Keeping her fingers locked in her lap she explained, “No. I was trained to be a good wife, keep a household and raise children. Now that does not seem possible. I will go home. Hermad is a kind man and has never beaten me. I suspect he will not mind if I leave. But I have no money of my own so I will return for now. My lady’s maid must be sore worried at the hour.”

As she rose to get her coat she said, “You have been very kind … and warm. And you are involved in this intrigue …” the thought brought an attractive smile “… not entirely of your making. I will be the better for this. Thank you for a lovely time. Goodbye, Nag Kath.”

If there was ever a time to be noble, this was it. “You can stay here, Flor. I make no demands on you. You can ask yourself what you want and have time to answer.” There, that wasn’t so hard. He added, “If you like, fetch your woman and bring her here. I have plenty of space.” He could see her weighing if that was going from the frying pan into the fire. Her face flushed a little thinking of last night. Nag Kath was not so vain as to think that would tip the scale, but there wasn’t much competition. 

She smiled, “I will go get my things and bring her with me. It is probably better if you do not help. Some mystery as to my whereabouts might be wise. When Hermad returns I will tell him my decision. That is only right and I am not afraid.” He helped her into her coat.

Flor expected her maid to be beside herself but the woman had wondered for years what took the girl so long. Cook Flula and houseman Yves would stay. Yves was seventy four and had been a Murgrander family retainer since he was sixteen. He kissed her like a daughter, certain they would see each other once this upset was behind them. She took nothing of Hermad’s or of theirs. It was a clean break. Not a strong writer, Flor tried several notes before asking Yves to explain. 

It would still take two man-carts two trips to haul her clothes and personal items. On the first round, the carters stopped at the first floor. It was unlocked so they walked into the large, empty room. In the dim sunlight, Miss Penula Börndal looked about and said, “We have work to do, my dear.” Pen was forty one and looked fifty. Retained just after the Murgrander wedding, she was devoted to her sweet girl. Nag Kath heard the noise below and walked downstairs saying, “Not much to do down here.” Then he walked outside to tell the bearers to use the next door up.

Flor introduced Penula who gave Nag Kath a suspicious but optimistic glower before following the master of the house upstairs. This floor was almost as empty but for unused furniture and sketches stuck in the wall plaster with little nails. He told the cautious lady’s maid, “We can use a woman’s touch here too.”

Ever the host, Nag Kath said, “Miss Börndal, you have a choice of rooms. There is this one here …” he walked to quarters next to the kitchen. To Penula it seemed a luxury suite. Nag Kath had the builder repeat the quarters in Dale with the kitchen stove in a common wall for warmth. It sported a comfortable mattress with a real bed under it, basin, dresser and wardrobe. To keep her from claiming it too quickly he said, “Or come upstairs.”

This room was slightly larger without a stove but got eastern light overlooking the street. The women took a quick look before he walked them one room over. “Flor, I hope this will do.” It was the guest room and as large as her sleeping quarters at home but roughly appointed. There was a door between the two rooms if used either for a maid or a child. Neither woman expected a room for Flor. Penula was under the impression her mistress was running to a handsome lover after admitting that Hermad was, well, never mind. She hoped this pretty boy wasn’t one of the same. For her part, Flor remembered being told of men’s lustful ways and she was still tender from last night. How was it possible that he would not force himself upon her? 

The man-cart pullers were anxiously waiting below until Pen told them to take her mistress’ mountains of clothes to the upstairs room and go get the rest. Mrs. Murgrander had a few kitchen items and remembrances of home or gifts Hermad gave her over the years. Nag Kath watched Flor from the balcony. She floated a little like Eniece. Was he drawn to women with Elvish qualities? They seemed to find him. He was only attracted to women who were attracted to him. That was Elvish. At times she reminded him of the statues in Rivendell. Elves always chiseled the same face on their Quenda. Humans have more expressions.

Miss Börndal immediately became the organizer of all things. The second man-cart loads were placed with military precision. When later that night it was apparent Flor would only need her quarters to store dresses. Penula took the room downstairs with the stove in the wall. 

Nag Kath hadn’t thought this out with his usual deliberation. Penula was a fifth-level lady’s maid, which did not include hauling firewood in from the street vendors or edible meals. Flor could cook a little if you didn’t mind eating meat every night. Cook Deltra returned two days later after caring for her valetudinarian sister. A married woman with two grown children, she did not want to live-in full-time but would stay on until they could make other arrangements. Nag Kath slipped her a couple silvers to ease her retirement.

It was time to work. He sat with Flor at the dining table while Miss Börndal was shopping with Deltra. This had to be prefaced correctly. She was not a woman for hire. “Flor, I am glad you and Penula are here. It is painfully obvious we need help.” He poured a handful of silvers and nippers on the table and said, “I would like you to keep the household. Decorate the place as you like. Don’t bother with the first floor. What you don’t spend is yours, without reservation. I said I place no demands on you and I meant it. If you find this is not what you want, you are free to go with my love. And there should be enough there to speak with a notary about ending your marriage contract with Mr. Murgrandar. I suspect he will want to keep the reasons quiet.”

Flor had never seen so much money! Her father had none. Hermad managed the finances. This must be three Florin! How was this possible? Who was this creature? Men did not do such things! None of the wives in her society were trusted with more than purse money. She tried to say ‘thank you’ but no sound came.

_____________------_____________

It was quite a week! He now had a woman he hardly knew living in his home, with her maid. Nag Kath needed to talk with Tal to see if she arranged this for diversion or permanence. First he had to put a few things to bed in Osgiliath.

When he arrived there was a stomach complaint sweeping through the city. It was more embarrassing than lethal, but a goodly number of the city crew was inconvenienced. Forshbrand was very sick and his right hand man Talfurmir was little better. He rode over to the healing district for valdish leaves. When mixed with burndey in tea and a mild spell it slowed things down. The Dalish sign at the shop across the street was still up but there was no one there. While the man was weighing the herbs, Nag Kath played the yokel by asking, “Induced healing? Whatever is that?”

The fellow looked up and grinned, “Tell me and we’ll both know. Hardly ever see the woman. That will be nine groats for both.”

Even strong tea at regular intervals takes a couple days to work so Nag Kath stayed in the barracks sidestepping men sprinting to the outhouse. The two surveyors had high fevers needing several applications to pull the heat. Word of the infirmity spread so Xangorand’s survey crew on the Neussan stayed in camp but sent word that they had the height for the gate of the chute below the waterfall. 

Nag Kath rode to them, which was appreciated. The Dwarf numbers were always contingent on having the aqueduct rise from the city since the drop from the mountain was the only end that could be changed. Thurgin estimated one hundred twenty feet from the lower pool over the first quarter mile. It was more like two hundred. That was not a problem since they could put the collection pool almost anywhere in those rocks as long as it wasn't too far down. That would be a good winter project. He was gone a week.

Arriving home was a surprise. Deltra decided her windfall of silvers was as much as she would ever need and let the Kath women choose their own help. The redoubtable Miss Börndal hired a maid/cook named Turnlie Olar. She was a hefty woman of about the same age as Penula. Fat cooks were considered auspicious. These fourth and fifth-level housekeepers kept an eye on openings and when the woman’s employer moved to the Anduin, she was not out of work two days before coming to the Kath household. The cooking smells rivaled Aleurn’s in Dale. Like most cooks, she slept in the kitchen to stay warm.

Flor was even lovelier now that she wasn’t crying. Pen and Turnlie kept the place up while Flor decorated. There were Khandian rugs on the cold floor. Sconces and candle-stands were placed where humans needed light since he hardly needed any light at all. Their bed had a very cozy comforter. She had even purchased a perforated copper box to hold flowers and scents for the privy closets. Nothing was extravagant or expensive, just tasteful.

She was happy to see him and listened to his stories of hither and yon with genuine interest. As he got to know her better, he realized she had done this with Hermad. Somehow he imagined their lives completely apart. She went home four days before to talk to him. The Furrier accepted her decision but asked that the cause stated in sundering the marriage contract be shown as barrenness. She was about to protest but agreed for his sake.

Nag Kath and Flor took up where they left off upstairs with the same enthusiasm. While he was away she had overdue conversations with her older sister. Erneille Gouldson did not have her sister’ looks. Her father arranged a marriage to a prosperous cobbler on the second level. Unlike many in that situation, they fell in love and had two dear children now ten and four. Erneille had been reluctant to cause friction in her sister’s strange marriage but now that the girl was released, she gladly explained things any woman should know. Would Nag Kath like to meet them?

High hill folk seldom mix with the lower levels socially. They did in business, certainly, but not after work. She found it awkward to ask Nag Kath if she could invite them to dinner because he was known to Lords and seemed ever so important. More quietly, he was an incipient wizard. As the last living Uruk-hai, his standards weren’t as lofty as most supposed. And yes, he would love to dine with her family.

But first, they should come to the Syndolan Eve Party! Mr. Fobe was poorly, temporarily, he assured the Elf, but he would advise now that there was proper staff. Flor glowed at being named the Syndolan Neurae, or hostess. She was not a kept woman meant to stay out of sight. Flor was a respectable person whose circumstances had changed. She was here, he was glad of that, and this was probably as good a way as any to let the world know. Making the guest list was the first time he saw her leave her old life behind. Many of the people she knew were through Hermad. Until that was sorted, she would only invite those who accepted her for herself.

It was the best Syndolan Eve gala in Gondor! Nag Kath printed the lyrics to traditional songs so those not from here or of different races could sing along with the musicians. Ambassador Took, Mr. Higgenboth and their wives came along with two other Hobbit friends. There were eight Dwarves, though not at the same time. The King and Prince did not attend, even though they were always invited first. But everyone else showed-up. Pen hired a woman to help Turnlie in the kitchen making all of the finger foods. Nag Kath even convinced her to try Elvish waybread, though it was lacking essential ingredients that could not be had for love or money. With spiced chickpea spread on top, no self-respecting Elf would claim it.

Having a hostess on his arm was new to almost everyone but they weren’t surprised. These two looked like they belonged together. She and her Elf sang and danced. She brought the Hobbits the tan ale they like and sang and danced with them. Flor and Tal spent some time together leaving Ecc and Nag Kath to speak with Master Cuhndar, the Dwarf toy maker. Importantly, the host made a point of talking with Flor’s sister Erneille and her husband Waldor, dressed in their holiday best. Everyone was so nice to them! They left early so they could watch the King’s fireworks with their little ones. Flor looked very thoughtful at that notion and kissed them home.

At nine they all walked outside to watch the fireworks. The King did himself proud. The night was unseasonably warm so they stayed for the presentation and then continued inside until around eleven. In Dale you had to throw people out at the two-bell but in Gondor, folks wanted to be home by high-night.

Waving goodbye to the last, Nag Kath asked Flor, “Did your sister have a good time?”

“Yes. She does not drink spirits but enjoys good company. Thank you for letting them come.”

“They were as welcome as everyone else.”

“They left early to be with the boys for the fireworks. The young one is old enough to remember them this year.” 

Nag Kath sensed sadness in her. Walking upstairs he said, “Something is troubling you. Please tell me.”

“I felt her love for them. With Hermad I hoped to love my own. I had put that aside but it comes to me again. Please forgive me. This is my own sorrow.”

Nag Kath laid her on the bed and took her shoes off but then curled next to her still in their party clothes. He asked himself if he was being fair. She had been plucked from a difficult situation to a better one but she had not had nearly enough time to ask, let alone answer, the question of what she truly wanted. If it was babies, he could not help. She knew his relationships had not fathered them. Flor did not say another word that night.

______________------______________

He was in his chair when she woke with a lazy stretch. He joined her in bed and asked, “Did you have a good time? Everyone enjoyed meeting you.”

“Yes, I did. You know more people than I thought. Someday you must tell me about them.”

“Aye, I will. Now, you are the Syndolan Neurae. What would you like to do?”

“Seeing Erneille reminded me of a garden da used to take us for picnics on the sixth. I haven’t been since I married.” Flor wondered if she should mention her marriage but decided the Elf wouldn’t mind. He didn’t. “I should like to go there. It will be cold and all the flowers gone, but that is what I would like to do.”

“Very well. Shall we see if there is any breakfast?”

“Mmmmm, breakfast can wait.”

Dressed warmly, Nag Kath and Florice walked up the switchback to the cheater-stair leading to the fifth and then stayed on the path to the sixth gate. There were private homes here but they all belonged to people who worked for the crown or were homes for embassy staff. Most of this area was administrative offices for the governance of the realm. On Syndolan Day it was deserted. The gate was open but the sentries were in the kiosk around the little stove. One of them recognized Nag Kath and waved them through. Flor thought they were just being friendly.

Her little garden had pleasant shrubs arranged in a star pattern. It had a view to the north. They walked the path to stay warm and had turned to leave when they heard the clatter of hooves. The gate to the seventh opened and two riders trotted out looking over the only large flat area on this level. Nag Kath recognized them as the vans of the King’s personal guard. 

Aragorn was coming.

Two more riders emerged and then a group of six with the King in front. Flor froze until her man said, “Bow, just like me.” She did. 

At the Lord’s signal, the company stopped a hundred feet away with him approaching alone. The commoners bowed again and Aragorn said, “Nag Kath, my friend. What brings you out here on this cold day?”

That was the first time the King had called him friend. His friend replied, “We came to see the garden. Sire, may I present Mrs. Florice Murgrander, nee Gouldson. Flor, this is King Elessar Telcontar.”

The King bowed from his horse and said, “It is a pleasure, Mrs. Murgrander. Any relation to Horald Gouldson of the fifth foot?”

Flor was not used to addressing royal persons generally and not ones who knew her family, but she had been trained to maintain her composure, “Indeed, My Lord. He was my father.”

“He was a brave man and we are a great nation for men like him.”

Flor flushed visibly and said softly, “Thank you, Sire.”

Then, to his lady’s abject horror, Nag Kath joked, “You missed quite a party!”

“What, again?! I had a little gathering myself.”

“I should say. The fireworks were exceptional this year.”

Aragorn considered that and asked, “I don’t suppose Gandalf told you how to make those green ones in Orthanc?”

“Nay, just the little troll bombs. He thought the red Nazgul were his crowning achievement. I need to tell you about those. We had many guests. Where else does one find Hobbits dancing and Dwarves singing Syndolan songs? On a more practical note; I got the measurements for Lord Gimli’s cascade last week.”

The King rubbed his chin in famous fashion and said, “Good. Come by on Thursday and let me know how that is going. Mrs. Murgrander, I hope we see more of you.” Both of them bowed as Aragorn waved his troop up and joined the vans at the sixth gate.

Walking back down the hill Flor was agitated and kept looking at Nag Kath before finally blurting, “You chide our liege for not coming to our party?!”

“Someone has to.”

That took a moment to register. Then a smile bloomed on her face followed by a ladylike giggle. They never teach these society women how to laugh correctly.

____________-------____________

Year five started much like year four. The crew working on the main trench continued as they had. The men closer to Osgiliath kept a steady pace of pillars and arches towards the rock. They should nearly be there by winter. Now it was time to bring the water down the mountain. 

The extra distance to move the water was trickier than just tossing a rock down the hill. They had to get a sizeable flow from the south side of the mountain to the west. Most of the way it would do that on its own but in a few places, the natural course was back to the Neussan. This was rock work men could do but more thinking was needed as well. A hundred experienced laborers were "borrowed" from the main line and a hundred new men got in each others’ way replacing them. First they rocked-in a chute through the crags. Some was natural. Some needed mortared sides. It would take them the rest of the building season. 

Nag Kath was away from Minas Tirith more than he had been since year two, mostly at the mountain. He got home every couple weeks for a few days, sometimes longer. Flor was settling in. When he was home they enjoyed each other’s company. This year that included the Feast of Tellarian. He and Flor joined Tim and Marie at the same building as his first Feast. The place had changed hands, décor and clientele several times since then but the mood was the same on this festive day. And just as before, a beautiful woman took him by the arm for an evening of enchantment. They occasionally visited private dance clubs near Flor’s old home. She was learning to relax. It took her a while to realize that Nag Kath demanded nothing of her. She wasn’t sure she liked that. Their intimacy was voluntary and enjoyed. Flor was starting to see friends from the fifth. In Dale, the Elf was called a Marrying-Man since he enjoyed that state. This was close. Years of constant work and solitude were melting the walls he built around himself after losing Eniece. He owed that to his new woman. 

Four days after the Feast, a letter arrived for her at his home. It was from the notary. The terms of the separation were explained and if she would sign it, the document would be registered by the city clerk.

Divorces were much easier here than in Dale where separations needed a public stating of cause why the solemn agreement was sundered, something to do with the Northman clan customs. Here, the parties only had to understand their rights. In this case, there were none. She made no claim and he had no dowry to return. Most folk had no paperwork at all. This was only needed if the marriage had been registered and because in this land, women could own property.

Flor was not quite sure how she felt about that. Her life had been dedicated to marriage, any marriage. She was free. That had never been part of the path. They cuddled on the couch and Nag Kath asked her again what she wanted. He was not sure if the tears were of relief or trepidation. Nag Kath never knew how women could cry and smile at the same time. Regaining her composure she said she wanted to stay.

Nag Kath held his chin in the most kingly of manners and said slowly, “Then I would very much like you to become my wife.” She nodded and cried some more.

_____________------_____________

There wasn’t much reason to wait. He suggested his Dale model of a small ceremony followed by a party they could leave anytime. Fifth-level ladies know all the wedding planners and she had to choose one to the disappointment of the rest. Attractive couples with money were not the norm. Tim was drafted as Groom’s Man and Tal was Flor’s Bride’s Sayer. Magister Súvien pronounced them man and wife and it was done. They slipped out the hall before the third cask was tapped.

He was away most of the next two months but then he hit a lull. Everyone was doing what they were supposed to. Except for overnight trips to Osgiliath, he spent his time with his new wife. Sometimes they went to the dance clubs near her old home. She liked that very much and was well coordinated. 

Unfortunately, that earned her riding lessons. She had never been on a horse in her life. They frightened her with their bulk and huge eyes. He appreciated that but eventually they would travel so this was not negotiable. Minas Tirith was big enough to have one female instructor who specialized in teaching sidesaddle and astride to women of station. And just as with Eniece, Flor came home sore and accepted his healing of tender areas but that got him no further.

Nag Kath started exercising again. Once or twice a week when he was home, he would run or ride to the archery range on the Pelennor. It was on a barren little patch of ground so far from the gates that only a fool would get behind the straw sheaves. Militia training had ended a month before but the best men stayed sharp. His skill was appreciated, especially when he emptied half his quiver in seconds. Several Lieutenants said if he was in town he should join them for next year’s practice.

Regalid had some admirers too. A Captain of Horse trotted by when he was shooting and called, “That is a handsome mount. Is he from Lossanarch?”

“Nay, Captain. I got him in Dale and owned his father too. He is mostly Rohan working lines with some of the local breeds mixed in along the way.”

The Captain drawled loud enough to be heard, “Well, I am sure these fellow are trying to enlist you in their company, but if you would prefer to raise your sights above lowly archers, be sure to speak with Lieutenant Galveese about the Fourth Mounted Lancers!”

That got the Captain some comparisons with the back of his horse from stout men of the bow. It was all in good humor and the cavalryman rode back to join his troop with a wave. On the same day next week, a party of riders cantered across the plain. Two of them peeled-off and approached the archers who were returning from the targets and trading coins after measuring hits. Captain Bessandol recognized Regalid and brought his King over for a look. Archers bowed and waited.

“Ah, Nag Kath. I hope you aren’t fleecing these poor fellows!”

“Nay, Sire. They won’t bet me.”

“That shows they are both brave and wise.” A compliment to the fighters and they appreciated it. “Please, good fellows, attend your practice. We are the safer for it.” The men bowed, smiled and went back to the draw line with winks and nods for the next round of wagers.

The King swung in the saddle and said, “Captain, this is the man who brings fresh water to your people in Osgiliath.” Back to Nag Kath he commented, “A Dalish horse. He is a beauty. Fiori here is also mostly Rohirric stock.” Changing his tone slightly so as not aggregate beauties, “And how is the lovely Mrs. Mac … forgive me, the woman in the garden?”

“She is now Mrs. Kath, My Lord.”

The King grinned and said, “That is splendid. Why don’t you bring her to the palace on Thursday for lunch?”

“We would be honored, Sire.”

After a few more light comments and bows, Captain and King rode back to the waiting lancers. He watched Aragorn speak briefly to one of them which was no doubt to secure his appointment and have a scribe send what the Kaths needed to know double quick.

After seeing to Regalid’s care, Nag Kath walked into his house and hung the bow and quiver on their pegs away from the sunlight. Then he gave his bride a hug and asked, “What are you doing on Thursday?”

“Denielle and I are going to look at the new laces in from Rohan. Those ladies are so clever.”

“You might want to put that off a day. The King invited us to lunch.”

Flor made a face like the whisker-fish when they are taken from the water. That was followed by a pair of blinks and a dozen questions asked at great speed about where, when, who and other things he did not know. He did know they would receive instruction, probably by the end of the day, outlining everything she asked. The kitchen, which should have been noisy preparing the evening meal, was silent as the depths, no doubt with ears straining to hear the slightest sound from the main room.

To answer one of her questions, Nag Kath casually offered, “Oh just any old dress, I suppose. It is only lunch.” There was no possibility a new garment could be made that fast, but like even the highest ladies of the land, her dresses were designed to be re-cut and resewn several times for fit and occasion. Nag Kath thought she looked stunning in anything she wore.

Two hours later, the house was still dead quiet with Nag Kath doodling some water contraption and Flor at the same table with forks and spoons three wide on both sides of a plate trying to remember which was used for which food. Occasionally she would look up at her useless husband, sigh and return to the place setting. Just when she was ready to burst, there was a knock. Pen was at the door like a duck on a hurn beetle. She handed the lady of the house a letter, addressed to Mrs. Kath, with the royal protocol for Thursday which answered every question she hurled at her insouciant orc.

Flor was a slow reader and read it three times before saying, “You knew this was coming, didn’t you?”

Without looking up from his sketch, and with a face that the finest Dukks players show when they are cards of power in the dragon suit, he grunted, “If it is the Groather boy, I am still happy with Troxald's leathers.”

Pen stood by Florice like Nag Kath used to when he had given an Uruk Captain orders from above in case there were questions or excuses. The women looked at each other and shook their heads.

____________------____________

The man-cart was waived through to a palace side entrance. Flor had never been inside and only outside for occasional music or dance exhibitions. An attendant took them to the private room and made them comfortable. Their Highnesses arrived a few minutes later and allowed the Kath’s time to rise and bow before all four took their places.

Arwen always impressed. She could not make a bad face. Elves are hard to read. They might be able to tell plain as day among themselves. He would never gamble with them. The King aged very slowly but he had a few more gray hairs. It seemed odd for the most famous Man and Elf couple to be sitting with the exact opposite pairing.

Aragorn opened with, “Thank you for coming, and congratulations on your marriage. Mrs. Kath, may I present my Lady Wife, Queen Arwen Undómiel.”

Flor had gotten over her nerves and replied, “I am pleased to meet your Highnesses. Thank you for your invitation.”

Arwen calmed, “You are most welcome. My husband wanted to thank Nag Kath for his vision of bringing bring fresh water from the mountains.” Turning to Nag Kath she added, “I understand the work is going well.”

He rejoined, “Thank you, My Lady. It has gone well, although it is hard to judge day-by-day.”

Arwen actually seemed friendly, “I would be interested to learn how you shone like a silver statue standing in the river.”

“Ah, that! I was given a gift from the Wild Huntsman of Dunland in healing. Different races and humors have their own colors. Dark forces show as greenish black. Years ago I tested rivulets in Mirkwood and found two bad ones. The Neussan showed almost clean and the headwater stream was pure. So did the flow from Minas Morgul.”

Flor asked him, “You turned color?”

“Yes, but just my own.”

She would pursue that later and turned to both of her hosts, “Nag Kath told me you are both healers as well. Sire, you helped my father recover from wounds after Morannon. He always thought kindly of your aid.”

“We were fortunate to have his courage in the line.” That made Flor very proud. Da had to resign his commission because of those wounds. She had never heard him praised as a warrior.

They talked about this and that. Nag Kath was glad to see Flor hold her own with grace and humor. As dessert was served, the King admitted, “I need to return to a little business, Nag Kath. You said you saw Radagast a few years back. Is he still in western Mirkwood?”

“He was then, Sire, but he expected to be out and about through the forest.”

“Is that how you would find him?”

Nag Kath replied, “Aye. He decides if and when to appear. I waited better than a week in the same camp. He would have been watching me for some of that. We know each other better now and he bade me welcome again.”

“I may need you to try in the spring. We have seen some old troubles that may fall to his talents, a malady of the mind.”

The women were dead quiet, Arwen expecting this and Flor out of her depth. Nag Kath put his elbows on the table and leaned towards his liege asking, “Slow failing health and persons not seeming themselves?”

Arwen said levelly, “You know something.”

Nag Kath muttered, “Just a river away from old foes.” He looked to the royals and said clearly, “That is more a matter for healers than wizards. I will make a few inquiries. May I suggest we share a cup of wine with Colonel Rosscranith?”

Flor maintained perfect poise until the moment her shapely bottom hit the man-cart seat. “Nag Kath, whatever is happening?”

He said gravely, “My dear, you only know me as a mild-mannered public servant who does parlor tricks. That is how I want the world to see me. But I have been a very dangerous creature. I may have to be dangerous again.” He paused for a moment watching his breath fog in front of him. “I need to ask some questions and then go to Osgiliath for a few days. Please, do not fret. All will be well.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder as they rattled down the switchbacks. 


	17. Darkness Will Find You

** **

** _Chapter 17_ **

** **

** _Darkness Will Find You_ **

** **

The next morning, not too early, he walked to the other side of the prow and knocked on Tal’s door. Ectilla welcomed him inside saying, “I will fetch mother. Please have a seat.”

Tal was just in the kitchen and appeared before the young woman left. He kissed her hand. She asked, “How is married life?”

“Lovely, thank you. You knew, didn’t you?”

Tal waved her hand as if it was nothing, “I guessed. You were just what she needed after Hermad, poor dear.”

“Tal, I’ve got to ask about our past. Do you know of any women like Mrs. Skilleth here in Gondor?”

She made a face of concentration and then replied, “Two, one in particular. I only met her once but saw her with Rosaldi other times.” Nag Kath never knew Mrs. Skilleth even had a first name. Talareth gave her renowned eyebrow arch for, “May I ask why?”

“In Dale I fought a losing battle of wits with a witch. Reliable folk tell of similar troubles down here. These women sometimes know of each other.”

Tal asked, “Is this related to healing?”

“Barely. Mrs. Skilleth had other talents. Powers now denied Dark Lords will find those of us who can wield them. I said I would help.”

Tal said calmly, “Her name is Hürna. Healers congregate on the first level just north of the prow. Midwives are where you find them.” Her redheaded grit emerged, “Nag Kath! Don’t you kill yourself and make your pretty bride a widow!”

“I will do my best.”

Nag Kath had only wandered the first-level north of the prow a few times. This was the large market section of the city for goods that came from other lands or were made here for export. Five established herb shops were crammed along the hill side and perhaps that many more tents or booths in the open air. First Nag Kath strolled as if walking to the metal mongers just past. None of the permanent places said anything about Hürna or inductive healing. 

It was time to act stupid. Poking his head in a random door he asked an herb clerk if he new knew someone named Hurma. The man did not so Nag Kath tried the next door north. This time he got the proprietress who said, “What’s that to you young man?”

“I was told she could help me with a … a … well, it is a delicate matter.”

“Three doors further north. Sign says Herbal Remedies.”

The door was unlocked but no one was in the front. If she was good, she would know when visitors came. From the back he heard, “You’re early! Give me a moment.”

The woman came out of the back room and stopped when she saw the towering lad. Except, she knew he wasn’t a lad. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“I was told you could help me with a delicate matter.”

“Depends.”

“It always does. It sounds like you have someone coming. This can wait.”

She hardened her face and demanded, “You say what you need to.”

“Very well. My name is Nag Kath. Have you heard it?”

“Can’t say it rings a bell.”

“I was a friend of Rosaldi Skilleth. We met in Trum Dreng long ago.”

Miss or Mrs. Hürna lowered her voice, “Sit down. Tea?”

“Thank you.”

She came back with a pot and poured two mugs, offering him his choice. “She told me about you. Never thought you would be here.”

“I was reprieved. But now I need a few discreet answers. Some years back I ran across a witch in Dale, billed herself as a healer. She was casting Doureg spells on food and mind blocks among the gentry. Got clean away.”

The woman snapped, “Wasn’t me! I’ve been here my whole life!”

Nag Kath raised his palms and said, “Calm yourself, dear lady. I know that.” He thought he should be intimidating, “You would have never heard me if I thought different.” 

It didn’t work. “Rosaldi said you weren’t too bright.”

“True. Hmmm, good tea. I want to know if you know of someone, possibly from Dale, lately in Osgiliath or Dol Amroth, someone who works on contract. She wasn’t young twenty years ago if it is the same woman.”

“Not by name. But yes. Look in Osgiliath.”

Trying not to sound like a guardi Nag Kath asked, “Good with fire?”

“Probably. You go in; strike first and inquire afterwards. There might be two of them. You take care. Rose liked you more than you knew you deserved.”

“Nag Kath slid a nipper across the rough table before saying, “I might have more questions. You never heard of me.” Pausing a moment he asked, “Can you heal those spells?”

She nodded. The nipper was free so she didn’t bite it.

_____________-------_____________

The changeling collected Regalid from a post near the gate and rode to the river. They had made the trip to the Anduin many times. He stopped at the inn and left the horse at the stable before making his way to the herb district. Usually he would have found a table at a restaurant or public place and watched the door. The best he could manage here was walking into a feed store across the street and telling the lad that the tenner on the counter was his if Nag Kath could sit on a bag of seed and avoid his wife. 

No one came. No one left. After dark, there were no lights upstairs or down. Nag Kath thanked the clerk and had dinner at the inn. Dawn found him inviting himself in the healer’s back door. The smell explained the inactivity. She was sitting in a chair behind the main room, dead a month at least, so no landlord coming by to collect rent. 

He quietly looked for clues about a second sorceress. Someone had cleaned up all the obvious traces. Nag Kath sat next to the body figuring how the killer must have approached. Seeing no sign of violence he said, “You caused a lot of trouble in Dale. I wasn’t going to bring that up. Since you are dead, tell me who killed you. Take your time.”

Did the woman, probably a woman, live here or did she just work here? Only the poorest woman would take every stitch of clothing she owned so he thanked his hostess and tried not to squeak going up the stairs. Nag Kath rifled the smaller room first. It still had all of the clothes and personal items. Who was mistress here? 

The larger room had been almost cleared. There were matches, a shawl, a summer skirt and shoes with a hole worn through one of them. He thought them about the same size as Eniece’s little feet. And there was a hair, less than a foot long and dark. He would look at that in better light. Nag Kath felt a trace of power in the room but had no feel for its origin. His last stop was to look through the spices. 

It was time to act dim again. Nag Kath walked into the milliner’s next to the feed store with an obvious limp. Shuffling to the counter he whined, “Ma’am, do you know where the healer across the street went. She hain’t been there for weeks and my cure hain’t takin’.”

The woman looked at the poor lad in obvious distress and said, “Which one dear?”

Cain’t remember her name. Small, short dark hair. Sometimes wears a flowered knit scarf.”

“That’s Dierdreth. Haven’t seen her in a while. Maybe Mrs. Ingrall knows how to find her.”

Mrs. Ingrall wasn’t saying so he pulled at threads. “Dierdreth? First name or last? Oh, please forgive me, I don’t mean to beard you like this.”

“Don’t worry, young man. I don’t mind. I never knew her last name.”

He said ruefully, “I suppose it don’t matter now.” He shifted as if his groin was on fire. “Do you know if anyone else was taking her patients?”

The dear lady thought a moment and said, “You might try Saucerze, though that’s in the Florand district.” She winced at his discomfort, “Something of a walk, I’m afraid.”

“Oh bless you ma’am. I’ll go there straight away.”

Saucerze; no Northman name for sure. There was a tavern across the street from the business which sold herbs in bulk to smaller shops. Nag Kath had an early lunch with a pint and told the server to keep the change of a tenner. That bought him a window seat and a reason to be there as long as he liked. A well-dressed man left for lunch and came back an hour later. At closing time he and a younger woman locked the door and went in different directions. The sorcerer followed her. If she was involved in fell curses, she did not act guilty. The woman made her way east and climbed the back stairs of a rooming house after petting a cat near the horse trough. 

The next day at noon, Nag Kath tipped his hat to the man leaving the store for his lunch and walked inside. The woman came forward to help. She had long, curly Rohan-red hair and bigger than average feet. Nag Kath said, “Your pardon, Miss, the lady across from Dierdreth’s said this place might be able to help with my healing since she is not there.”

Again, there was no apprehension in her demeanor. The woman cleared her throat and answered, “I took a few folk when she left but that’s been a while. What ails you, young man?

“Oh, the usual. In truth, I need some answers. It seems she has ruffled some feathers in the south.”

The woman became defensive, “Then you will need to talk to Mrs. Ingrall!”

“Someone put a knife in Mrs. Ingrall’s eye.” He stretched the truth but needed to make an impression. “Unless you feel like explaining that to the guardi, I suggest you tell me what I need to know.” When a reddish complexion goes pale, only the freckles are left. By the time the proprietor returned from lunch, Nag Kath knew everything the redhead did.

Dierdreth Iburlnith took the ferry south to Pelargir and presumably from there to the Ethir Anduin. And if she was up to mischief in Dol Amroth, she would have needed a horse or a ship to get there. He figured a ship. So she had money. Nag Kath was not going to learn more in Osgiliath so he stopped in at his house if anyone needed him and then back to Minas Tirith for snuggling with Flor.

_____________-------_____________

“Thank you Sire, she is well. And good day, Colonel. Welcome back.”

Rosscranith offered his big hand and followed with, “Hello Nag Kath. His Lordship and I were just recalling old times.”

Nag Kath sat at the table in the King’s private office and folded his hands. This was his idea so he started, “Yes, there are some old ghosts come to call. I am probably not betraying any state secrets and even if so, they serve the need of friends and allies. Sire, this goes back to the time when the Colonel and I met in Dale. One of the southern Thains was under the influence of a witch and contracted with dissident Easterling mercenaries for dirty jobs. The woman was poisoning Queen Delatha with sorceries and later tried to kill the King by affecting the mind of the Thain’s daughter. The conspiracy was traced as far as one of Bard’s advisors but as far as I know …” looking at Rosscranith, “... the witch was never exposed.”

Rosscranith had no objection to the old story coming out and helped, “Indeed. My Lord Bard was able to make a lasting peace with the survivors. The Queen bore a fine son who is now heir and the Easterlings settled their internal squabbles, at least to the point that they seldom spill over the river … especially after Nag Kath here chopped the mercenaries into small pieces.”

King Elessar had not heard that part of the tale and Nag Kath did not correct the Colonel. People believe what they want. He did take the story from there, “Colonel, the witch is dead at least a month in Osgiliath, and probably at the hands of an assistant or student of even more power. The woman took a ferry down the Anduin. And now, Sire, I must ask what she has been up to.”

Aragorn was troubled. “Can either of you describe the symptoms or sorceries in the northern realm?”

Rosscranith looked at Nag Kath who was looking at the table. The Elf raised his eyes and saw it was still his turn. “In the first case, the witch was casting a spell over a common cooking spice that causes an unborn child to drain his mother. We think the counselor administered it. The Queen was very sick. I removed the bulk of the spell. Then an honest local healer made sure it was gone. At the same time, we think the witch had affected the minds of both the Thain and certainly his daughter. The young woman was conditioned to assassinate King Bard . When the first part failed the second part was doomed, but the poor girl was sore confused. Again, I healed most of the spell and the expert finished the job.”

King Elessar thought for a moment and then said, “Colonel, I am sorry to take you away from your mission but this seems to affect us all. Erchirion, second son of Prince Imrahil, has been … unwell, confused, imagining things that are not there. One might think he was just another man whose mind is taking him from the harshness of life, but he had been an exemplary knight until recently.”

Nag Kath asked, “Has he been recently treated for a more common malady?”

The King replied, “I do not know.”

Rosscranith offered, “Good point, Lord Kath. That was the pattern in Dale. The old Thain had stomach complaints and hired a healer who was secretly in the employ of one of Brand’s counselors. I would like to have put the healer you found to the question.”

Nag Kath continued that line, “Here one must both watch the knife and the hand. These women work for hard cash. My Lord, where is Erchirion in the line of succession?”

King Aragorn did not know the changeling was a lord. Smiling slightly he admitted, “Lady Arwen keeps up with such things better than me. He has an older brother who has a son and a younger brother as well. His sister is the Queen of Rohan.”

The Colonel took it like a terrier, “Please tell me if this is out of my purview but it would seem the older boy is the target. Does the afflicted man have children of his own?”

The King shook his head, “I cannot say, but we can discover that directly.” He rang a small bell on the table and the attendant walked in. “Please have Scribe Ostlieth attend us.” The attendant walked outside and only a few moments later a small man with a confusion of sandy hair stepped in with his folio and bowed. Aragorn asked him, “Does Lord Erchirion have children?”

Ostilieth was the keeper of facts, the memory of the land. “Two teenage daughters. I sent them hairpins in your Highness’ names for their birthdays this year, Sire.”

“As always, thank you.” The man bowed and left.

Nag Kath looked to the Colonel and said, “Whatever happened to the girl from Nauthauja? I lost track after the upset.”

Rosscranith thought back and replied, “I think she moved to Belfalas.”

___________-------___________

It was time to visit Mrs. Hürna again. In very sober dress and with one of his brim hats he walked down to the first level for herbs. The woman was in the front of the shop helping a midwife from the middle-levels restock her supplies. Nag Kath waited patiently.

“So you’re back. Thought you might be. Find anything interesting?”

“Indeed, Mrs. Hürna. You were right on a pair of points. It was Osgiliath, a Mrs. Ingralls, now dead as fall leaves. She had someone working with her who left town in a hurry, I think downriver. I suppose I should ask; are you available for longer-term consulting?”

“Ha! What do you think? I reduced a goiter last week that had me spewing for two days. Not as young as I used to be. Rose said you could just fling ‘em off.”

Nag Kath included that in his main line of inquiry, “I am out of practice. And I never developed my sorceries. Let me tell you a story.” He explained what happened in Dale with particular detail on the Lostorin poisoning and confusion. That included his well-meant but fumbling counter-spells. “And now, similar trouble is brewing in Belfalas. I have been asked to explore options.”

“One of these days maybe you’ll tell me what you are. In the meantime, what is this to me?”

In his best Elf-Lord face, Nag Kath leaned forward and offered, “Help me and you will retire in style. It means travel, hard choices and nobody knows nothing. Here is a Florin on faith.”

She had not seen a real gold Florin in years. It would buy the store with everything in it and she still could not make change. Nag Kath continued, “Give me a few days to get what I need and then we will take the ferry to the Ethir Anduin. From there we sail to Dol Amroth. Do you know anyone in your line there?”

“Probably not. What do I need?”

“I think you had better assume that the remedies you use cannot be had there. Get nice clothes and something to suggest you are a retired widow-woman from the dullest trade anyone would be sorry they asked. I will arrange transportation.”

“Do you know what you’re gotten into Nag Kath?”

“Not yet.”

_____________-------_____________

Flor was upset that he had to leave for so long. And she knew it was dangerous. He must float down the great river and take a ship to the other side of Belfalas. But she would be dutiful and keep his house while she waited. 

Mrs. Hürna had never ridden a horse in her life. If needed, she would not get the gradual training Nag Kath’s wives had either. They took a carriage to the dock just outside the remnants of the Rammas Echor wall. Ferries stopped here for passengers on their way to the sea from Osgiliath. Their adjoining rooms were not even as large as his privy closet. She bought matronly clothes and set herself up as the respectable wife of the late Nouram Tichbolder, purveyor of quicklime. The woman had a sense of humor. She was forty seven, thin like most healers and ‘missus’ was affected for propriety. Widows were treated better than spinsters. Talereth did not come up. Nag Kath told her about Miss Quessan in Dale. She was purely a healer and could not conjure maladies. He had not spent much time with Mrs. Skilleth whose powers would have been stronger.

She asked a lot about him. He gave her what he knew which confirmed what Rosaldie said; he did not know how dangerous he was. Most men would have lorded such abilities over their fellows for power or money. Nag Kath did not seem interested in either. She supposed that when one lives forever, there is no need to plan for the future. And he seemed to have plenty of geld for day-to-day expenses. He did show her his ability to attract small objects to him. On water that talent was stronger.

______________-------______________

Please refer to the maps: Pelargir 1665, Pelargir aerial, Belfalas and Dol Amroth city for reference. [https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8](https://imgur.com/a/mbXUOO4)

Floating to Pelargir took five days. The Ferry tied-up at little towns or piers each night. Getting back up that river would be more complicated. Prevailing breezes worked against the river but weren’t reliable. Other than the barges across Dunish rivers this was his first trip on water.

Pelargir was and always had been a critical port. For the last two hundred years it was the crown jewel for control of the Anduin and fiercely contested by Gondor and Umbar until the war. Like the barge camp on a much bigger scale, this was where the river became navigable for different craft. Deep-water keels would catch more easily on the shifting bottom upstream, though it could be done. And the shallow-hulled freight boats could be tossed like corks when they reached the sea. 

After getting rooms at an inn near the deep-water ships, Nag Kath begged a day’s grace to visit the city and see if he could find Lentaraes Maedegon. This was where his family had a granary all those years ago. Widow Tichbolder booked passage on one of the ocean vessels to Dol Amroth and did a little exploring of her own.

Pelargir was bigger than he thought. Questions and coppers changed hands until Nag Kath discovered the family still had a business on the Sirith side of the river delta. It was a good sized building. Folk brought their wheat or barley here and the Maedegon mill would grind it to flour for storage or shipment. A workman showed him to the office.

Mr. Maedegon was at home today. Would he like to try again tomorrow? Tomorrow Nag Kath would be on a ship so he asked where the home was. The foreman was not inclined to say until a tenner found his pocket. The Lentaraes he knew often had husbands or fathers in a lather so he understood the foreman’s discretion. 

The home was a mansion. He knocked and an elderly man in livery asked him to state his business. “I am Nag Kath, an old friend of Mr. Maedegon just off the ferry on the way south. Is he at home today?”

“Mr. Maedegon does not see visitors without an appointment.”

“Very wise of him. My name will either matter to him or not. I suggest you ask. I will wait here on the porch.”

Unannounced guests were seldom so cooperative so the steward nodded and closed the door. Five minutes later, he returned and told the tall stranger to follow him inside. They made their way to a pleasant room that might have been a library but for the lack of books. A minute later, Lentaraes joined him with a beaming smile.

Middle-age had not been kind. The former ladies-man had put on two stone. His black hair was thinning. Nag Kath saw the damage of alcohol on his face and thought he caught a whiff of barley under hastily chewed anise seeds. “Why Nag Kath! If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes?!” The miller nodded to the steward that he could leave and then sat down on a couch, gesturing that the Elf should do the same. “You are back! And you found me.”

“I knew your family had a business here, and Tim said you had returned. It is good to see you. I think of you often.”

“Thank you for coming. Are you staying long?”

Nag Kath shook his head, “Ruefully no. I leave tomorrow for Dol Amroth.”

“I have wondered of you as well, and glad to see you weren’t turned to a toad!”

That brought a true Nag Kath grin, “I wasn’t as banished as I thought. It has been quite a tale with wizards, Elves, demons and some fierce fighting to stay alive. Good times too. Now I am a married fellow and do architecture for Gondor.”

“They let you back, did they? Good.”

“Lentaraes, are you still painting?”

The man’s face fell a little bit, “From time to time. I’m afraid the family business has swallowed me up. And speaking of swallowed-up, can I offer you refreshment?”

“Cool tea if it is handy.”

Lentaraes pulled a rope and the steward was back within the minute. “Cool tea, Vergere.” The man was well trained. He wasn’t asked for that often. As the steward left Nag Kath saw one of his own pictures on the wall. “Ah, I had forgotten about this one.” It was a small study of a girl of about ten from above drawing figures in the dirt. Next to it was one of Lentaraes’ paintings of the third level prow-fountain. He did not see any that weren’t of Minas Tirith and he did not ask.

Dissipated was the word. The man did something he did not like and had abandoned what he loved. Barley spirits often intruded on such conflicts. Changing the subject from art, Nag Kath asked, “Now what happened to Marlett?”

“Marletta. She moved down here with me but then moved back. The river was not to her taste. You know me. Women come and go.”

The Elf said, “I moved to Dale and had a wife there for the longest time. A wasting took her. I have remarried, a woman from the White City.”

Lentaraes thought back and asked, “As long as we are asking of old, how about the brunette you were seeing?”

“Kataleese? I don’t know. As you say, they come and go.” He did not feel that way at all, but this was not the time to discuss fidelity. Nag Kath stayed for lunch and more good-natured talk but after the meal, they said everything they could have. Nag Kath had a future. Lentaraes had a past. They met in the middle with promises to see each other again.

_________________-------_________________

Back at the inn, Widow Tichbolder said she bought remedies that were fresher than her own, cheaper too. Living nearer the sea had its charms. She also bought clothes more in the style of Belfalas. Nag Kath had not considered his own entrée into the closed world of Dol Amroth. By accounts high and low, it was an ancient and hallowed place with pretensions of Numenorean and even Elvish lines. As one of the principal ports of empire, the city and region was considered a nexus of culture. Some folk were pure Dunedain, tall, proud warriors and fair ladies. New fiefs of the Reunited Kingdom now had Princes too, but this was the only Principality of old. Nag Kath had confidence in his adaptability and would sort that out when they docked. For now he had another four day journey to the river mouth and then six days at least, weather willing, to the Bay of the White Ships behind the peninsula. 

Sea travel was interesting. They had to fight the breeze on the way west by tacking back and forth making the hull strain against the sail. He spent much of the time on deck watching every move the skilled sailors made. The hardened men took a shine to the baby-faced lad and would talk to him between trimming the boom. They told him that these were mild breezes and seas but that did not stop a few passengers from being violently ill. Mrs. Hürna was green about the gills for the first two days in deep water until she applied her own healing. Once they cleared the dangerous rock islands jutting southwest, they tacked northwest well into the bay before turning right and running with the wind to the mouth of the Ringol River. But for a quarter of a mile of rock connecting the mainland, Dol Amroth was an island. All of the people lived on the Bay of the White Ships because it was protected and relatively flat. The rest of the peninsula was defended by steep cliffs descending into pounding surf. 

Their ship primarily carried cargo so they docked in the Commercial harbor quays nearest the mainland and found an inn nearby. Nag Kath’s tried-and-true method was to stay in better than average accommodations and act the curious innocent. That might be harder here. Many of the people looked like him. He still dressed and groomed himself as a man but so did they. He had been told by someone that to get information you should either talk with the lord or the dock hands. He would start low.

That night he dressed modestly and went to a sailors’ tavern near the quay. Three weeks with men of the water gave him a base course in their life. The plan was to ask a few folk about where to stay and go while his ship was under repair. He did not know how tribal these men were. Nag Kath struck up a conversation with a nut-brown fellow whose thin hair was held in a knot using mast pitch. The ale was tolerable and the quarters close as forty men huddled against the cold. 

The man was just telling Nag Kath where sea-dogs could find companionship when three louts from across the room walked over insulting the sailor’s mother, family and ship. The weather-beaten mariner never met his mother, but his ship was a thing of beauty and certainly finer than the privy buckets these dougshs bailed to keep from sinking.

A flying mug missed wildly but the punches were better aimed. Since the Elf was sitting with the man, a sailor threw a punch at him too. Very quickly, one of the three was thrown through the window and the other two just missed. Only the brown man saw the blur but everyone saw the result. Whistles sounded outside as half a dozen ribboned guardi burst into the room with truncheons ready for heads.

Sailors in the room squeezed away from the two at the end of the bar. One of the guards swaggered over to inquire who deposited their drinking companion into the Prince’s street. They knew who did it just by the way the rest of the men were keeping their distance so Nag Kath said in a voice to suggest he was just out of leading strings, “Sorry sir, they said terrible things about my mother.”

His companion would not let him take the blame alone so he added, “Called my ship goat dougsh too!”

The Guardi nodded grimly and said, “All right, you two, I know just the place to sleep this off.” They walked between the squad out the door to the local gaol. The guardi knew they were neither drunk nor at fault but they did not need to be breaking windows at tax-paying establishments either. 

Nag Kath had been in both better and worse cells. There were few gaols of mortals that could hold him if he really wanted to leave. Fourteen men were already in the single, barred room and the night was young. He would get some information and probably a bowl of gruel in the morning. His knife was confiscated but what little money he had was left in his pockets. It seemed the drunk-cell was known for Dukks games to keep the men behaved. His brown friend slid down the wall so Nag Kath did the same. “I figured you for a greenbottom, lad. But you settled those short-haulers and no error.”

“A fellow has to defend himself, eh?”

“Just so! I’m Hondrus. Pleased to meet your acquaintance.”

“Nag Solvanth. Did any of those punches land?”

“Nay, I got one in before you spoiled all the fun. Solvanth, northern name?”

Nag Kath looked at a man leering at him. These sailors get lonely. He answered, “Da got around.” It was time to get to work, “Pox is back in the Anduin. Glad to be out of there.”

Several men in the tight cell heard that. One asked, “What kind of pox?” Men of the sea often carried or just missed sickness that could devastate a community.

“They weren’t powerful sick. Made men stupid.” In here that might be splitting hairs but it would get the conversation going.

“A player at the dukks circle exclaimed, “In this town we call that ale!”

That got him some well-deserved laughs but another man, who did not look like he had been hauled in for abusing the barley, said quietly, “Word of that here, up the hill.”

Over the crush was heard; “They’s always simple!” to more laughs.

Nag Kath took control of the yarn, “What would cause a man to forget his name and purpose? It cannot come from bad water or rats in the grain.”

Everyone in the room had something to add. One said, “I hear’ed the same. I don’t think it is pox at all, some sort of sorcery!”

Before anyone else could change the subject, the beardless lad dismissed that as women’s talk. A few at the card circle took issue. They hadn’t seen the youngster throw three men across a room. “See here, boy. There are powers out there waiting. I don’t know about the Ethir, but round here, those old humors die hard.”

Chastened, Nag Kath confessed, “I have much to learn. What would a fellow do if he was confounded like that?”

A man from the end of the circle said almost to himself, “There’s them as know the old ways in the Old Town. Pretty lad like you shouldn’t ask too directly, if you take my meaning.”

“That is good counsel, my friend.”

_____________-------_____________

Nag Kath did get porridge and a family of fleas with his research. And he got his knife back too. A toy that small wasn’t worth confiscating. Mrs. Hürna admired his dedication when he returned after taking the long way here. He had a letter of introduction to Prince Imrahil but could not present it smelling like this. And there was still low work left. He made sure all the vermin went down the drain of the only bathtub on the floor.

The Old Town of Dol Amroth was old indeed. It was on the low side of a creek coming from jagged rocks ringing the outer city. These were mostly commercial buildings or apartment houses with many families. The better homes looked down from the hills. There were three of the usual healers and herb shops but they looked like they had been here a while. Mrs. Hürna was with him this time as they both felt for kindred, or other, spirits.

Almost to the Gate Town they both sensed something at the same time. She was the expert so he asked, “What is that?” 

“Power. I cannot say good or bad. Sometimes it depends on who claims it. This way.” They walked at a speed that suggested neither haste nor purpose past a warehouse with a wagon dock on the street side. A door down the feeling faded. 

The mismatched couple rounded the block coming up the other side but neither of them noticed anything. They waited until getting a few blocks towards their inn before he asked, “Any other ideas?”

“Either one person with strong powers or more with middling.”

Nag Kath needed a benchmark. “Mrs. Skilleth knew immediately that I was different. So did you and so did Gandalf. This I felt also. What is that sense?”

“Power. You said you draw from water so that is harder to tell. Air is easy. Earth somewhere near the center. Fire surprises.”

The Elf observed, “I did not feel that in you.”

“Haven’t used mine lately. But these dougshs have.”

He said practically, “I need a look in there but do not want to give myself away. Is it the people or the place?”

“People. I am no hand at throwing bad ‘uns through walls. Bring your sword.”

“In Dale, the dead witch threw fire. Gandalf worked in fire. Is there anything I need to know about that?”

They kept quiet as they collected their keys and went to his room. “Fire, eh? Doesn’t mean the younger woman got it but yes, I know fire.” Mrs. Hürna showed him a small counter-spell to deflect a burst. “Now, what is this “Fast” you talk about?” A second later he was standing beside her, “AHHHHH! Never do that again!” When her heart slowed she spat, “What was that?!”

“Birthday present from Saruman.”

“He trained you?”

“He made me.” Nag Kath asked how not to leave a trace of his own and she gave him another spell to say leaving a place. It would not kill it, but it should hide the traces among residual powers. Nag Kath realized that the witch of the capital of the world was probably the strongest left. There might be sorcerers and tricksters out in the hinterlands but that was hard work for little reward.

_____________-------_____________

By the half moon he returned to the building and slipped in the alley on the other side. The door lock was not complicated. Whoever was in here earlier could handle intruders cruelly. There could also be tripwires, both magical and real, to discourage the curious. He sensed none. These were confident villains. A single window gave him enough light to see. The large room was nearly empty but for a long table against the window wall with several small boxes of powders. He folded a sample of each into notepaper and then looked for hidden tells. There was nothing above. A cat yawned. That could be a bad sign but it was a real cat that gave him an annoyed glance before going back to sleep. He was out in fifteen minutes after almost forgetting his new spell to confuse the humors.

In morning light Mrs. Hürna looked at the powders. Two she knew as sorcerous poisons. The third was unknown. Nag Kath carefully watched her examine the contents. When they were done, he took her to a spectacle-maker and waited while the generously-compensated man crafted a pair that pinched the bridge of her nose. Those would have been unimaginable for her last month. Now they were essential. She was not so vain as to refuse. 

It was time to visit Prince Imrahil. The palace was not easy to reach. Dol Amroth was the shape of an egg dropped from waist-height. The citadel was on the plateau of an inner bluff and walled all-round. This was the finest blend of Numenorean and Elvish design Nag Kath had seen in all his travels. Part of that may have been that it hadn’t been destroyed often. He could spend a year sketching everything. Someday he might. 

Learned men might know other ways but he entered through one of the sentry posts along what was called the Prince’s Way and presented himself at the castle gate. The letter he kept in his jerkin. He gave the guard a pass card with the white tree of Gondor inlaid in chloer wood with a small, red jewel at the base. It was supposed to get him quick access to the prince. Nag Kath hoped the guard wouldn’t keep it and tell him to be off.

The man called another guard over to hold his position while he waited in the kiosk for his Sergeant to return. That took half an hour. When Sarge arrived, he stared at the pass for a moment and made the gate on the double. “Terribly sorry for your wait, sir. This is something of a climb without a horse. Shall I get one for you?”

“Nay, Sergeant. I’ll stretch my legs.” That meant the Sergeant would not ride either. The entrance started with an outer bailey on a pleasant dome of a hill leading to the inner bailey gate. Inside the second were perhaps two dozen small buildings that Nag Kath supposed were either servant homes or the craftsmen who keep the residence up. Both were less than a quarter mile combined. The Sergeant must have given a secret sign because the stockade doors opened before they got there. The long hall led to the castle itself which was an old style square with corner turrets and the keep along the cliff wall.

As he had almost every time, Nag Kath was seated on a bench while functionaries milled, sure they had their Lord’s most important task. His did. Only ten minutes later, he was shown by two guards as tall as him to a sumptuous office. The Prince was sipping cold tea. Nag Kath bowed and waited.

Prince Imrahil was cut from the same cloth as the other Numenorean descendants. He was tall, handsome, gray-eyed and looked like he could handle himself in a scrap. He also did not suffer fools gladly. Nag Kath knew he was in his early eighties, so younger than Aragorn but showing more wear. The man cleared his throat and said in a soothing voice, “How can I help my Liege?”

“I have a letter for you and a personal report to follow, My Lord.”

The man took the envelope over to a desk near the window and broke the seals. He either read slowly or read it several times. Never entirely servile, Nag Kath wondered if he might have gotten a better price for two pairs of spectacles yesterday. 

Finally, the Prince looked up and said, “It seems you are both the messenger and the message. Come sit down.” Nag Kath made himself comfortable in one of two chairs facing the desk. “You have personally seen this, this business?”

“It seems beyond coincidence.”

The Lord was not sure he wanted snooping from the White City. He and Aragorn were very close in peace and war. But like his fathers before him, the man had free reign in this majestic land. “Very well, I will assign private guards to assist you, in accordance with our laws.”

“That won’t be necessary, sir. I am here because I work quietly, without traces."

"No exceptions, young man. What will you do now?”

Nag Kath thought for a moment and said, “I understand the restaurant next to my inn cooks the blue Odar fish to perfection. I will dine there tonight and book passage home.”

The Prince was not used to being addressed thusly. Though not a man quick to anger, being sassed by a beardless boy would never do. “I think I have heard about enough. Give my respects to our liege when you return!”

The Prince’s tea mug flew across the desk into Nag Kath’s palm. He was not sure the magic would work, but since it did, he could not seem surprised. Nag Kath gazed at the surface and said, “Imagine sorcery so foul that a man’s son will cut his eyes out to escape visions that are not there.”

In his Elf Lord visage, Nag Kath looked at the shocked Prince and finished by saying, “Your friend offered you his hand. Thank you for seeing me, Your Highness.” He rose and bowed. Once out the door, Nag Kath whispered the name of the inn to the attendant.

_______________-------______________

“Well, you showed him who’s boss!” Mrs. Hürna wasn’t sure whether to be angry or pleased. She glowered at Nag Kath for the next clue.

He was philosophical, “How many times have you pulled a hangover from a man who got drunk the next night?” He looked at her seriously, “Some cannot be saved. I played my cards. We will see what he decides. Either way, you get another four Florin when we reach home. Now, are you ready for blue Odar?”

He expected a soldier. What he got was a thin man of average height and a face no one could remember five minutes later. Nag Kath knew this was a complete professional, and a very dangerous man. There wasn’t much to talk about. Mrs. Hürna was needed this time. They bowed before the Prince in a more formal hall. Nag Kath introduced his associate and Imrahil led them to a lovely small room with windows facing the sea. Tea was served as they sat. When they were alone the Prince said, “You do not play fair, Nag Kath.”

The Prince saw his first grin, “I am quite charming when you get to know me.”

“Let me hear the report I would not listen to yesterday.”

Nag Kath started with Dale long ago and brought it to the dead witch in Osgiliath. Mrs. Hürna and he then explained events since. It was rehearsed and went quickly without question or comment. The Prince then began a painful and personal story, “My second-born is a fine man, now 45 years old with a lovely wife and two girls approaching marriageable age. All three of my boys have been taught to be leaders that our people can respect. All three have made me proud.”

Prince Imrahil took a long draw of the hot tea and sighed, “Six months ago Erchirion started acting strangely. He could not remember things. He got angry over nothing, which is not like him. Two months ago it got much worse. His daughters are frightened. His company has changed as old friends are neglected.”

Mrs. Hürna gently interrupted, “Sir, was this occasioned by a more common malady for which he sought aid?”

When Nag Kath turned his head to hear the woman, the Prince saw his Elf ear for the first time. Imrahil recovered quickly and said, “I do not know. An infection on his arm was slow to heal. My family is hard to hurt. He has not mentioned it.”

Nag Kath followed with; “This is a deeply unfair question but I would like you to consider if your immediate family line failed, who are the likely successors, especially men who would act reluctant at the honor. Whoever is paying for this is already cultivating support. I don’t need to know now, but please think about it.”

The Prince nodded.

The blonde man continued, “The fellow who came today; I expect he is more useful than big, noisy soldiers. Might he serve in compliance with your laws?”

“I was right. You do not play fair.” 

When they were leaving the palace Mrs. Hürna asked, “So, we are working for Elessar of Gondor to protect the line of Dol Amroth?”

“That about sums it up.”

“I asked some questions about you before we left. You are pretending to build the water line from Mordor?”

“No, that is my day job, but a man needs hobbies.”

Mrs. Hürna thought this preposterous Elf was the very definition of the saying; ‘the best defense is a good offense’. “So, what is next?”

He smiled, “That is why you are here. Tomorrow we’re going to heal the son.” 

She said, “I can’t take a burst like I felt at that go-down.”

“I will take the worst of it. You clean up.”

“And you know how to do that?”

“Not yet.”

This creature was infuriating. Wasn’t he afraid of anything? “Assuming we live, what then?”

“Our new friend is going to lurk near that building and follow who leaves after their spell fails. Then we’re going to find their friends. There will only be a few men who could hope to step in after they kill the Prince.”

“You told me they are trying to kill his son.”

Nag Kath kept up his pace, “They are trying to control the son. You have to get rid of the heirs so the fiefdom turns to you in time of need.” At least, that was how Finrales tried in Dale.

They turned at the first sentry post along the Prince’s Way to the highest residential sector of the city called the Castle Quarter, just over the wall from the lower bailey. Nag Kath checked an address he had written on a scrap of paper and walked past it paying no attention. The home across the street and two houses down had an untrimmed garden. He knocked on the door. When no one answered, they continued down the street and then came back up the back alley to let themselves in. The home was decorated in Gondoran fashion, probably summer residents. 

Nag Kath admitted, “I have already made two mistakes. One; the second son has been afflicted for six months but Mrs. Ingrall only died three months ago at most. I failed to ask the herbalist when the younger woman left. I just assumed it was after the murder. So either Dierdreth wasn’t here for the start of the malady or she didn’t kill the old lady. She might have nothing to do with this, but we know two witches are casting doureg spells in Dol Amroth … and it’s not the flower guild.

“Second, the girl who was bewitched in Dale lives across the street and I haven't watched her. She is susceptible and the old woman probably knew she was here. Her name is Durnalath. She might have nothing to do with this either, but I’d like to see who visits. If you are wondering, I don’t think she would remember me.” He gently pushed her a few feet back. “We need to stay away from the window so the glare won’t show our shadows.”

Skilleth was wrong. This one had a mind like a bacon-slicer. He organized the last charge of the Revanthars. He was doing the same thing here. A few hours later, a rotund blonde woman came outside with a watering can to sprinkle Dalish belustra flowers in a window box. Wrong color blonde. Not dressed for the neighborhood. 

Nearer to dusk, a man-cart arrived and the lady of Nauthauja stepped out handing the puller a coin. The burly woman opened the door before she arrived but the mistress of the house stopped to sniff the balustras. She looked happy as she talked to the servant with no shuffle in her walk. When it was dark, Nag Kath and Mrs. Hürna left quietly and returned to the inn. He described how the Thain’s daughter shambled in her brother’s house and could not focus. Not the same symptoms today. He would hold her in reserve, even if only to tell her that that woman responsible for her torment and her father’s murder had gone to her reward.

________________------_______________

Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth was not looking forward to this. Mad impulses driving his son against him conflicted with his deep love of the man. Lord Erchirion pleaded indisposition, pain behind the eyes, could one of his brothers come instead? Very well, he would walk up the corridor to the meeting room. Nag Kath never let him get there. The man was boxed between guards on either end. One moment the Elf was standing forty feet away. The next he was holding the third heir’s head with both hands creating a nauseous glow on both. Lord Erchirion uttered the same wounded cry as Durnalath and collapsed on the stone floor. Nag Kath staggered slightly and leaned over putting his head near his knees. Two guards picked the stricken Lord off the floor and took him to a ready cot. Mrs. Hürna was waiting there and completed the purge with only minor discomfort. 

Forgotten, Nag Kath trudged into the room a few minutes later and looked at the folk gathered around the sleeping Lord. He slid down the polished stone wall the same way he had in the gaol a few nights before and smiled. The changeling had taken a massive blow of dark magic and passed it to earth. He had become a wizard, and he could probably throw that confusion spell himself now.

A minute after the Elf’s hands were glowing greenish silver, two women and a man scurried out the back of the warehouse like scalded dogs. The thin, nondescript guardi’s orders were to follow any male. His assistant was to stay with whoever else came out but if it came to a choice, ignore the small woman with short dark hair. She was new to town and had no friends. The man ran to ground in a fine home in the Castle Quarter overlooking the Cliffs. The woman returned to her bakery in New Port. Neither made any attempt to disguise their route. Why would they? They were regular folk in Dol Amroth.

As the Lord slept, Nag Kath unwound to his full height and touched Mrs. Hürna’s shoulder on the couch. She was not that much the worse for wear. His plan was to pick their way back to the inn before dark. An attendant approached and said rooms had been prepared at the palace and would they like something to eat or drink?

It took another week to tie loose ends. The local woman hanged herself. One might have thought she had guardi help but she was powerful enough to kill or maim the first few men through the door. Nag Kath and Hürna had a through look at her shop and home. He learned even more about casting confusion spells. She pocketed a few items and the rest was burned. An employee at the bakery kept making tasty loaves sent to Erchirion's palace quarters daily as if nothing had happened, albeit with different seasonings.

The man was Chief-of-Staff to Lord Runcïl, High Commissioner of the Magistrate, hero of the Ring War, a man with an ambitious young wife. Imrahil personally doubted he had the charisma to assume lordship but it had to happen soon or never. Runcïl was told to have an accident while guardi waited outside the door. His Chief-of-Staff was not given the option.

The small woman took more doing. Her hair was short because she wore wigs of different colors. The slight, quiet man, who was correctly never introduced, spoke with his very capable number two and they got a good description of her face. After the first sweep came-up empty, he worked with Nag Kath to draw it. It took a few tries as the man cudgeled his memory for specifics but it was her to the eyelash when it was done. Nag Kath made several copies to share with folk who help prevent crime.

Dierdreth was discovered at a modest rooming house near the center wharf. The Guardi were instructed not to take her individually. Two of them were sent flying on approach. She was of the air or water source. The witch would have done the same for the next two when a Gondor game arrow hit her in the back of the head. She could not think or speak but it still took her three days to die. On the recommendation of Mrs. Hürna, the bodies of both women were burned and the ashes scattered.

When the embers cooled, she and Nag Kath had tea in the guest quarters of the palace. Other visitors ignored them. She mused, “I see it this way. The local woman had been in his head for a while but could not maintain a strong enough grip so they contracted with the gal in Osgiliath to boost the spell, maybe Ingralls, maybe this one decided she needed a promotion. This was no suspicious old Thain or his girl child. Lord Erchirion was, and is again, a strong, capable man.”

She took a long pull now that the tea was now the right temperature and continued, “You took quite a shock. Two of them working together, in the same city.”

He modestly admitted, “I am learning. The last time I tried to use a healing spell. My wife took advantage of my suggestibility.” He smiled thinking of that. For the first time, she imagined that would have been pleasant. At bottom, Nag Kath was a nice creature. What kind she could not say, but like with Brenen, decent children can come from monsters. 

The Prince joined them as they were finishing and invited himself to sit by the low table. Mrs. Hürna had seen his son several times. Nag Kath stayed in the shadows to not be too much of a shock. Ercherion was himself again and now repairing the damage to his family. One daughter was still not sure that daddy was to be trusted. That might take time. The Prince asked, “What are your plans now that you have done this service for my people?”

Nag Kath said, “I thought to stay perhaps another week and see your beautiful city.” Mrs. Hürna felt that was a good time to recover and perhaps book more comfortable accommodations back home.

The Prince was expansive, “You will be declared a Knight and a Lady of Galador! I am sure we can arrange the proper ceremony in short order.”

“I cannot thank you enough My Lord. Would you think it insulting if I accepted this honor quietly? The King may need such service again.” 

The Prince put his forefinger alongside his nose. “What then is next?”

Nag Kath said thoughtfully, “I should visit the woman of Dale and let her know that her family has been avenged. I hope she is past that though. And then I need to get Mrs. Hürna home and fulfill our contract.”

The Prince was mildly embarrassed. He had not thought at all of compensation. Lordly folk, truly Lordly folk, do such things for duty and honor. And he was Lordly folk. Diplomatically he said, “Yes, I suppose there is that to consider. What would you ask for saving my family?”

Mrs. Hürna let Nag Kath speak since he was the paymaster, “Nothing for myself, Prince Inhrahil.” She was on the verge of shouting; ‘simpleton!' The changeling explained, “I am a Captain of Dale seconded to King Elessar. Now, Mrs. Hürna here is working for me as a contractor of light against the dark persons she foiled.”

Now she thought; oh, Nag Kath! Yes, never set the hook too soon. That gave the Prince room to maneuver. As if it was to be next out of his mouth, Lord Imrahil said, “Please do not think this demeaning, Mrs. Hürna, but the Ladyship comes with a modest ten Florin prize and a home in the city. If you feel Dol Amroth would be served by your ‘light’, you would be honored.” Runcïl’s man’s house came to mind.

“That is most gracious, My Lord. Perhaps I can give you my decision in a few days after Nag Kath and I have concluded our business?” Of course she would take it, but, as Nag Kath just showed, you never set the hook too soon.

____________-------____________

He had a chore, and not an unpleasant one. Knocking on the door instantly brought the hefty housewoman along with a tall, handsome boy to investigate. Both were smiling so he did the same, “Good morning. I am Nag Kath and I bring tidings for the lady of the house.”

That was what salesmen said when they didn’t know who lived there. This one was prettier and better-dressed than most roving tinkers so she replied, “And who would that be, sir?”

“Her name was Durnalath in Dale, though I do not know her married name here.”

That earned him barely passing marks so she showed him into the main room and went to ask if her mistress was receiving. The boy kept smiling watch on the tall stranger. “Ma’am, there is a courtly visitor from Dale, a Mr. Kaff. He asked to see you.”

Durnalath had not seen anyone from home in quite some time. She was sitting at her mirror applying creams and brushing her hair when the maid knocked. She looked up at her dear servant and said, “All right. But he has to wait a bit. It takes longer to become presentable these days.”

The maid knew it would be a long time before her mistress wasn’t presentable. The years had been very kind to the lady of Dale even though her son was now nearly a man. Ready to face the world, Durnalath slipped her arms through the sweater and greeted her guest. She did not remember him at all.

“Thank you for seeing me. May we speak privately?”

“These are my son and my dear maid. Anything you would tell me you can tell them. But please, come in and sit.” However much she wanted to listen, Agneath realized seated visitors need tea. It was always ready so she bustled back to the kitchen for a pot and mugs. 

Nag Kath sat on a rather low couch with his knees pointing up and waited to observe the forms for greeting Dalish visitors. After his tea was poured he said, “You may not remember me but I was the healer who excised the spell from you oh so many years ago in Dale.”

Durnalath stared at him hard but could not place the face. He continued, “A fellow healer completed the purge and you returned to your family, for which I am pleased. I am here because the story has finally ended. The old witch who confounded you and your father is dead, nearing three months ago in Osgiliath. Her apprentice died here this week.” 

“I do not know how you have tended these cares over the years but this may help. That is all I came to say other than to wish that your life has been fair and full.”

As he rose she said, “Please, kind sir, stay and finish your tea.”

It was still too hot to drink but it smelled delicious. Durnalath confirmed, “Yes, my life has been fair and full. Mr. Kaff, may I present my son Caladrion. He will be commissioned in the Pointe troop after militia training next fall.” Nag Kath turned and nodded his congratulations. In profile something floated to the surface, “Wait, I do remember ... it seems to me you moved in a blur, Mr. Kaff, and you have not changed a bit.”

“You might remember me from King Bard’s reception a few days before.”

“Yes, forgive me. I was not myself.” She was not embarrassed. Her son, maid and husband, now on duty, knew of her discomfiture and assigned her no blame. The conversation was boxed in a corner so Nag Kath changed the subject. “I have some liberty before leaving. Perhaps you can recommend places to visit in your fair city?”

Durnalath looked to her son who offered, “You might find White Town interesting. That is where the warships dock. Folk living there are the oldest lines in Dol Amroth, though I am afraid many of them only speak Sindarin.”

Nag Kath had a long pull of the perfect tea. “That is where we first came into the harbor?”

Caladrion told him, “Indeed, the berthage is shaped like a thumb. I would be glad to show you if you care for company.”

Nag Kath rose and reintroduced himself to get his name right when shaking hands. “I would enjoy that. Are you free tomorrow morning? I will be back at the Silver Flower later today, or I should be. I have a few things to attend first.” He then looked to the lady of Dale. “I confess; one reason I came was to see that the villains had not included you in their schemes. It seems so. Would you like to be sure?”

Durnalath did not see that coming but she was a grown woman and daughter of a fierce northern Thain. She smiled sweetly, glad of her strong son and loyal maid nearby. “Yes. What do you need?”

Nag Kath sat next to her and gently took her wrist. His hands glowed their usual silver and hers the mannish pale yellow. It was over in seconds. He smiled and said, “They are done and gone. Enjoy long life in good health.” He said goodbye and walked back to the castle to get his things and have what might be a last chat with Mrs. Hürna. 

She was sitting in the parlor of the palace guest wing with a cup of tea, now long cold. He sat down and observed, “Landed on your feet.”

“Aye. Life is strange.”

“Do you need me to see anyone or do anything when I get back?”

“Stop by the tent of Mrs. Probishar across from my shop. She has the key. It’s paid through June and she can have it till the lease is up. Send me a letter if anyone discovers how the old lady died.” Becoming much sterner, “Powers are seeking new hosts. I am stronger. You are much stronger. Those nitwits would not have been able to cast that spell twenty years ago.” More calmly, “Bring your pretty wife here to visit. This is a place for pretty folk.”

I’ll be at the inn for two more days. Send a message if we need to talk again. I am happy for you, Mrs. Hürna …”

“Tsita.”

“Tsita, it is. It looks like you have the town to yourself now.”

“Haa! I’m retiring. No more salving piles for me! I will devote myself to good causes, like myself.”

He kissed her on the forehead and collected his bag.

_____________-------____________

Young Caladrion was there at eight. Nag Kath was still sleeping a little after the intervention so he had the subaltern join him for breakfast. He was a well-read lad and proud of both Dalish and Belfalas blood. The lines were mixing lately. The Prince’s daughter was married to Eomer of Rohan. Their children would land on their feet too. Prince Faramir had taken a Rohirrim to wife. Ithilien could not hold many heirs. Goodness, his step-daughter was a Princess and he was an orc! Vast swaths of the Morthond and Ringlo river basins were filling with farmers and settlers. It was only a matter of time before they married into the purple.

After the lad inhaled his eggs they walked a long half mile along the Quayside. There were three main harbors and dozens of coves on the protected side of the peninsula. His ship docked at the Commercial Harbor claimed mostly by cargo vessels. Next was the Working Harbor which was largely fishing boats and shipwrights. Crossing an elegant bridge took them to the White Quay which was reserved for ships of war. Most of the fleet was on patrol but there were a few here for repairs or to let sailors start fights in less congenial areas of town. One ship was a large trebuchet platform. It was being scrapped for usable parts to build sleek attack vessels chasing recalcitrant Umbar pirates.

Landward was interesting too. Residences and shops were at a discreet remove from harbor business, fanning into the hills until they became too steep. These were the Prince’s closest views of his city. Peoples of Dol Amroth were comely in general but on this spit of beach they were, well, they looked a bit like Nag Kath. Tall with generally darker hair but with strong faces and more than a few were beardless. Were these the mannish half-Elven? There might even be a few Elves remaining. Blonde Caladrion fit right in. Store fronts one row deep in from the docks often had signs in both the common tongue and Sindarin or Sindarin only.

Pointing to a jeweler’s store Nag Kath asked, “Caladrion, do you speak this language?”

“Enough to get by. Some here set great store in preserving old ways. They volunteer as loyal men for the militia but with their own Lieutenant.” 

Nag Kath could tell the youngster respected their view but though them quaint. He was right. This might be time to act like a real Elf. “Do they have a library or archives in this community?”

“Aye. That’s it right there.” He pointed to a very Elvish two-story that would be trellised in flowers come spring. Dol Amroth was temperate. It was cold in Gondor and freezing in Dale right now but they were strolling with light jackets. 

With a grin that would mortify any true Elf, Nag Kath said to his guide, “Do you want to have a little fun with the keepers of the flame?”

The young man started with a smile that became a grin and a nod.

Nag Kath instructed, “Let me do the talking. And brush your hair over your ears.” They walked up the steps into a spotless lobby of fine polished stone. A tall, scholarly fellow with lank hair and spectacles was reading a book at the central desk. Nag Kath approached and said, “Good morning, sir. I would like to do brief research in your archives, if that is allowed.”

The fellow painstakingly bookmarked his place before looking up and sniffing, “The archives are for subscribers.”

“Yes, I am sure they are. But I have some haste.”

“I am sorry for your poor planning but rules are rules.”

With a face of consternation, Nag Kath turned to his young assistant so his pointed ear was exposed to the haughty librarian. In Sindarin he said softly, “Keeper Logass assured me there is still a copy left in Rivendell if these are unavailable. Perhaps Lord Fearnold can obtain it ere he sails. Can you get there in time?

Caladrion would describe this moment to his grandchildren and ad-libbed as well as a pea-under-the-walnut-shell huckster beside the mithril gate. In passable Sindarin he answered thoughtfully, “I think so, My Lord, unless the Swan Ship sets forth earlier than planned.”

“Well, that was always our risk.” Turning back to the overawed librarian, Nag Kath said, “I respect your requirements. Thank you for your time.” With that, the last of the Eldar dejectedly walked to the door.

The man rose and pleaded, “Sirs, I am granted certain discretion for unusual circumstances. Perhaps, well, can we keep this between us?”

Nag Kath appeared to consider that as if lives hung in the balance. Then in his Elf Lord voice he absolved the librarian, “Thank you. I am particularly interested in the spells of the White Council and healing humors of the Second Age.”

“Right this way.”

There wasn’t much new but one spell that made no sense in Imladris became much clearer. Nag Kath was tempted to ask if any remnants of the Nuralth were enshrined but the poor man was flummoxed already. The Elf probably could have had the Prince himself walk him down here to grant all privileges. This was better. There is a certain confidence in managing things yourself. The two blondes walked away until they were out of earshot before roaring in laughter.

“So you knew ma in Dale?”

“Didn’t know her. I met her at a party when I was investigating sorcery. She had been possessed by the dead witch on the orders of a villain on the council. Your uncle survived by the skin of his teeth.”

“Are you a real Elf?”

“Mostly, but I have always lived among men.” He grinned, “Elves would not have pulled a fast one on that poor scholar.” Slightly more seriously, “See here, I have to visit the Prince before I go. You seem a sharp fellow, should I mention you?”

Caladrion did not seem awestruck by wizardry and Elves. “My father is a Captain in the Marines and has pulled a few strings already. I don’t suppose it would hurt if you can slip it in the way you got a look at those books.”

He was a sharp one. “I will see what I can do.” At the inn they shook hands and Nag Kath said, “Use my name if you ever get to Gondor or Dale.”

Caladrion nodded and waved goodbye.

_____________--------_____________

The trip back was much the same as coming except the ship did not have to go as far out to round Belfalas. The sea was rougher. Nag Kath had gathered enough sea knowledge to help pull sail when they were broadside into the waves. The old salts were quietly impressed how fast he could get up and down the ratlines. This was the sort of ship that persons of quality traveled on in season. His bed was in what they called a stateroom and had a thick glass window. The only other passenger at this ill-advised time of year was spewing or in the privy most of the voyage so they only spoke in passing.

He stayed aboard the ferry past the Rammas dock so he could see how the aqueduct was progressing. It was about where it should be and folk were glad he was back but knew better than to ask where he had been. Nag Kath had a discreet question for the Osgiliath Gravediggers Guild. Theirs was not of the guilds that sponsored wagons in local parades but they took it seriously. Some did no digging at all. They prepared the dead for burial, arranged funerals and saw to memorial stelas with the masons. Folk with no family often left two fivers sewn into a seam to afford the nearest digger and a pine box.

The Guild member to the healing district was Elber Ghoodis. Nag Kath approached him as he was loading coffins into his shed. “Excuse me sir. I was hoping you could help me find my aunt. Her heart was failing and I was away since summer. I fear the worst. Here is her picture.” It was drawn from memory this morning but any picture of a loved one was cherished in this land.

Elber did not fit the profile of the lean, grim undertaker, more like Manager Sepulvath with fewer teeth. He looked at the picture, careful not to defile it with his fingers, “She looks dead already. Know where she lived?”

Nag Kath replied thoughtfully, “It was the building across from the feed store on Vu Addis. I don’t recall the number. 

“Hmmmm, yeah, couple months ago maybe. Pauper’s service. The city pays for those.”

“Oh, that’s terrible. She hadn’t done well but, oh, I do wish I was here.” Now for the reason he came, “Was it her heart?”

“Maybe, but her tongue was blue. Might have eaten something rotten. I’m sorry mister, she was pretty dry when they found her.”

Nag Kath handed him a fiver and said, “Where can I pay my respects?”

“Paupers take the barge to the quicklime pit outside the south wall. Not where I’d visit in those boots.”

He sent Mrs. Hurnä a letter via King’s Post.


	18. What Could Not Be

** _Chapter 18_ **

** _What Could Not Be_ **

Nag Kath commandeered a horse at his house and rode to Minas Tirith. Flor was radiant. Penula and Turnlie were just as he left them. It was too late in the day to visit the King so he took off his boots and let the females pamper him. Dinner was delicious. When they were curled on the couch, Flor said, “I am expecting.”

The changeling wasn’t sure what he was thinking before that but she had his attention now. He smiled and looked at her. She beamed. “I thought I might be just when you left but I am well along. If I count right; early July.”

“Are you well, my dear?”

“I was ill the first two months but that is past now. It must be very tame compared to your adventures.”

“Well, all is fine, but there was sorcery, intrigue, love, betrayal, all of the things that make good campfire stories. We saved the Prince’s fief and put a few old ghosts where they belong. Shouldn’t you be sleeping or knitting or something?”

She smiled sweetly, “I am fine, silly. And I am glad you are back.”

He took her upstairs and held her as she slept. This was unexpected, but certainly welcome. Talereth did not conceive but later had children. Eniece was already a mother. Nag Kath never told Florice that he could not have children; just that he hadn’t. She seemed so excited. Please, every Vala listening, let me be completely Elvish by now! 

The help were sworn to silence until the master returned. Within days, everyone in the neighborhood knew. Friends from the fifth planned a ritual where women would bring a gift and drink tea with cakes; very Hobbit-like. He settled back into his role as part-time architect and spent the first time in years sketching and painting. Nag Kath had enough of sorcery for a while. The King was at his horse farm when the ferry passed but was back now and replied to the Elf’s note to come up the following day.

“You have been away long my friend. Tell me of your time.”

Nag Kath said, “It was much like we reckoned, Sire. The local witch combined forces with one in Dol Amroth at the behest of a Lord looking to move up in the world. Lord Erchirion was saved, the villains killed and I am now a Knight of Galador. The healer I took with me stayed in high honor and your Kingship is praised. I brought this letter for you from Prince Imhrahil.” 

Aragorn looked at the seal but placed it on his side table. “You probably want to sleep for a week but I need to ask after the water.”

“All seems well. This will be the year we connect the parts”

“And you, Nag Kath? How is your lovely wife?”

“Ah, she is with child. Her count is not exact but we are thinking near the Feast of Tellarian.”

“May that be a blessed day.”

Flor was managing quite well. She would not ride but she walked the levels, only taking man-carts in poor weather. She and cook or Penula still shopped for the evening meal. Just when Nag Kath had reconciled himself to celibacy, Flor reminded him of all the ways they could enjoy themselves. She was a good ‘un. After Eniece, he was glad he could love again. He returned home as much as he could. Flor was big but kept walking in the neighborhood. Modern ladies did not always adhere to the convention of long confinement without exercise. She liked fresh air.

____________-------____________

Spring of year six called for decisions. At best speed, the water was still two building seasons away. But everyone could now see how this would work. The middle section was complete. Now they had to bring the water down from the collection pool and finish the arches into the city.

Teldamir called a meeting of the principal folk on the aqueduct. He had only done that twice before so this must be important. Long, straight stretches of the primary ditch needed curves. Splaying the supply lines from the Ferantie’s rock into the city and the bridge should start. It was time for the ironwork like grates, gates and valves. A large collection pond had been created at the right height. Now they had to reroute the stream from the waterfall. It could not have been done before now or it would soak everyone below. 

Nag Kath and Heinieth would take the source work. Heronburn had the supply to the city from Farantie’s rock. Heronburn’s new assistant would ride the line to fit the stretches. The city of West Osgiliath decided on the design that would raise the pipe like a draw bridge. Their folk would start that now. They were not as far along with preparing existing pipes but they had drinking water already. Teldamir had the approvals to make all the bits and pieces. Through all this, the Lords never once blinked about the cost.

The source work was good and bad. It was time to punch the gate in the waterfall pool to pour down the cascade. Precision was difficult and rendered moot when a large piece of the side wall broke loose and fell into the upper collection pool. A man went over with it and broke his leg on the rocks ten feet below. He had to wait two hours under a freezing torrent until his fellows could shimmy down a rope and pull him to safety. Nag Kath kept the break from festering but the man’s aqueduct career was over. The good part was that the hole was close enough to where it should be that it ran into the pool. They just couldn’t stop it.

From the other end, three smaller supply aqueducts splayed away from the Farantie’s Rock for the north, middle and southern holding tanks. After having done the big chute, the experienced crews made good time. Pillar men were always three or four arches ahead of the rocking teams. The Mûmikils were now exclusively used for dragging or carrying materials. Then they or teams of mules hauled rocks up on pulleys to the men on the scaffolds. 

On June 28th Flor went into labor. Nag Kath was there along with a midwife known to Mrs. Hürna. After four hours of pushing and panting, she presented her husband with a beautiful baby girl; ten fingers, ten toes. He held the child while the Miss Wengl cut the cord and then washed her before handing the babe to his tired wife. Was he truly free of Isengard? It seemed so. Women of Gondor, even ranking ones, seldom used nursemaids, preferring to suckle their own children. There were exceptions, but nursemaids were less common here than further south. Penula was as enthralled with the little Kath as anyone and would carry and change her any chance she got. 

After a week of being in the way, Nag Kath rode east again but returned once every week or two for a few days. The child was healthy and happy. Her da knew the best rash remedies. He would carry her around the house explaining the same things over and over in different languages. She cooed and squealed with his faces. 

By late fall they were in the final stretch. Metal forges could work through the winter. This year’s Syndolan Eve party was the same gay event as always but there were more water people in town. That meant more ale. Folk here and at parties in Osgiliath felt they were close to something that had not been done since middle-Third Age Kings. Another new thing was Nag Kath carried Helien as the early guests arrived and then took her to Mrs. Ceculdin’s house. The old woman thought parties were disgraceful, but she loved the little child. The King ordered torches lit every hundred feet along the aqueduct from the source to the city so all could see it. With the fireworks, it was quite a display. Now there was one more thing; a conversation with the Queen, to respect.

This party had honored guests. Prince Faramir and Lady Éowyn were in the city for discussions with the King. Always invited as a matter of form, they surprised all arriving in the later shift. Enough people recognized him that everyone knew in time to bow. She was as elegant as ever. He wore fine civilian clothes rather than his usual light armor. Even at 61, the Prince’s Dunedain blood kept him looking no more than middle-aged and always fit. Lady Eowyn spent most of her time talking with Flor who she had met before and liked. The Prince wandered around the home with Nag Kath who made multiple introductions to folk who suddenly forgot how to speak. 

The Elf spotted his man. Timalen and Marie were nursing cups of wine wondering how obvious they should be in this esteemed company. Nag Kath motioned them over. “My Lord, these are my oldest friends, Timalen and Marie Brushta. Tim and Marie, meet Prince Faramir. Tim, I was just about to tell the Prince of your inspired idea to build sculpture and relief carvings on some of the new water structures … to give them the dignity and beauty of works by his honored forebearers. Do you still have the sketches?”

Quastille taught Tim how to run with a lead, “Certainly. We need to make sure the measurements came in as planned, but they should be ready to present within the month.”

Prince Faramir was enthused. “Splendid! Nag Kath, you have been holding out on me.”

“Just saving the best for last, My Lord. When we started, I spoke to the Lady Arwen about using Elvish elements.” Oh how he hated that term. “Now we have a Dwarvish start and an Elvish middle. I say; let us honor the people of Gondor at the end!”

Prince Faramir would speak with the King the very next morning! Nag Kath gave Tim a wink. Marie did not faint. It was beneath them, of course, but the project needed a little style. And it would give Nag and Tim something to do over the winter.

__________------__________

Spring brought a flurry of activity. The original Mûmikils worked near Osgiliath. The new ones had Gimli’s Cascade. The disease season was mild. All the middle sections were connected. Osgiliath was ready first. The headwater ramp took until July. All this time, Timalen had been making the fountains, tanks and lines look nice. He had masons place the blocks and rough the shapes. Then he, his fellow sculptors of Minas Tirith, Osgiliath and a very talented man from Dol Amroth would complete the faces and hands. Both the King and Prince were featured prominently. 

As Gimli said; now it had to work. The first test was the long one from the start to the rock. There were leaks, two of them serious. It took a week to drain the system and make repairs. Then they flooded the system again and filled the holding pool on Ferantie’s rock. It worked. Manager Sepulvath kept everyone patient but they secretly ran a test stream into the northernmost city drop-tank before getting the dignitaries scheduled. That worked too, with a few leaks of its own. 

After Sepulvath reported he had flow, it was time to make the announcement. The King let Prince Faramir preside over the opening ceremony. This was his fief. Another midnight test was made to the middle line which would include the bridge when the men of the west side had completed their work. That went better than the first, but those were the newest pipes.

The big day came. The rock tank was near full. No one knew how much was enough so they would have to raise those gates gradually. The ceremony was organized the middle line main fountain. The Prince and Éowyn were there along with anyone who was anyone in Ithilien and a sizeable contingent from across the river. Mayor Yurbanad put the audience to sleep with his oratory before mercifully ringing a small bell. Men on the roof of a tall building waved a flag and the men at the middle tank raised the gate. 

It took forever. People were torn between waiting in silence for the water or listening to the mayor again. The central fountain started to sputter air and then gushed, so much that it soaked the first three rows of dignitaries. The flag men signaled to drop the gate a little. 

Osgiliath had fresh water. 

Nag Kath was watching from the wings. He was still working. But he was very proud. Gandalf said to heal. Mrs. Skilleth said the same. There would always be fevers in the low ground but not because people had to drink fouled water. Prince Faramir gave a very short, moving speech and was handed the first drink scooped from the central fountain in one of hundreds of cups fired for the occasion. After his sip, he motioned Nag Kath to come over and share. It was the sweetest water they ever tasted.

There was still a lot of work left to do but it was now in the hands men with on-going positions. They had to check the line constantly, repairing leaks and removing debris. Old underground pipes leaked too. West Osgiliath had plenty of problems with the pipe to their home but they eventually got that working. One of the nicest things that happened was that the Haradrim who had toiled so long and hard were accorded a farewell of their own. Suspected and insulted on arrival, they went home as proud men of Middle-Earth. There would be plenty of private work for those magnificent beasts too. 

There were parties and fetes and any number of events to welcome the water. Nag Kath avoided most of them. He thought he worked best behind the scenes. He also thought people would have less confidence in the water if the last dark servant was the one who pronounced it healthy. Some of that was modesty since he was well past being thought an orc. Timalen was in high demand. If mere tradesmen of Osgiliath deserved fine sculpture, the higher orders of the White City deserved no less! It was time to replace or re-cut all those old Numenoreans with broken noses.

_______________--------_______________

Late fall was lovely in Minas Tirith. Nag Kath and Flor were out and about more often. A favorite restaurant was on the fifth right by the prow. Service was good and they could keep the meat from the rest. On their way in Nag Kath noticed a blonde man staring at them. Florice was a beautiful woman so it signified nothing.

During the meal, a lout shouted drunkenly from the bar, “The child is mine! She bore my child!”

Nag Kath looked over his shoulder to see what the fuss was about. It was the man who stared at them, staring at them again. The Elf was about to throw him through the window when Flor rose and shouted back, “Go away!”

He gave as good as he got and cried, “Florice, that is my child. I have my rights!”

Nag Kath stood-up but Flor jumped in front of him and repeated, “You go away!” Diners between them sensibly made for the far walls.

The man got maudlin and whimpered, “You belong to me. That is our baby.” 

Flor held her ground but made a slip in the heat of the exchange, “Irvien, go home, you are not welcome.”

Alcohol gave him courage and he sneered at Nag Kath, “She said you could not father a babe! Her first husband likes sailors. What about you?! A real man would slay the brat! But you are no man.”

Nag Kath raised his left hand and flexed his fingers. A moment later, the blonde man flew across the room sending tables and chairs skidding in all directions. Nag Kath held him by the throat watching him feebly kick and foul himself as the air left his body. The Elf pulled him face to face and said softly, “If you ever threaten my family again, I can crush your windpipe from anywhere on earth.” Then he dropped the dougsh and looked around the room. Flor was gone. She was running back to the house but did not have the wind or shoes to make good time. She also made a wrong turn in the darkness. When she got home, the door was locked.

A husband could kill a child born of adultery. It was illegal, but men did it with impunity. Flor pounded on the door crying, “Nag Kath, please do not harm her! She is just a baby!” She rattled the door latch but it held firm so she kicked it and screamed, “Please, please do not hurt her.” When no one came, she collapsed at the threshold and cried the cry of the damned. It had all failed. There would be nothing left. She did not even notice the cold. In abject misery she leaned against the door sobbing for her dear child and the hurt she had caused.

Flor almost fell inside when Penula opened the door. She scrambled to her feet and ran inside to see Nag Kath holding Helien the way he always did. The child seemed delighted that da was home to hear her gurgling baby laughs. The changeling nodded to the Lady’s Maid who took Flor’s coat and disappeared in the kitchen.

Florice regained some composure but said through tears, “Nag Kath, please, please do not hurt her. It is not her fault.” Her lip was bleeding from biting it so hard outside pounding on the door. “That man …” She was breathing too hard to finish. “That man …”

“… is Helien’s father, yes?”

She nodded in shame but was more concerned for her child. “I did not want you to find out, not this way. You deserved better than this. When did you know?”

“I’ve always known.”

Of all the infuriating Elves! She searched for something to say when he added, “You wanted a child. I could not give you one. Your last husband could not give you one. So you found a way. See, here is my color.” The finger little Helien was clutching glowed silver. “And here is hers.” The baby’s little hand shone pale yellow. She thought it such fun and waved her arm up and down.

He said, “I’m going to get some tea. Do you want a mug?” He made for the kitchen.

She nodded with her mouth open and followed him as far as the living room. Penula was standing just inside the kitchen with Turnlie. Both were crying and now ashamed that their master would see them in such a state. He told them, “Do not worry. Turnlie, could you find us some tea?” 

Flor collapsed on the sofa. In her world, she could not imagine any man being publicly humiliated as a cuckold without violence or retribution. She would have to leave. He had every right to cast her out and keep the baby. She still had some of the money he gave her but it would not last long. Maybe her sister would take her in.

Her husband handed her the baby who instantly wanted to suckle. She opened her blouse. Nag Kath sat next to her as Turnlie placed the tea mugs on the low table and left. They listened to Helien making little smacking sounds. Flor said in utter despair, “Nag, thank you for not hurting her.”

“Flor, this is our child. She is as close as I will ever get to a child. You had the courage to create her and nurture her because you wanted her so much. I will always love her. And I will always love you. Can that be enough?”

She had to let that sink through the numbness. Could it be enough? She knew his emotions were nothing like the men of the world, but that much? He took a sip of the tea and wiggled a finger at Helien who had come up for air. “See, mama’s not crying anymore.”

The next couple days Flor walked on eggshells. Something must go wrong. Nag Kath sat at the dining table working on ramps or arches or some such thing as if nothing had happened. They slept in the same bed. He embraced her but did not go further. She wanted him desperately but dared not. Would he ever touch her again? 

On the third night Flor could not take the suspense and longing. She reached out to him. He had been waiting. Near dawn she asked meekly, “Nag, can you ever forgive me?”

“Hmmmm?”

“Can you forgive me?”

He became very grave, “Do you remember when the orcs attacked?”

That was not where this conversation was supposed to go, “A little. I was six.”

“While the battle raged I was in a cell on the second level. Every other orc in the army of Sauron was destroyed except me, every single one. By sorcery, I became what I am. When I was sent to my birthplace for judgment, I traveled with men my orcs had maimed and crippled, murdered their friends and families. I washed them when they could not help themselves. I fed them. I protected them with my bare hands because that was all I had. 

“Upon reaching their home, a great lord of Rohan gave me his sword. I had served his people. He forgave me. And every day, I am alive because someone has forgiven me for being one of the greatest monsters the world has ever known. Powers great and small have decided there should only be one of me. So when you ask if I can forgive you for bringing a precious little life into the world, I already have. I could not exist without forgiveness.”

Flor sobbed. Despite everything, Nag still seemed a boy. She never understood he could only be the way he was to escape unimaginable pain. And he loved her. And he forgave her. It was a good kind of crying until he completely ruined the mood by propping up on his elbow and asking, “You don’t plan to have more, do you?”

When Flor finally stopped laughing, she slept.

_______________-------______________

The next morning he left to visit Osgiliath and inspect the south line. There were cracks in a number of the cover tiles so someone else might have to replace all of them. He also had some unfinished business with the witches here and then had to reclaim his poor house after seven years of unwashed guests. The guests were still there.

Back three evenings later, the home felt empty. Turnlie scurried out of the kitchen and knelt before him in tears, “I’m sorry, Mr. Kath. I din’t know.”

“What is it Turnlie?

“The missus and Pen, they’re gone. Took the babe too.”

Nag Kath scanned the room. He had not admitted it to himself, or placed the chances slim, that Flor might leave. After the first flush of emotion, he calmed and said softly to Turnlie, “Come sit over here and tell me what happened.”

She never made eye contact as she sat on the couch. He took the chair beside. The poor woman’s lip would not stop trembling but she managed to say, “You’se away. Pen told me to go to the stationers north o’ the prow on the third, you’se getting an important box, she said. Said to stay there all day if I had to. So I did. Nothing came so I come home when the shop closed and they’s gone!

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Kath!”

“Any idea where they went, Turnlie?”

“No sir. But they’s bags musta been packed cause they took their things and little Helien’s too.” She sobbed and blew her nose on a handkerchief hidden in her sleeve before adding, “Musta had a wagon or man-cart. I asked Loomus out front but it wasn’t his.”

Nag Kath had much to do. First was to calm his cook. “You are in no trouble, dear Turnlie. Now, do you think you could find us a nice mug of tea?”

As the shadows grew long, Nag Kath walked down to the man-cart guild office on the first level. As usual, the place was a madhouse of men trying to squeeze one more trip out of their day. He stepped inside and told someone who looked like he worked there that he needed to see Mr. Sandrous, right now. The fellow looked up at the towering Lord and said, “This way.”

Sandrous was in the back talking to a wheel-wright when his junior man walked up and nodded towards Nag Kath. He had never met the Elf but there could be no doubt this was the creature of local legend. He shook his hand and invited him to walk out in the yard for privacy, “What can I do for you, sir?”

“An attractive blonde woman, a toddler and a lady’s maid left the fourth, south of the prow on Wednesday. It would have taken at least two carts to move their things. I need to talk with whoever pulled them. The pullers are in no trouble.” Nag Kath handed Sandrous a nipper and a card. “There’s more for the men. We keep this quiet.”

That was an exorbitant bribe. And if the reputation of the Elf was half true, much better than being flung across a room and choked. Sandrous, a hard man in a hard business, said levelly, “If they left in a man-cart, I’ll find out. If not, I have a few friends drives pony wagons on the switchbacks. Private carts; can’t help ya.”

The next morning came a knock. Turnlie answered it with Nag Kath standing behind her. Without preamble, a grizzled fellow in woolens said, “Sandrous told me you wanted a word.”

“Come in. What’s your name?”

“Willigs, sir.” Man-carter Willigs was seldom invited inside but he respectfully took off his cap as he looked about the room. Nag Kath pointed to a chair and they both sat down. A wink to Turnlie brought tea. The Elf said, “A tall blonde woman with a child and her maid left here three days ago, maybe from this house. What do you know about that?”

“It was this house. My son and I carried their bags and the old woman. Then I came back for the mother and child and a few other things.”

The Elf asked, “Where did you take them?”

“Just off the gate where the wagons for the Rammas dock load.”

Nag Kath followed his answer with, “Was there anyone with them?”

“No sir, not that I saw. But I’ll tell you this for nothing; there were more bags with theirs when I took the lady and babe down. Good quality. I see a lot of bags in my trade.”

Nag Kath was impressed. Residents of Minas Tirith take lowly carters for granted but they make a good living if they have the right territory. The Guild sees to interlopers. The man did not slurp his tea. “What time of day was that?”

“Near to the noon-bell by the second trip, time enough to catch the Lodestar or the Ithil Breeze downriver. Nothing rowing up that time of day.”

Nag Kath took a moment and then asked, “You seem a knowledgeable fellow. Well-dressed ladies, probably with a gentleman, which of those boats would they take?”

“Ithil Breeze. The Loadstar is a, well, not the cleanest of vessels, sir.”

“When does she put in again?”

The carter thought first and then said, “If they make for Pelargir, two weeks. Reckon two days back for every day down as to gauge the distance.”

Nag Kath walked to the dining table and got his sketch pad. Wordlessly, he sat back down and doodled for a few minutes. Willigs sat patiently. This would be worth his time. The Elf handed him the paper with quick sketches of Flor, Penula and what he remembered of the man he throttled in the restaurant saying, “When the master of that boat returns, ask what he remembers of them.” With that he handed Willigs five silvers and laid his finger along his nose. Willigs slipped the coins into his vest pocket without biting them.

______________--------_____________

He was torn. His woman had fled with his child down the river, probably with the natural father of Helien. Unlike most men, Nag Kath did not think they were his property. To follow them and make an impassioned plea or take one or both by force would only make things worse. 

Things could not be as they had been. Flor would guard their baby zealously. If it was the same man at the bar; he would cause them grief. Nag Kath guessed he probably had a little money. Did she love him or was he just for stud? Nag Kath wished he didn’t care. Then there was what he would do. The water project was in capable hands. Winter was coming. He did not have a lot on his plate, and he needed advice.

“Hullo, Mrs. Tippi. I was hoping Tal might be home.”

“Oh hello, Mr. Kath. Come in. Let me see if she is receiving.”

The cheerful Mrs. Tippi disappeared down a hall and emerged with Talereth a minute later. Tal held her hands out to be kissed and said, “Sit down.” Tea would be here shortly. The woman would be in her early fifties now. She had broadened a bit and there was gray in her hair but the flow of her movement told of fires still burning. Tal sat herself and asked, “Now what brings you out at such an unsocial hour of the day? No, first, thank you for getting Ectilla on the sculpting crew. Women usually aren’t included in that sort of work. Timalen helped her a great deal.”

“I am glad. And she did a good job. Hopefully her stock has risen among cultured eyes in Minas Tirith.” He tried the tea but it was too hot. “Tal, I need to talk about Flor. She …”

Tal interrupted, “Oh, poor dear. She has not been herself lately. Should I have a word with her?” Nag Kath said nothing. He did not have a face that was easy to read but she divined this was something else, something worse.

“She left, took Helien and Pen with her, probably with the girl’s father. It seems they took a ferry down the river when I was in the east.”

Tal closed her eyes letting let her friend's pain wash over her. Sitting with her was one of the fairest people she ever met. Floating away was a dear woman who finally had what she wanted and it wasn’t enough, or it was too much. If she knew her Elf, he was here for counsel, not sympathy.

“I wondered about the babe.”

“It was not meant to be. One Orc Six in the world is too many by some counts. I told her I was glad she had done so. I meant it, but how could she ever believe me?”

“Flor is a very traditional woman who was groomed into her first marriage. It was almost perfect. She loved you but you are no society husband.” Despite the somber mood, she smiled. Everyone loved that about Tal. “Did you really plow the dougsh through all the furniture?”

“Fraid so. That’s a new spell. I tried to squeeze his throat where he stood rather than drag him over and stink-up the restaurant.” He smiled too, “I have to work on that one.”

In sympathy she said, “I am sorry for both of you, Nag Kath. Will you seek her?”

He shook his head, “Maybe we were both trying too hard for something so simple. I will miss Helien terribly. I liked being a father. When things settle I will find her.”

She asked softly, “Will you stay, Nag Kath?”

“Through the winter. Then I will visit Dale. After that, I will see the world. I gave myself a generation of men to learn my spirit. Now, I will learn why I am here.”

She gave him a brave smile, “Then I will see you many times before you go. Please remember there are people who love you everywhere you have been. Do not forsake us.”

He kissed her forehead and walked home.

______________-------______________

Physical activity always helped Nag Kath calm his mind, and it needed much calming. He rode Regalid on the plain, shot arrows, practiced sword-play with heavy wood staves to build his control. Painting would have to wait for the right muse. 

He would attend to business as well. Nag Kath dropped in on Broughtur and Sylveth Mülto. The landlord seemed to know his trade so the Elf proposed a partnership. He would put-up a hundred Florin to purchase buildings for Kathen Properties through the bank and they could keep half the rent for managing them. That was an astonishing deal for Mülto who readily agreed. 

Nag Kath made the same offer to Tumlen who had parlayed his salary and connections into a modest operation of his own. Now a man of 22, he was ready and capable. That included his house in Osgiliath. There was even a pretty woman interested in the short, blue-eyed businessman. In this case, the changeling wondered about his usual lifespan and had the property put in a trust entailed to charity a hundred years hence if he never claimed it. That way if he disappeared for decades at a time it would not be given to heirs. There was plenty for them to share.

Against the possibility that Flor and Helien went upstream, he gave Tumlen a sketch of Flor and Penula to remind him what they looked like. Since he was here, Nag Kath took advantage of fair weather to ride out to the compound. Rotating crews of four men stayed to inspect the works from the Vale four miles west. Similar teams now stayed at the work camps. Now that the first leaks were fixed, the design worked well.

He climbed up to the waterfall and looked back at Osgiliath. The aqueduct and the road next to it was a scar across the landscape, no doubt about that. But it brought health. Such was the nature of man; to build and serve their hard lives. Fortunately, no sentient trees were cut. Perhaps Minas Ithil would be rebuilt; though there would have to be a reason to go into Mordor. That might be lifetimes in coming.

Nag Kath did not have a Syndolan party this year. He could not face starting every conversation explaining Flor’s absence, or skirting the subject with people who already knew. One of the latter was King Elessar who invited him up the hill that night.

“Good evening, Sire, My Lady.”

Aragorn said, “Happy Syndolan Eve, Nag Kath. Thank you for coming.”

“Quite a view for the fireworks.”

Queen Arwen responded, “Those are my favorites too. How does it feel to be the hero of water, Nag Kath?”

“I am both proud and tired. I think the real test will be in spring when folk aren’t subject to pestilence.”

The King asked, “What is next for you then?”

“I am long overdue to see my step-children in Dale. We have exchanged letters all the while but that is not the same as hugging them. One of my grandchildren is in her twenties now! I even have a great grandchild. They call me uncle to save confusion. Come April, I will ride north for a time.”

Aragorn said, “Let us talk before you go. I am overdue to visit the north as well.” The King knew Nag Kath would keep that to himself. Yes, he had much to do in Arnor. “We will visit the Hobbits.”

The royals and their guests watched a skilled rocketeer fire-off an assortment of sparklers and exploding missiles. As the man was cleaning-up, a candle lit over Nag Kath’s head. 

Was Gandalf’s box of powders still in Orthanc?

By late March Tumlen had purchased three buildings. A friend told him about a good buy in the south of the city so he wandered down for a look. It wasn’t what they wanted. Leaving the lobby he saw the older woman of the picture Nag Kath pinned to the office wall. She was shopping on Vue Langaroth, looking up occasionally to see if anyone was watching her. Tum climbed on his horse and rode hard to the fourth level of Minas Tirith.

“It was her, or close enough I thought you should see for yourself.”

Nag Kath had his full attention. “Good man, Tum. Did you see where she went?”

“I followed her half a block to the back entrance of the Numenorean. Then I came straight here.”

Nag Kath stood up and asked, “Do you need a fresh horse.”

“Nay, I pinched one of the Lossarnach mounts from the stable. She’ll be fine on the way back.”

They rode at a modest speed back across the bridge and stopped a block north of the inn. This was the nicest place on the southeast side of Osgiliath and catered to elite merchant river traffic on the Great River. Tumlen walked in the kitchen door carrying a box and said in a pleasing tone to the oldest woman in the room, “Excuse me, I must have just missed my client’s lady’s maid, thought she might have come through here.”

He was well dressed and spoke politely so the cook said, “Lots of thems round here, dear. What does she look like?”

He couldn’t show them the picture without explaining why he had it, but he described her nearly to the mole on the side of her neck. One of the maids who took food upstairs walked behind the cook and said, “She’s with a couple got here yesterday. Took the front corner suite on the second. I’m going up there shortly. Want I should get her?”

Tumlen whispered, “Better not, I should have been here by noon. I’ll just make my delivery and all’s well, eh?” He gave each of them a fiver and laid his finger alongside his nose.

Walking through to the lobby, he waited until the desk clerk turned to help a guest and disappeared up the stairs. The serving woman cracked the door open. Tumlen smiled and said, “Delivery from Chanderie and Family. Where would you like this?”

Without a word she opened the door and pointed to a table where Tumlen could put the shirt Nag Kath bought a few minutes before. He asked her, “Can the mister sign for this? They like me to show it was delivered proper.”

“He’s out. And you should know to use the delivery door.”

“Sorry ma’am. I’m filling-in for the regular man.” A bit sheepishly he added, “Can you show me the best way to leave?” 

Back in the alley Tum summarized, “Nag, she’s serving a couple in room 210, that’s a suite on the northwest corner. Go through the kitchen to the right and then the stairway to the service doors of that row. No numbers. I dropped a piece of paper by the threshold. Her employers are out just now." He added with a smile, “Hope his shirt fits.”

It was getting dark and Penula was about to light the lamps in the main room when her match went out. Reaching for another in her apron she heard, “Hullo, Pen.”

“Huhhhh?!”

Coming from a chair in the dark corner, “It has been a while.”

“Nag Kath?”

“Why did you come back?”

She said tentatively, “Woman’s gotta work.”

“You had a job.”

When she said nothing he asked, “Where’s Helien?”

Penula knew she was trapped. She aided the wife of her employer in fleeing him and taking his child. That was not completely accurate but he could have her caned to within an inch of her life. A tear rolled down her hardened face, “The child is dead.”

He said nothing. She could not see but he hung his head between his knees. Anything to fill the ghastly silence, Pen continued, “Fever got her in Pelargir a month after we docked.”

He implored, “Why, Pen?”

“Irvien convinced her that as the child’s true father, Flor must go away with him to his people’s home, Dystran, they are. I had the choice of going with her or telling you.”

“Flor had a home.”

The woman was angry in her grief. She loved Helien as much as anyone alive. “Best home she ever had! But you scared her, Mr. Kath. Your magic and high Lords and strange ways! She was never meant for that. Flor is a simple girl and she made the choice that tore the heart from her. A month after that, Irvien picked a fight with a man who kept a knife in his boot. Slit him stem to stern. I was cut adrift and landed with the Belangors. He sold iron bits to your water crew." In a smaller voice, “You gonna kill me, Mr. Kath?”

“No.”

“Want to know where Flor is?”

“No.”

She heard the door shut. Wiping her tears with her apron, Pen lit the lamps.

_______________--------______________

Nag Kath had had enough emotional education. He could have done without rage. An enraged wizard, even a weak one, is a dangerous creature. He gripped his hand until the knuckles were white; knowing his threat against the blonde man was empty even when the dougsh was alive. That did not ease the anger. Deeper than deep down, he had been a creature capable of great fury, more than capable, born to it. Nag Kath understood now that the orc had been purged but the memory remained. He kept it subdued. His greatest rage since Orthanc reminded him what he was. 

Halfway to Minas Tirith fury became sadness. Flor was gone. Her life was ruined. He would not kill her, but forgiveness would have to wait. Pen did what she was told, which is what servants do. Poor Helien. He might have saved her with a touch of his hand. He dismounted, sat in the dirt and cried. Passersby left him alone. Before he noticed, Regalid nuzzled him in the blackness. 

For uncounted times, Nag Kath considered the limitations of healing. One could only cure curable diseases. The patient had to be fundamentally healthy with a wound or a malady that shouldn’t be there like a fever or an infection. Frodo’s stabbing was a famous case. He was a fit fellow and his body could fight with extra help.

You could not heal someone who would eventually die of the affliction. Eniece always came to mind. When the wasting started, her body turned against itself. He could help her pain but had to watch her suffer. That was why the women who healed had to be so careful. If they misdiagnosed an illness and absorbed a killing disease, they would not catch it, but it could sap their life strength.

Helien could have been saved. He knew it in his soul.

Nag Kath rode Regalid at a walk the rest of the way home getting special dispensation from the gate guards. They knew who he was and cheered him. Turnlie was not concerned even though he had not said he was leaving. He was here when he wanted. In cold months she usually left soup on the stove.

He ate a little waybread in silence. Nag Kath decided he would only tell Tal what he found. Everyone else could think what they wanted. Tomorrow morning, he would prepare to leave. That started at the top of the hill. Nag Kath had never sought an audience with the King. The first three visits he was a prisoner. The next two dozen were at Aragorn’s pleasure. He walked to the sentry on a far door from the petitioners who conveyed the message. It was still a two hour wait but an attendant collected him and showed him to the King’s study.

“Good morning, Nag Kath.” 

“It is a pretty day, My Lord.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I have decided to accept your offer to travel north if that is still your purpose. I just need to know when we leave to put my affairs in order. It will likely be some time before I return.”

“Two weeks from tomorrow. Best keep that under your hat.”

“Thank you, Sire. I will see you then.”

_______________-------_______________

Unlike Dale, he would say some proper goodbyes here. There was no escaping that he must always leave people behind. The tyranny of distance or time would win. That did not make it any easier.

Amiedes Tallazh was now eighty six. He had slowed quite a bit in the eight years since they renewed their acquaintance but he walked on his own power and still had youth in his eyes. They spoke for an hour over the fine Khandian tea. 

One of his hardest partings was with Regalid. The horse was now sixteen and ready for a softer life than racing here and there. One of Captain Burno’s militiamen had just lost his older horse to torsion. He would appreciate an experienced mount. Nag Kath scratched Regalid’s ear while he nibbled carrots from his new owner. The day before he brought his favorite of the Lossarnach station mounts from Osgiliath. His name was Charlo and Charlo loved to run. The same size as Regalid, the saddle and tack fit him fine. Like all Elves, though not intentionally, Nag Kath had never used mouth-bits. Elf and horse spent some time every day learning the subtleties of side-reins. 

Tim and Marie knew this was coming. They all truly believed they would see each other again. Nag Kath planned to come back and he was very hard to kill. When he was here, they would talk old times. He organized a dinner for the water crew. A table for twelve was not nearly enough so they commandeered a corner of the restaurant. He told everyone how proud he was of them, that their children’s children would praise the work they did. They were the Numenoreans reborn and they should always hold their heads high.

The next goodbye would be the hardest. Ectillion had just retired and was much at home. Tal smiled sweetly at him and he and Mrs. Tippi both remembered chores they had to do elsewhere.

She had intended to maintain her composure but the tears came. “Oh Nag, I hate this. Parting from you the first time nearly killed me. Now you are going again. You are always the same. It makes me feel young. You have been good luck for me.”

“I have been very lucky too. When I return, we will relive the Revanthars all over again.”

Her face was stained by tears but she still managed her clever smile, “I’m sorry about Flor and the baby. If they were here, you would stay.”

After seeing his friend so sad, Nag Kath debated if he should tell her. She deserved the truth. “Tal, that can’t happen. Helien died, right after they left. A fever took her. Her father walked into a knife within a month. If Flor is still alive, she’s somewhere on the river, all alone or worse. I left an annuity at the bank if she ever comes back as long as someone tells her to claim it. I did that the same day I filed for a divorce. I pulled a few strings to get it through in a week. We both need to be free for what lies ahead.

“Be kind to her, Tal. She will need that.”

Talereth was in shock. She could not cry. Her two friends; come to this. He left half an hour later after restoring some of her good humor. Yes, they would relive the last charge yet again.

There was one last piece of business. Turnlie could cry. She had known this was coming too but had the added stress of not knowing what would happen to her. He spoke to her very calmly, “Turn, I need you to care for my home while I am away. That could be for a very long time. An account has been opened at the bank to pay all of the bills and taxes and repairs to keep the place in good shape. Mr. Mülto will manage that for you and your salary. You can live here as long as you want and you can have other people live here with you. Just leave downstairs alone for when I come back. I’ll put a few boxes down there before I go.”

She kept crying but this wasn’t so bad. It got better. He handed her a small leather purse and continued, “Here are five Florin. That is for you. I suggest you keep that private so no one takes advantage. Take care of the place and remember our wonderful Syndolan parties! I am going to leave in two days. In that bag are veries and some gonboral leaves. I’d like you to make a big batch of Lembas bread before then. You’re going to be just fine.”

She was now a secure woman but still blubbering. “Mr. Kath, what if Mrs. Kath comes back?”

“Be very kind to her. And take her to the bank. There’s a little something for her there too.”


	19. Fellowship

** _Chapter 19_ **

** _Fellowship_ **

**This section of the book is supported by the maps; Middle-earth Large, and Arnor along with the maps of the first chapters. <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8>  
**

Nag Kath traveled light. He was fully armed with his sword and bow but carried few clothes, some gold, Lembas and rain-gear. A new art tube replaced the one from Quastille. He was never armored. That would not seem like a good idea in a rain of arrows, but he did not need it in hand-to-hand fighting.

On the appointed day he waited at the switchback on the fourth until the royal train arrived. Lord Aragorn’s escort was smaller than his first visit as King. There were two dozen riders accompanying him from the seventh and they would be met by a dozen more on the second plus animals carrying tents, provisions and other royal essentials. Not all were soldiers. Vundar of the Purse was along and Nag Kath knew him well. There were others skilled in lore or diplomacy. A scribe with experience in treaties was in the saddle along with cooks, an armorer and the King’s travel handman. Nag Kath fell in with the main body after letting the vans pass.

King Elessar moved fast. This was a chance for younger members of the court to shine but they had better keep up. He did not push the horses. There was breakfast and dinner with occasional breaks along the way for relief or fresh water. Often the King would speak briefly with his people watching in awe from the side of the road. Occasionally Nag Kath spoke with the Lord but mostly he stayed to the escort. All of them carried swords but alternated with lance and bow. The royal progress arrived in Edoras seven days later, the same time it took Nag Kath riding alone.

The King and his advisors would stay with King Eomer for three days. Everyone else slept in the tents. As it happened, Nag Kath had the offer of a bed in a more modest part of town. Dornlas was out on an errand but Annlie invited him inside for tea as an old friend. Tomorrow night there was to be a feast for the entire company but he was theirs tonight and two days hence. One of their twins married two years ago. The other still lived here but was serious about a nice young officer in the King's Guard. She worked in a store run by one of her parent’s lessees. 

Dornlas walked in after admiring the steed tied to the rail. Just as the last time, he gave the Elf a crushing hug and insisted on something stronger than tea. That was mostly for show since neither of them drank much. When Torenne got home after work, the women saw to a splendid fish dinner with greens and fresh loaves. Nag Kath thought very fondly of being able to see folk who were important in his life, as he was in theirs. He did not age in body but his mind had fully matured. He thought of himself of an age with Dornlas and King Eomer and all the friends he made over the years. After the last year in Minas Tirith, he needed friends.

Nothing in Edoras every worked quite as planned. In the morning he and Dornlas were drinking their tea on the porch in their stocking feet when a familiar Lieutenant rode down and dismounted in front of them. Dornlas called out, “Morning, Fellingas. You’re up with the chickens.”

He smiled and delivered the news, “With royal visitors we are at beck and call, Dornlas.”

Torenne wandered out on the porch at the commotion and smiled at the young officer. She had her mother’s looks, which was a blessing. Fellingas looked a bit self-conscious. She asked him, “Can I get you hot tea?”

“Nay, fair lady. This is official. Lord Kath, the King and Queen would like a word before the banquet. Could you attend them at quarter of the six-bell this evening?”

Nag Kath said, “Thank you Lieutenant. Please tell their Highnesses that I would be honored.”

The three on the porch watched in agony for the young man to say something else to the waiting Torenne but all he could manage was, “Thank you, sir. Dornlas, your family is welcome too. This will be a gathering in the old style.” As he was riding back to the Meduseld, both men looked at the daughter who calmly sipped her tea and drifted back inside.

Dornlas, Annlie and Torenne walked with Nag Kath into the Golden Hall. They were early but the room was already filling. An assistant chamberlain showed Nag Kath to the royal quarters which were located behind the throne. He was seated at a small table. Ale was brought but he would not touch it until raised in toast to his hosts.

Not long after, the King and Queen entered and dismissed the door guards. Nag Kath rose and bowed. King Eomer said, “My Lady, this is Nag Kath, recently of Gondor.” The Elf bowed again. “Please, be seated.”

Queen Lothíriel looked a great deal like her brother Erchirion of Dol Amroth. It was said their son looked very much like her father Prince Imrahil. She said, “Thank you for joining us, Lord Kath.”

“I am honored, My Lady.”

“It is I who am honored. You did my family a great service in saving my brother and possibly my father at risk to yourself. I am pleased to thank you in person.”

Nag Kath graciously accepted the compliment and admitted, “I have not kept-up with the south. I hope all goes well with Lord Erchirion and his family.”

“It has been some months since I last heard but his girls are strong and fine. He is restored and beloved once again.” The Queen added with a little mirth, “And I understand the healer you left behind cannot retire for all of the lordly business coming her way.”

That brought the Nag Kath grin, “I should imagine, Your Highnesses! Mrs. Hürna was probably the strongest of her kind left among free peoples. She will be safe in your father’s fair land.”

Eomer said almost as a question, “Not the strongest, perhaps.”

“I am a work in progress, My Lord.”

The Lady asked, “What did you do for my brother?”

“He had been influenced by two witches working in concert, much as Saruman had confounded My Lord’s Kingly uncle. I interrupted their lines of power and Mrs. Hürna completed his treatment since she was the expert in restoration. Your Lord father’s men watched where the witches were joined and discovered they were hired by a man of the court seeking to elevation his position.”

Éomer then said, “And you brought water to the people as you said.”

“Yes, sir. I think of that as healing beforehand. I am sure King Elessar has told you but your Lady Sister is well and sends her regards.” Prince Faramir would be in Minas Tirith now as Steward until the King’s return.

The King then asked, “My dear, have I told you the story about the wargs?”

“Many times, my love. We should join the others.” With that they rose and walked into the Golden Hall. 

King Aragorn, his officers and staff were already there as were a dozen Lords of the Mark, some with wives. Unlike Gondor, ranking women seldom traveled the great distances necessary to get here on relatively short notice. The King’s main properties were but two hours away and he spent more time in the capital than many of his predecessors. 

The hall of Meduseld wore many hats. It was the throne room, the largest meeting hall in the Kingdom, seat of justice for a variety of grievances and could hold a grand party. Large tables were scattered throughout the room. Other than the royal dais, people sat where they wanted. Ale casks were at convenient tables with what must be the entire stock of mugs in the county. Before everyone sat for the meal, Nag Kath asked Dornlas if Captain Altheras’ family was represented. 

The lanky soldier-turned-landlord said, “Aye, I saw his grandson, at least, I think it was him, looks like his grandmother if that helps.” In a land of tall men, their own height did not help in surveying the crowd. “We don’t generally mix socially but if I see him again, I’ll mention you. Look for the same Landsdown gorget patches on his collar.” Nag Kath saw Torenne talking with friends. She caught his gaze but did not respond. When a tall soldier brought her a mug he realized that was the twin sister. Dornlas admitted, “I know. I can’t tell them apart either.”

Nag Kath wandered about looking for older wounded men but did not see any. He did run into Captain Altheras saying, “Excuse me, sir. I am Nag Kath and was known to your grandfather after the war. He was very kind to me.”

The man did favor his elegant grandmother. Reaching out his hand he said, “Delthanas Whormandal, at your service, Nag Kath. Forgive me; I do not recall how you met.”

“I was in the party that returned from the White City all those years ago. Your grandfather gave me a sword upon reaching Edoras and I value it greatly.”

“Yes, now I remember him saying so. You are aging well, sir.”

Nag Kath brushed his hair behind his ear. Wormandal nodded his understanding and said, “You were the one with the wargs.”

It would take several more generations for that story to become a legend. Nag Kath asked, “I also drew a picture of the mountains across the plain here. Has that survived?”

The Captain’s eyes brightened as he exclaimed, “Yes! That has an honored position in the great room. Every time I come here I look at the view in remembrance.” 

“Then it lives on.” They talked for a time with the usual offer to visit when one or the other was close. Nag Kath mentioned he was returning to a home in Dale after a long absence. Dale was much in conversation here. As separate kingdoms with friendly Gondor between, they had become major trading partners in what was now called the Reunited Peace. 

The royals and dignitaries found their places at the head but remained standing as King Éomer raised a fine goblet. The Hall went silent, “Lords, Ladies, friends and patriots, I present to you King Elessar Telcontar of Gondor and Arnor!”

That brought a deafening thunder of cheers and applause. Éomer continued, “He is come today with his noble host to celebrate our victory together and look to great things in our future!”

Aragorn waited until the din died. He was not as good as bellowing as his brother King but was still effective in a crowd, “Thank you for coming and sharing our festivities. Memories made here then and now from the courage and love between our peoples will live on for an age!”

Edorans could punish the pantry as well as anyone in Middle-earth. Nag Kath sat with Dornlas talking old times and watching Torenne bat her eyelashes at bashful young men. The Lieutenant had better make his move soon. When the last course was done, folk began mingling again or leaving for an early start in the morning. King Aragorn remembered and greeted many of the men who came to Gondor’s aid, including Dornlas who was wounded at Morannon. The gray hairs and no hairs were here tonight. 

The next day was uneventful so folk could recover from the Rohan red. As was his habit, King Aragorn let half of his men enjoy while the other half stood guard. They alternated events. Nag Kath was invited up to the hall again on the day of their departure to be fared well by the King and Queen. She had a special smile for her brother’s sake. Nag Kath got a closer look at Prince Elfwine, who did indeed look like his grandfather Imrahil.

Two days later they rode to the Deep. Nag Kath should have gotten a chill in his spine from this place but it hadn’t bothered him either time. He still thought of it as the place where Regalid got lucky. Aragorn took a late lunch with the Provost Marshall but his purpose here was to see Gimli who had splendid meals planned himself. Most of the escort was billeted in the Deeping Halls as the King, his ministers and Nag Kath were shown inside the Glittering Caves, no waiting or surly junior Dwarves this time. Again a splendid time was had with feasting and Durin’s Folk’s version of the malted beer. It seems beer is brewed cold and there were always cold places in the deep. The Elf did get a few minutes with Gimli and presented him a sketch of the waterfall with a stone inscribed in his honor. Thurgin was also there and lauded among both peoples. 

This was only a two-day affair. On the second morning, Nag Kath asked the King if they would be stopping in Isengard. At first Aragorn wondered if the Elf did not want to go there. It can’t have been a place of warm associations. To reassure his architect he said, “No, we will send a runner out today bringing the Provost to the Gap for discussions.”

The famed grin emerged before he said, “Then may I suggest the man have a look through the stores? Gandalf kept his firework powders boxed in the kitchen, well away from flames. I do not think he took them when he left. With your permission, I could sketch the box in the event it is still piled in the back.” Nag Kath thought for a moment and added, “It would help if the man can read and under no circumstance should he inspect it by torch.”

Aragorn smiled as well and asked Nag Kath to do so with haste as the man would ride shortly. When the cortege reached the Gap, the Provost reported finding the small, strong crate. It was to stay where it was until the King passed this way again or be sent to Minas Tirith if His Lordship took another route. The man did bring two of each color back as Nag Kath asked.

One of the first bridges built after the war was a joint project between Aragorn and Éomer across the Isen. Now almost twenty five years old, it was in superb condition, anchored in solid rock on either side over a chasm slightly upstream of the old ford. Crossing it brought him to a land of memory. He learned to fish here, was threatened by the Huntsman. He saved the Durgan cousins and met Tal.

This was no hard fight. Farmers lined the roads as the procession came by, throwing spring flowers in their path. There were still hillmen, but they stayed to their hills in pockets above and below the Meados holdings. Trum Dreng was even more prosperous and of enough size that the King agreed to a stately dinner. 

They arrived early which gave Nag Kath time to ride the streets and recall events that lived in his mind. The granary was now divided into shops but the little loading compound was still there. The cobbler’s had a weaving sign out front. To his relief, the mayor was not named Cathad and no middle-aged men burned their stares through him. The Elf did ask if Elf Slippers were still the pride of the town and was assured they were but he was a month early. 

Just when he thought he got away clean, a tall, elderly man arrived late and made his obeisance to the King before sitting five chairs from Nag Kath. It was Captain Marchand. The Elf leaned over his dinner and caught the man’s eye. Marchand’s hearty grin emerged and he called, “By thunder! It is the Scourge of the Revanthars!”

Everyone at the table went silent looking at the man who did not seem to mind. The Captain was as close to royalty as Trum Dreng could boast. Mayor Gurthan quickly said, “Sire, may I introduce Colonel Marchand of the Northpass.”

The King defused the situation by saying, “It is good to see you again, sir. Thank you for your service.”

“It has always been my honor, My King.”

Nag Kath excused himself and sat on the end to talk old times with his fellow conspirator. He would have much to tell Talereth when he saw her again.

The barge camp was now a formal ferry station but still served the same purpose of accumulating loose logs from upstream or preparing them for use later. A third of the guard took the first trip. The King was on the second and the rear-guard followed. Two days further along, Nag Kath showed them where he met the Huntsman. There was even a crackle in the air. The King looked east and said quietly, “He did not care for me and my kin when we traveled these lands long ago. We were both trying to keep it safe for our own kind.” Turning to Nag Kath he asked, “Do you think he is still out there?”

“We parted on good terms but we should let him sleep if he is at his great Hall. I think of him as a watchdog. If he is roused to hunt, it will mean enemies have returned.”

Aragorn agreed, “Then we will let him slumber.”

The trip to Tharbad was just as dull and featureless. Even if the Huntsman was not awake, mosquitoes were. Men knew to bring sheer linen gauze to wrap around their necks and faces. Horses swished their tails as best they could but everyone wanted to make the river as soon as possible. The city was largely un-restored. The south bank was in better shape and much of the center had been demolished to use the stones for a quay. The Gwalthlo still flooded almost every year but it had not been destructive. They arrived early and crossed the bridge ferry the same way they did the Dusenorn. 

Nag Kath looked for a little man selling pies and blessed his memory.

_____________--------______________

He was on new ground. For three uneventful days they made for the market town of Thalion. It was a pleasant place. None of it looked newer than the war. Nag Kath wasn’t sure how much marketing was done here since there were relatively few farms but the road was in good condition with well-established campgrounds along brisk streams. They also managed a much better dinner than they would have camping in the wild. Three more days took them to the Sarn Ford on the Baranduin River. Now late spring, there was still enough of a flow to get everyone soaked in the crossing. This had been a stronghold of the Dunedain until being driven out by the Ringwraiths in the war. The place had the usual crumbling Numenorean statuary but no one lived here. As they let their things dry on the west bank, King Aragorn sat next to Nag Kath and asked him to sketch the site with a view to building a bridge here someday. 

The company cut overland to avoid following the bend in the river but rejoined it after skirting the Overbourn Marches and fording the Shirebourn Stream. Then the road more or less followed the Brandywine, as it was called here, to the town of Stock.

The crafty ranger King could have traveled any number of trails to Hobbiton but he had a good reason to take the long way. In Stock, Aragorn formally applied at the Town Hall for permission to enter the Shire. They had been hugging the inside periphery for several days but not intruding. This was staged in advance. Master Veritude Blankfoot approved the writ with a flourish of his huge, carved stamp. If the King himself had to request passage according to his own rules, no one else could claim they were too busy to comply. 

They politely declined the Master’s offer of hospitality to cut the corner to a more sizeable Hobbit town called Whitfurrows on the East Road. The King and a few of the older members of the company stayed at a pleasant little inn and everyone else made camp. It was rumored that brewed beverages were brought to the soldiers by admiring subjects. Nag Kath never said. 

Men were in the saddles at dawn for a hard ride to the heart of the Shire. They followed the south bank of the River Water through Frogmorton and the little town of Bywater. Turning northeast just past the junction of the three farthings, the horses clattered into the hamlet of Hobbiton. Along the whole way, citizens came out to cheer and watch. Some threw flowers along the road but most just smiled and waved. Captain Bessandol had the men secure the horses in a paddock several hundred paces from the village.

___________-------___________

It was no secret the King was coming. A huge tent had been erected in a flat pasture with several smaller tents arrayed in a semi-circle around it. One was the barracks for the tall people. One was for the King. Hobbits of all shapes and sizes were preparing in no great rush. It was nearing dinner time for folk who took dinner very seriously.

A fine feast had been laid for the soldiers. As in Edoras, half of his security detail had to be on duty at any given time. The others could participate in festivities. They would be here two days so each tranche would take some leisure. The King, his officers and staff, including Nag Kath, would eat in a third tent with a few Shire notables. The Elf was last to join them after seeing to the horses.

There were more than a few notables. Like in Rohan, the long, lead table had reserved seats but everyone else sat where they liked. There was certainly an unspoken protocol but Nag Kath did not know it. He joined the Mayor of Tuckborough, his wife and three merchant couples from Michel Delving. As Nag Kath already well knew, Hobbit women had no trouble expressing their views, especially since ale had been flowing even before the King arrived. He offered the occasional view on the world at large but the conversation mostly turned on the local sensation that Mrs. Goodwallace, a reputable and comely widow, was considering marriage to Lestam Fairweather, of all people!

It was understood that the royal company would be tired with much to do tomorrow so the guests excused themselves after punishing piles of viands and more than a few goblets of wine from the Southfarthing. When his table emptied, he caught Aragorn’s glance at the head table and rose to join them. There were three Hobbit men and their wives. He sat in an empty chair as one of the couples joined the townsmen leaving the room. The King said, “Ladies, Gentlemen, this is Nag Kath. Nag Kath, these are Meriodic and Estella Brandybuck and Peregrin and Diamond Took.”

Nag Kath said, “It is a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for your hospitality.”

He wasn’t sure if this was arranged but the women saw a friend near where Nag Kath had been sitting and excused themselves to say goodbye. Peregrin reached out his hand to shake, “Quite welcome.” 

Merry did the same. The King was not sure how Nag Kath would be received but needn’t have worried. There was very little about the changeling that was not known to these Hobbits and most of that was good. Pippin said, “As my cousin Lemuel Took has it, you were one of the White Hand Uruks of Helm’s Deep!” He had his share of ale as well and was never bashful.

“Actually, Thain Took, I was one of the company trying to ambush your Fellowship. The main group went to Rauros and a small group of us backtracked up the Mering Stream in the event you went to Minas Tirith.”

That was Boromir’s recommendation. Both of the Hobbits evaluated the Elf for a moment. It had been thirty years since the war and they would never forget the faces of the Uruk-hai who captured and abused them fleeing to Orthanc. Nag Kath smelled better. Merry asked, “How did you survive?”

“Wiser minds than mine are not sure. The prevailing theory is that I have some of Saruman’s blood in me that avoided the death of the ring.” Aragorn listened intently. He had never heard more than the rough translation of this story in Nag Kath’s interrogation and thought he should have talked a lot more with the Elf about other than water.

Nag Kath continued, “I was captured and in prison when the battle on the Pelennor raged. After Sauron was destroyed, I spent the next year changing. Now this is speculation; but I read in Rivendell that Morgoth captured Elves, mutilating them with sorcery to create his orcs. It took months. Knowing what I now know of Elvish recuperation, the Dark Lord must have done this many times, waiting until the Elves almost healed and then subjecting them to worse torment. I did the reverse. I would be stricken by pain and then sleep for a few days, eat a little and then repeat the process, may be a hundred times. When King Elessar ordered me released, I walked out like this. 

“Gandalf said he had returned from death to complete his task. Perhaps I am here to continue in his footsteps.”

Pip asked, “Will you go to Undying Lands? Elves come through here on their way to the Grey Havens, or they used to, making for the great ships.”

“Nay. I have not felt the pull of Valinor. They leave because they must. And, I have not been invited. Elves tolerate me but I am not of them. I just turned 33 last week so I finally look my age. I have always lived among men and count it a good life.”

The two Hobbits, looked at each other and thought they had better collect their better halves and find a bed. Merry announced, “We are off. Tomorrow we will have a grand feast to celebrate the return of the King.”

Nag Kath said, “Tonight was no small event.”

Aragorn chuckled and chimed-in, “Then you know less of Halflings than you think! Gentlemen, I will see you in the morning.” They made their way out.

_____________--------______________

Being the only one in the Shire who did not need sleep, Nag Kath took his blanket out to a knoll near the little stone bridge and sat watching the stars. He was glad his meeting with the Fellowship Hobbits had gone well. One of them was missing but he still might meet him at the celebration. Looking at the tent by the half-moon, he wondered if this was where great Bilbo disappeared and set off to Rivendell. So much had happened here. Aragorn could more easily have made for Fornost and then to his incipient summer capital of Annúminas on the lake, but only three times in his long kingship did he bypass the Shire both up and down from the White City.

Hobbits aren’t early risers. A few were up with the chickens but it wasn’t until full light that the town began to stir. Nag Kath stood and stretched before walking by the paddock to scratch Charlo and collect his art satchel in the barracks tent. He then wandered to the other side of the bridge to sketch the party tent and scenery. That was an ill-fated intention. He was not halfway through when children gathered round him whispering and giggling. The second plan was to give each of them a picture of their faces to universal delight. It took two hours. One little girl, hand-in-hand with an older brother, looked like a miniature version of how Helien might have grown. His heart grew heavy but he put it aside so the little girl could share in the joy with her friends. When the kids left he filled-in details on the Sarn Ford bridge for the King.

Dozens of Halflings were carting, rolling or carrying things to the party tent. These folk are earnest about their celebrations and sampled everything to be sure it was of sufficient quality. That slowed their effectiveness as the day wore on but not their enthusiasm. Nag Kath lent a hand carrying some of the heavier items and introducing himself to the woolly-footed little people. Near the stream, most of the soldiers had taken discreet swims to clean weeks of dust out of the pores and do a little laundry. Horses and weapons were cleaned too. Days of rest were rare when traveling with the King.

Aragorn was right. This was indeed a celebration to make his Syndolan Eve parties look puny. There must have been two hundred Hobbits at least walking to the tent when the hour approached. And unlike most free-peoples, children were invited and welcome. These were such well-mannered folk that their little ones needn’t be excluded from conversation. Nag Kath walked inside the tent and introduced himself to anyone who cared. 

There was Assistant Ambassador Higgenboth in the ale line. He had retired and returned home four years before but was, alas, recently widowed. They shared stories of Minas Tirith before the gentleman was swept away by well-meaning relatives eager to introduce him to a fine lady from Michel Delving who was visiting the Bolgers for a week. As with the night before, Nag Kath joined a table of townsfolk who had an endless supply of local gossip. It included the mother of the little girl from the bridge. Nag Kath waved at the child and she held her hands over her face only to peek through her fingers and see he was still there. She had her picture in a smock pocket.

The evening officially started with speeches long and short from the good citizens of the Shire and a few words from the King. With so many toasts, Nag Kath wondered that his fellow celebrants would be soused, but the clever Hobbits need only take a sip after crying; ‘Hear, hear’ to observe the forms. Everyone had a roaring good time. His table featured an animated discussion between two elderly farmers that kept everyone’s attention. 

After the meal, parents began taking children home, some to return. Others mingled with friends they had not seen since lunch. Pippin and King Elessar walked through the crowd saying hello to many. Merry and a shorter, rounder Hobbit came from the other direction and met near Nag Kath’s table. The Elf gestured for them to take the empty chairs.

Merry said, “Nag Kath, this is Samwise Gamgee, another of our Fellows!”

Nag Kath stood and offered his hand. The Hobbit shook it somewhat haltingly but said nothing before finding his seat. Pippin had by now downed uncounted half-pints of the local tan. It was time for one of his oldest stories. Folk at the table secretly groaned, but they stayed because Hobbits love old stories. 

He began, “It was long ago at a great party right here! Merry and I were so much younger then!”

Merry cried, “I was a mere wisp of a lad!”

Pippin rejoined, “Gandalf was setting off his fireworks for Bilbo’s birthday, not that we knew he was leaving that very night! And didn’t you know; we made off with a great rocket and fired it ourselves. We must have aimed it wrong because it became a huge dragon that swooped down on the revelers and scared them silly. Then it exploded over the lake and all rejoiced.”

Merry chided gently, “I told you to set it in the ground.”

Nag Kath said softly, “I have a tale you can add to that.” He knew that if you can make yourself heard; speaking quietly will get more attention that yelling over a din. The table became still. “Masters Meriodoc and Peregrin; the Ents restored Orthanc to a place of beauty and growth not long after you left. To clean up, Gandalf let iron miners from Dunland salvage the slag and leavings in the pits. It was hard, dirty work but still much easier than pounding the same amount of metal from solid rock.

“The understanding was that they could keep whatever they found but they had to take it far away for smelting so as not to disturb Gandalf’s studies. Well, most salvagers complied, but not all." The tale-teller became graver and more dramatic, "Then, one night, a flock of flaming red Nazgul screamed down from the clouds directly over the former Dunlending quarters in retribution for the foul noise. The miners were terrified and behaved from that day on! Six months later, on Syndolan Eve, the wizard let loose his great silver and green rockets. The salvagers were sure terror was unleashed again but their little children came out and giggled. It was then they knew they had been fooled. Gandalf chuckled every time he thought of that!”

Everyone laughed except Samwise. A fellow at the end of the table toasted, “Now Pip, you have a better ending for your story!”

Nag Kath spoke thoughtfully, “Gandalf was very fond of you two, although he would get sore frustrated as well.”

Merry objected, “We were perfect gentlemen!”

The Elf countered, “It was more the situation. This is a funny story too. The whole time I was there, Gandalf was forever fussing with inferior Cardolan pipe weed. He did not care for the taste and could never keep it lit. Radagast sympathized, which only made it worse. And all the while, he would lament that both of you made off with the best leaf!”

Pippin cried, “It was his own fault! He should have been quicker off the mark.”

“Oh, he would agree with you. It think it was more that Saruman had scolded him for his liking of Halfling weed and secretly had a stash of the finest. All Gandalf could get was what he called, well, we’ll leave that description for when the children are abed.” Looking at the unrepentant Pippin, “And yours was gone by Edoras.” 

Aragorn chuckled, thinking of his old friend, and lit a pipe of his own followed by several around the table. Nag Kath never smoked himself but enjoyed the aroma. Merry boasted; “See, Pip! I was always his favorite.”

Nag Kath said quietly, “Nay, Master Meriodic. He loved you all, you and Frodo and Mr. Samwise too, but his favorite was Bilbo. He had his big, heroic Gondoran and Rohirrim guards with him but they were no hands at ferreting out the secrets of that nasty old castle. Many were the times he wished he had his burglar. I found a few things.” Looking to the King, “I hope you got Elendil’s miter.” Aragorn nodded.

The Elf became more subdued, “But there was more. He said he knew when Bilbo relinquished the One Ring that there was hope for free peoples. His own mood was black, but that one act of selflessness rekindled his spirit and gave him strength for what was to come.”

Just as his tale ended, the young woman from the table came up to Samwise and kissed him on the cheek before saying, “Rosa is ready to sleep, da. I’ll take her home.” Looking at the little girl she reminded, “And what do you say?”

The child walked to Nag Kath with her picture and said, “Thank you, Mr. Kaff.” Duty done, she ran to her mother and showed her grandda the sketch. He looked at the sweet face on the sheet for a long moment before the Gamgees bowed to the King and made for their homes.

King Aragorn and Nag Kath also started for their tents. On the way, the King said, “Will you return to the White City, Nag Kath?”

“I intend to, Sire, but it may be a while. My family there is lost to me but friends are dear. I will travel, learn and make what I can of myself.”

The King said thoughtfully, “Now that you have been abroad, do you think your talents are more Elvish or sorcerous?”

“More sorcerous, but both are weak. I have had no real training. When I think that the great Elvish healers or any of the wizards are many thousands of years old, I suppose that is to be expected.”

"Are you stronger?"

"Smarter."

Aragorn continued, “If you think to continue Gandalf’s work, I have heard reports of stirrings in the barrow downs. Before Bree, to the right, is where Angmar soldiers were buried and said to be made murderous ghosts by the Witch-King. Merry and Éowyn killed him but some of his foul spells linger.”

Nag Kath said, “There seems to be no shortage of dead Angmaris. We trod on them in east Dunland.”

“You might be the only one left in Middle-earth who would notice if something’s amiss. Keep your eyes peeled. Come see me when you can. Thank you again for bring the water to my people.”

The Elf bowed and blessed his liege, “I wish you all the best in your governance and will help again as I can. Go in peace, My Lord.”

“And you, Nag Kath.”

_____________--------______________

As usual, Aragorn’s company was off early. He would take the three day trip to Annúminas where, hopefully, restoration was being done on his summer capital. It had not been a working city for almost two thousand years but many buildings were salvageable.

Nag Kath was at leisure. Charlo was concerned at being left behind so his master scratched behind his ear and soothed him. The Elf had some left-over porridge and cut a cane to try his hand at fishing in the little river running along the town. Two large trout, unfamiliar with string-wrapped hooks were quickly taken and wrapped in a wet towel for tonight’s dinner.

He wandered around the town to get a sense of the place before taking the road back the way he came. Up one of the hills he saw Samwise Gamgee sitting in a comfortable chair in his front garden enjoying a pipe. The Hobbit rose to no towering height and shook hands over the fence saying, “I hope your visit was a pleasant one, Mr. Kaff.”

“Indeed, Master Samwise. Your home is as fair as described. Was that your granddaughter last night?”

“Rosa.”

“Oh, here is another picture.” Nag Kath handed Sam a sketch of the older brother who brought Rosa to the bridge. “He was not much interested but perhaps his parents will like it.”

The sketch was on the back side of a discarded bridge rendering. The Elf seldom threw paper away. Thinking it was ancient, Sam looked at both sides and asked, “You are a historian?”

“Oh yes. I have no past so I borrow others’. My next stop is Rivendell to visit the library.”

Master Samwise Gamgee paused for a moment before saying, “Follow me. Do you like tea?”

Nag Kath stooped low to get through the round door and then stood to almost his full height. He must be the tallest person to ever be inside this hole. The ceiling was arched to support the weight of the soil above so he could stand at the center of each room. A tousled, middle-aged woman wandered in wearing her robe looking shocked at first and then slightly piqued at her husband for not announcing guests. She was introduced as Rosie and she volunteered to get tea for the visitor after changing into something more presentable. 

Sam showed the Elf into another room where a large book was open on a purpose-built stand. Sam nodded towards it but said nothing. Nag Kath carefully flipped backwards a few pages. Samwise said, “That is the Red Book of Westmarch. Bilbo started it, Frodo continued and I have added a few things over the years. You might enjoy reading it.”

Nag Kath picked it off the stand and looked for a place to sit without hitting his head. One chair looked taller than the others and he sank into it holding the red book in his lap. Rosie returned with a mug of tea and the two Hobbits left him alone.

It took two hours to read and another to go back to places he bookmarked with scraps of paper to make notes. Sam had sketched Frodo just before he left towards the back. Nag Kath's tea was cold by the time he noticed. He rose, watching his head, and carefully put the volume back on its stand. Then he wandered into the main room and cleared his throat. Rosie came from a back room and curtsied. Sam was in moments later.

Nag Kath said, “That was very generous of you, sir. Most of what I read is old and long completed. This is alive. Please take good care of that.” 

The Elf did not wonder at Sam’s reticence. There was no reason to think he had been forgiven or forgotten by all in Middle-earth. Merry and Pip were abducted and mistreated by his own pod-spawn before being rescued by Éomer. They recovered from their wounds and trauma. But Sam saw his best friend stabbed in the soul, so deeply that he needed to leave with folk he hardly knew hoping for solace in a far away land. Nag Kath had just done that himself. It was a basis for understanding.

_____________--------______________

Hobbiton did not sound bells for the time. They had water clocks of course, good ones too, but how folk managed their time was their business except for scheduled events. Nag Kath made it about ten in the morning when he pointed Charlo east. For the next few days Nag Kath would retrace his route on the East Road. Folk were not used to seeing big people. Quite a few remembered him with Aragorn’s company days before and waved, or did not care and waved anyway. Nag Kath always stopped to chat. Older Hobbits recalled days when all used their roads, but no one under thirty-five was used to seeing anyone as tall as him or full-sized horses.

With the late start and no particular hurry, they made Frogmorton by dinner. He gave his fish to the kitchen and enjoyed a good meal with cheerful companions. Nag Kath was past needing sleep except after magic, which was good since the inn had no beds even close to his size.

The next day brought horse and rider to the Brandywine Bridge. This was one of the oldest bridges he had seen in Middle-earth. Friends and foes used it rather than burning it. Nag Kath took some comfort in that. The river was the border into Arnor. Just to the other side was a small village whose sole purpose was trading with Hobbits. Both sides took their sovereignty seriously. Large carts exchanged goods with small carts. Almost every place had ale on tap.

When he wasn’t well-wishing, Nag Kath thought of the King’s admonition about troubles just south. Anything Aragorn said was serious by itself but Frodo’s entries in the Red Book also mentioned the Barrow-downs. By loose accounts, the Numenorean Witch-King sent foul ghosts to inhabit honored graves of the fallen. Now that the Chief Nazgûl was dead; were his spells failing? Or were former servants taking powers unto themselves?

They stopped at an established campsite along the road about ten miles east of the bridge with enough light for Charlo to graze. Nag Kath claimed a smaller fire-ring, the larger ones already taken. Three camps over were several Dwarves who led stout ponies when loaded and rode them after deliveries. He approached them as noisily as possible and introduced himself asking if they had tidings of Dale. These fellows were from the western side of the Misty Mountains but amiable and knew or knew of folk Nag Kath had met. 

Back at his camp, the Elf made a pot of tea and nibbled way-bread. Two men in the camp just east were having an animated discussion about disturbances in the water. The conversation ended with one man shouting; ‘Aughhh!’ and the other saying, “Here, let me see.”

Nag Kath brought his little medical kit to offer aid. By firelight he saw two small people, perhaps Dwarf-height, but much leaner and balder with no beards. One stopped to look at him while the other hopped from foot to foot holding his left hand tightly and hissing in pain.

Nag Kath said, “I heard distress. I am a healer if I can be of assistance.”

The injured man said more in anger than shock, “Cut myself on a loose wheel rim.”

The other scolded, “I told you that needed fixin’.”

“I know! Let us wait until this is cared-for first!”

Nag Kath offered, “Let me have a look.”

The Man released the grip of his good hand and opened the other. Then he wiped the blood on his trousers to display a nasty laceration down the palm that had not reached the artery in his wrist. Nag Kath nodded and said, “I’ve got something for that. Is your tea water hot?”

The uninjured man said, “Aye, but it is already tea.” 

Nag Kath told the hurt man to gently squeeze a clean cloth from the bag and said to the other, “That should be fine.” Then he fished two small bottles from the bag and asked for a quarter inch of tea in a cup. Mixing a pinch from each bottle, he stirred it into paste with his finger and then smeared that on the wound. The bleeding man yowled but held his hand firm. Nag Kath closed the man’s fist around the cloth again and applied a pain spell in soft silver. Neither man liked the look of that but with relief came acceptance.

The healthy man said, “We are in your debt, sir. I am Lembert Fellens and this clumsy fellow is my older brother Wenbert. I have frequently told him to repair that wheel rim but he needs memorable lessons.”

Wenbert was in no mood to discuss it. The Elf rejoined, “I am Nag Kath, just recently in the Shire and now making for the mountains. Mr. Fellens, I need to sew that tear shut. The silver you saw will kill the pain for less than a bell so we should do this now. The man nodded and held steady as Nag Kath used one of his fishhooks that had been bent half open with the barb ground flat on a rock. It took seventeen small loops.

The Elf said, “I am afraid that your brother will have to do the heavy lifting for a week or two else you might pull the stitches. Replace the bandage twice a day and apply that poultice until it is gone.”

Wenbert ventured, “Lembert often does the work that does not require thinking. What do we owe you for your medicining?”

“Please, do not think of it. Heal well and hoist a half-pint when you can grip it.”

Lembert said, “We can offer you no better than the tea you just used, but you are welcome to more.”

The Elf smiled, “That is a generous offer! Let me quench my own fire and I will rejoin you directly.”

The brothers were River People. They did not volunteer any specifics of their race or where they were from, at first. Not all merchants left home on the best of terms. They could not have known he overheard their concerns about eastern waters so Nag Kath took the roundabout way to that conversation. “I was just in the Shire and am traveling to Bree. Do you know it?”

Lembert said, “Course! Can’t hardly get from here to there as you don’t go through Bree.”

“I was traveling with a company from the south and parted ways a few days ago so I am new to these lands.”

The pain spell was wearing-off and Wenbert was trying not to open and shut his fist against the throbbing. He still managed to say, “With the King, were you?”

Since he knew there was no reason to dissemble, “Aye, he makes for Arnor while I travel to Dale.”

Lembert grinned, “No secrets here, Nag Kath. We are bringing salted pork from Bree to replenish their stocks after what must have been Lordly gatherings. Are you a counselor to King Elessar?”

Nag Kath enunciated carefully, “Yes, I helped with an aqueduct in Osgiliath. Now that the taint of Mordor is past, a stream from the Ephal Düath is clean to drink.”

Lembert probed, “Know you of darkness in water, then?”

“A little.”

Lembert looked at his brother who was trying to stay quiet and then followed with, “There is a small lake south of the east road. It is no great body of water at all. Fishermen there are sore worried about it.”

Wenbert interrupted, “It is not the water. It is something in it. Fish on hooks come out bitten in two. We came up the crossroads at Nylar’s Grove and passed by yesterday, no, two days ago.”

The Elf asked, “Is it something to be vanquished or avoided?”

Wenbert; “Depends on your sense of propriety.”

_____________--------______________

Nag Kath gave the Wenbert another pain spell in the morning and then steered Charlo south to follow the stream to Nylar’s Grove. At his speed, the lake wasn’t more than four hours out of his way. He checked the stream for contamination before letting Charlo drink. 

There was a small village on the west bank of the lake where he saw an assortment of farmers and merchants. Children played hide-and-call along an ancient stone fence. There was nothing that looked like an inn or tavern so he asked one of the lads where he might get a bite. The bravest of them said the larger house at the corner had fare.

You had your choice of fresh loaves or fresh loaves with butter. He took the latter and munched one sitting inside a small, fenced patio. The lad who mentioned the place walked by and Nag Kath asked him if the lake offered good fishing to catch his dinner. That was a roundabout way of asking if local folk minded strangers pulling fish out of their lake. The boy said it was fair but not to go out in a boat.

Nag Kath tore the end from his buttered loaf for Charlo and collected his line from a tube strapped next to the art tube. He had no worms and he wasn’t really trying to catch anything so he cut a cane pole and selected a hook tied with green thread.

The water had a strange feel. Pretending to wash his hands, he felt it and let colors wash over him. The water itself was fine but felt there was something below, a presence. None of the fish of Nylar’s Grove were interested in green thread but he kept tossing it out and watching the surface. A hundred yards down on the same side of the long lake several other fishermen suddenly pulled their lines and scurried up the bank. They were too far to hear but clearly not enjoying their sport. He wandered their way tossing his line twice before reaching them and saying, “I declare; these fish are smarter than I am today!”

Two men and a lad of about fourteen gave him a hard scowl. He did not think that was because he was trying to catch their fish. Acting embarrassed as if he had interrupted something private he said, “Excuse me, fellows. Is something wrong?”

One of the men growled, “No, nothing. This place is open if you like.” The others looked at him as if not sure that was good advice but they kept their lips buttoned.

As fishermen often do, Nag Kath asked, “What are they biting?”

The father of the boy said, “You’ll catch nothing worth eating here today.”

Nag Kath changed to his Elf Lord voice, “Tell me of this place.”

If the men weren’t frightened before, they were now. Neither man could mouth the words but the lad had no trouble, “There’s something fell under the surface, been there some months.”

The Elf asked, “Just one?”

His father found his tongue, “Far as we can tell.”

“What is it?”

The fellow who offered him their spot said, “Rendovas said he seen it, though he isn’t reliable after his ale. A mating of man and fish or beast. Eats the fish off the line.”

Nag Kath; “And you just saw it?”

The lad answered, “Saw the ripple. Scares the fish away. We’d rather eat fish than gruel, but this is no bargain.”

“Tell me, then, is this creature flesh or spirit?”

The boy’s father ordered, “Go fetch Rendovas.” As he dashed for the village his da added, “And bring him back dry.”

No one said anything for the ten minutes it took to fetch a shambling old fellow with a halo of ginger hair around his gleaming head. Rendovas gave a courtly bow and waited well away from the shore.

Nag Kath did not want to scare him so he said softly, “Tell me, friend, what apparition lurks in this lake?”

The man reached for his head to remove the cap he had forgotten on the door-peg and shuffled slightly before saying, “Saw him plain as day. That is, as plain as a man can see what should not be. Rose and stood on the water, dripping but not wet. I ran home, left my line on the bank, I did!”

Nag Kath gently coaxed a better description from the frightened villager. The other three listened intently. He would not have been surprised if one or both of the men were leaders of local folk. Then he asked what no reasonable being would ask, “How do I bring it to me?”

They all looked at Rendovas who would not look them back. Nag Kath thought it was for fear of monsters but some of it was that the man was the best fisherman in the village and he was being asked to divulge his secret bait. As if confessing the blackest spell of Angmar, the man groaned, “Deer jerky; soaked in barley spirits.”

The lad’s father ordered, “Better go get some for the man.” Rendovas, followed closely by the youngster, trudged back to his home and returned with a small leather pouch. He threw it to the Elf from the trail. Nag Kath took the pouch to the water’s edge and tossed a pinch of the bait twenty feet out.

Nothing happened. He tried again. The third try brought a ripple that sent the men another ten feet up the bank. The next bit of bait landed closer in. This time they caught a glimpse. There wasn’t much left in the sack so Nag Kath chose a target ten feet away in a deep pool and threw the rest. 

The creature was not as large as a man but seemed longer, more like an eel. When it came up to the bait, Nag Kath locked it in his bringing spell and raised it from the lake. It shrieked an oath and immediately released gallons of foul liquid, like a wineskin slit from the bottom. The monster withered and died moments later. The Elf drew it towards his hand and then released the spell to let it collapse on the bank. 

He leaned over and inspected it closely. This was no fish. It screamed as if a man. It had arms and hands like a man but the rest was a water animal with scales. And it smelled worse than anything in Orthanc. Rendovas threw-up. With as straight a face as the Elf could manage he said, “I have no idea how to cook one of these.” 

_____________--------______________

That broke the pall just enough for them to gather themselves and make for the house where Nag Kath got his buttered loaf. 

Inside were three tables. An old fellow sitting at one of them saw the five men enter and remembered pressing errands elsewhere. Locals at the other two tables cocked their ears. 

The Elf asked, “Ever seen one of those before?”

The lad’s father said, “Course not. Who and what are you?”

“I am Nag Kath.”

“That’s who.”

The Elf added, “I have small powers. That creature was hungry. Has he eaten all of the fish?”

“The other of the two original men cleared his throat and said, “You will excuse us, Mr. Kath. We have clearly forgotten how to thank someone who had done us a service.” With that he glared around the table to admonish the others whose manners failed them. “My name is Zurzies. This motherless ingrate is Jergiens and to his left is his son Beliviens. You’ve met Rendovas already.

“And to answer your appropriate question, no one has caught more than bait for months. More concerning; farmer Dilvenees lost a lamb last week.”

Nag Kath thought for a moment and offered, “I have no lore of purging water monsters but this one seemed rather stupid. Are there other, older spirits nearby that might be responsible?”

A large grizzled man at one of the other tables took that question; “Barrow-wights, further south, ancient dead who have not found peace.”

The Elf turned to him and asked, “They were not destroyed with the Ring?”

The grizzled man’s companion said, “Lore says a witch-king inflicted them to haunt the graves of good men. They can assume shape but cannot bear the sun. Heard tell those old spells linger.”

Nag Kath asked of anyone who might offer aid, “Do you have any friends against this sorcery?”

Two said at once, “Tom.”

_____________--------______________

After assurances they would burn the carcass, Nag Kath continued south towards an area called the Barrow Downs. These were hillocks of crypts and mass burial sites much like the ones of eastern Dunland, with much the same men as casualties. It has a nasty feel but streams flowed clear. Veering southwest towards the Old Forest of Buckland, he found an area that was very fair and lush along a good trout stream. There were no roads or houses of any sort.

The men said this was where dwelled a spirit so ancient that he came before Elves or Lords, possibly even the Valar. None of men in the store had ever seen him. None had ever volunteered to come here either so that was neither here nor there. Nag Kath made camp on the edge of the forest and waited. A doe walked up to him and accepted a treat. He did not fish but he did enjoy some tasty strawberries along with his Lembas.

For five days he waited and sketched and wrote a little, inspired by the red book in Sam’s study. Was that Bag End? He never thought to ask. At mid-afternoon on the sixth day, he heard singing from the trees. He could not tell the source. Merry and forceful, if not particularly melodic, it came from everywhere at once. After a while the sound seemed to consolidate somewhere nearby and asked, “Who visits us on this lovely day, a dil a day?”

The Elf stood and called, “It is Nag Kath, a traveler new to these lands.”

From the wood, seemingly near enough to touch, “I have not seen your kind before.”

“I am an unlikely breed.”

A figure stepped into the light from upstream. He was a stocky, bearded man with a face that was both old and young. Nag Kath thought at first he was in colorful, homespun clothes before he noticed fine embroidering in unlikely places. The man wore a feathered hat that could rival Gandalf’s for weight and hard use. He could only be Tom Bombadil of Frodo’s narrative. The man was appraising the changeling just as carefully.

Despite as badly as the offer had gone before, Nag Kath asked, “Can I offer you tea? It is a bit cold.”

Bombadil beamed a smile of strong teeth and said, “Yes, that is just the thing! Then you can tell me about your visit.” The creature made himself at home on a log while the Elf poured two cups of tepid tea. His guest served, Nag Kath sat on the log a few feet away and sipped silently.

Nag Kath thought this being was much like the Huntsman. He would not measure time since it had no meaning other than to order events. Mortals measure time in their lives, such as a great storm when Sophie was two. Nag Kath did too, for now.

Frodo’s entries in the Red Book were vague until he reached the Barrow-downs. From that point they became much more detailed. Nag Kath supposed that was because it was here that the Hobbit was first called to leadership. Tom took a large slurp of the tea and smacked his lips in satisfaction. Then he observed, “You have been waiting long. That is unusual in those who walk with two legs.”

“Aye. I was taught by those who value patience, though it sometimes eludes me.”

“And what are you waiting for?”

“You, sir.” Folk in a village to the north said I should seek your counsel. I am called Nag Kath.”

Bombadil took another sip of the tea and shook his head. “I cannot think why. I live here with my wife in peace and contentment. Folk know me as Tom Bombadil, minder of green and gold.”

Nag Kath had his own theories. He wondered if this being was nature made manifest so such as he could understand even a little of the wide world. Would he fade back into the forest? The Elf would rather have listened than talked but, like all hasty folk, he had questions. He reached into his satchel and pulled a picture of the monster as he remembered it alive. Handing it to Tom he said, “I destroyed this creature a week ago sixty miles north. When it was exposed to daylight, bilious liquids poured out as it withered and died. It only took a moment. And here …” pointing in the corner “… was a tattoo or mark on its arm.”

Tom looked at both quickly and smiled. It was a curious face of both mirth and gravity that Nag Kath could never describe or draw later to his own satisfaction. Handing the pictures back, Tom said, “Well, we must be off if we are to get warm supper!” Then he rose and traipsed back into the forest leaving Nag Kath to collect his things and horse. 

A Hobbit could not have caught the man but the Elf, walking Charlo, pulled even with him about fifteen minutes later. There was no losing him, though. Tom sang a combination of new verses and repeating choruses that could be heard no matter how far ahead he got. The lyrics made no sense but Nag Kath listened to every word in case the meanings became clearer.

That continued for two hours without rest or real conversation. As the sun was setting they reached a large, round house with light streaming out windowed doors. Nag Kath tied Charlo to a post to look at the home for a minute. He came out of his reverie when he noticed both Tom and his horse were gone. He could count on one hand the times he hadn’t heard something as noisy as a horse. Well, he was here for dinner so he walked up the stairs and knocked on the door. No one answered. It was unlocked so he let himself in. 

Nag Kath’s first impression was that like the hall of the Elf-keepers, it seemed larger on the inside than one would guess from the outside. There was a long dining table near the center of the room. A kitchen was in the far corner and there were at least two visible hallways. He waited by the door. A few minutes later, Tom Bombadil walked in through the back door and handed him his pack.

The large main room was arrayed with plants and flowers, something like Radagast’s home except much tidier. Tom called, “Goldberry, my water-daughter, I am home with a young guest. We will dine tonight, sing songs of old and delight in good company!”

From one of the halls emerged a vision of loveliness. She had blonde, wavy hair and fine, soft features. Nag Kath would have thought her an Elf but she had a more open, understanding face. Frodo had described her more thoroughly than he had her husband. Nag Kath’s heart froze because she looked so much like Flor. He was not as over Flor as he thought. Goldberry was taller than her husband and wore a pale green gown girded by a thin gold belt.

Seeming to glide across the room, the woman said, “Welcome, young Elf, if Elf you are. I am Goldberry.” She smiled like Flor too. He would have to mind his manners.

The changeling bowed gracefully in gratitude, “I am Nag Kath, My Lady. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Tom returned from hanging his extraordinary hat on a peg near the front door and announced, “Your fine horse is dining as well.” The man gestured to one of the halls, “Please, good sir, come with me and you can wash and relax after our journey here.” He took Nag Kath as far as the door and then the Elf continued to a back room of stone with a large clay basin of fresh water. There were pond lilies floating in it with soft towels laid nearby. He only rinsed his face and hands, having taken a Kath bath the day before. Returning to the main room, Nag Kath got the sense that there was magic in its maintenance. Keeping a home like this in Gondor would need two servants, at least, even if the master and mistress did much of the work themselves. Tom and Goldberry were clearly unattended out here in the forest. Perhaps their home kept itself; and considerably better than Radagast’s.

His host and hostess showed him to the long table that had been laid with delicious foods including; fresh loaves, cheese, butter, jams and spice. Some dishes were hot but many were just picked. There was no meat or spirits of any kind. Just the same clear water as in the basin.

Nag Kath had a rough plan to learn as much as he could from these two fascinating creatures but they found much more about him by asking seemingly casual questions. It wasn’t until they were almost done with the meal that Tom Bombadil said, “Let me see your pictures again, young Kath.”

The Elf collected his satchel by his bag and laid the contents on the table so that the pictures he wanted were on the bottom of the stack. That was on purpose. Flipping through them in front of people often started useful conversations. One was a picture of Flor when she first moved in. That was quickly covered by a sketch of water pipe fittings but Nag Kath was sure both of his hosts saw it. 

“Ah, I started on the wrong side. Here he is. This one won’t win the fair lady’s heart!” Nag Kath slid the drawing to Tom as Goldberry walked behind her man. The Elf rose in courtesy to his hostess’ rising but she softly held her palm down for him to remain seated.

Tom said with his strange gravity and humor, “Tell me how you took the beast.”

“I lured him near the bank of the lake with fishing bait. Then I used a bringing spell to raise him from the water. I cannot claim to have killed him, though. Merely being in the light seemed to empty him within moments.”

Tom asked, “A bringing spell?”

“I have some powers as a wizard. Other wizards tell me it is probably from Saruman. He created me. How; no one knows.”

The ancient leaned back in his chair and looked up at his wife. “And here we thought you would be a merry visitor.” He laughed just the same. Her expression did not change. “Very well. Here is what I think; that mark on its arm was a brand from the army of Angmar. Soldiers, generals, doesn’t matter; they all got one. So it was probably a wight”

That was along the lines Nag Kath had been thinking from Frodo’s description and the men at the lake lodge. He ventured, “Perhaps without the Witch-King they are casting about for new employment?”

“Um hum. Beautiful wife, love of my life, you know waters.”

Goldberry returned to her seat before saying, “It did not come up from water. I can only think a wight fell in the lake and transformed, though what he was doing there is a mystery.”

Tom said, “Yes, he would have stolen a body. Strange that the brand stayed with him.”

Nag Kath fought the temptation to keep quiet and failed, “I should think the brand was more than a sign of ownership. It may have been a binding so the soldier could never be free, in that life or any to come.”

Both of his hosts gave him another long look. Tom finally asked, “And how is it that you are righting wrongs?”

That earned them a Nag Kath grin, “Pure accident, so far, good sir.” He became graver, “I know something of transformations. I was one of Saruman’s orcs and became an Elf of old. What kind of Elf is unknown.” He let that hang in case Tom or Goldberry had something to share. When they didn’t, he continued, “I am very young by any counting, just three and thirty, but I have learned some healing and how to defend myself. King Elessar told me of disturbances in the area and I investigated on my way to Dale. With the Dark Lords gone, older, lesser powers are stirring. I wouldn’t go so far as to call a wight-fish a power, but it seems to be an expression of lingering spells.”

Bombadil said gleefully, “You are a puzzlement, my young friend! Now, let us speak no more of foulness. Tell me of the Halflings.”

True to his wish, they spoke of pleasant things. Nag Kath did not know any of Tom’s songs but he seemed to make them up anyway. Goldberry had a fair voice and was still almost drowned-out by Tom’s lusty baritone. Nag Kath told them of the Elf-keepers who he thought to see soon and then they all retired.

_____________--------______________

Nag Kath’s rest was unusual that night. He seldom dreamed, not that he remembered in any event. Most nights, his thoughts slowly fell away leaving a core consciousness. Tonight he dreamt of longing but without remorse or obsession. It was simply the understanding of desire. That thread vanished, replaced by contact from far away. There was no sender or message, just that someone had called to him. The rest of the dream was spent trying to find the source in vain.

He woke strangely refreshed and later than the sun. After dressing and rinsing his face Nag Kath walked into the main room where Goldberry was weaving river reeds into a small basket. She had no trouble hearing the silent Elf and put her work down to return his bow. Unbidden she murmured, “You are a water spirit too, Nag Kath.”

“So I am told My Lady. I can divine its nature by touch.”

“That is unusual. Most men are of land or sky. Water is left to women. It moves and flows.”

He said cautiously, “I am sorry to have brought unpleasant tidings to your happy house.”

Goldberry giggled and soothed, “It was not a burden. Such things have long been here. We see them come and go. Tom attends his great gardens that provide for us. We endure.” She said more gently, “Did you imagine me before? The picture?”

He had to think about that for a second. The sketch of Flor would be as close as the average artist of Middle-earth could get to Goldberry. He raised his eyebrows and answered, “Oh, no, she is my wife, or, was my wife. I lost her.”

Goldberry was a picture of poise and grace, though that was not the answer she expected. Their home, mostly through Tom’s influence, was near to the imaginings of Irmo, Vala of dreams and visions. She wondered if he thought of her before coming. Most guests were visited by dreams beyond themselves, some of which had yet to happen. Some never did, but who can say the future?

Was this incipient wizard so reserved because she reminded him of a lost love? Elves are always reserved but he said he was of the society of men who are not known for subtlety. She would see how subtle, “Did you have a restful night, Nag Kath?”

“Indeed my lady. I woke refreshed.”

She brightened, “Good. This is a peaceful home, though sometimes noises of the forest waken folk not used to deep woods.”

Nag Kath caught her drift and said softly, “I was touched by desire, not for anything or anyone, just a sense of longing. I wondered if I would follow it or understand that I should not. It was replaced by the feeling that something was calling me from afar. I could not find who or where. It was not a voice or tongue known to me.”

So he was subtle, odd in someone so young. There were older humors in this one. “My Tom is gathering things for our breakfast. Must you leave soon?”

“I have no schedule at all, My Lady. If breaking our fast is as joyous as dinner, I am pleased to share it.”

As if waiting for his cue, Tom Bombadil was heard outside singing a rambling song. Not for the first time, Nag Kath thought those might be spells or wards to keep unruly beasts and plants, or who knows what, in their natural order. The man entered the back door and left a basket of berries by the basin. Then he walked to the table and landed with a thump in his same seat. Tom was not a chin-pincher because it was defended by a massive beard so he tugged at strands of that in thought before saying, “Good morning, Nag Kath! I hope you had a pleasant sleep.”

He said he did. Goldberry looked at her man. Everything else they needed to say was done through thought. Then she rose to wash the berries and warm loaves with butter while Tom and Nag Kath went out the back door. Tom split some kindling for their next fire and the Elf walked over to the stable for a look at Charlo. The horse was comfortable next to a pony sized just right for his owner, a well fed critter to be sure.

Returning to the house together, Nag Kath asked, “Tom, do you know Radagast?”

“Does not ring a bell, a ding a dell!”

“You might know him as Aiwendil, Bird Friend.”

Tom grinned, “Oh yes. Brown fellow, bout my height. I’ve not seen him in ages.”

The Elf kept on that line, “You seem very like him, tending for forests and creatures in them. He is busy restoring damage in Mirkwood after Sauron’s mischief.”

Tom said lightly, “You are probably right, though he is sent there and I am simply here.”

Nag Kath said tenderly, “Then I hope you always are. If I visit every so often, perhaps I will learn your songs better.”

As a parting gift, Nag Kath drew a picture of Tom and Goldberry sitting together in thought. It was not posed. It was just how he remembered the interplay of their faces. Both declared it the finest gift ever and he would make a proper frame for it ere the day was out! 

Riding back to the East Road, Nag Kath wondered what he had learned. He felt stronger, as if the power of the couple had touched him unintentionally. No, that wasn’t it. It was more of an awareness – power in another form. Meeting immortals would get rarer as the Elves left for the Undying Lands. He would not get many more chances to view the world that way. As he laid-bare to Goldberry, he had yet to reconcile himself to love with those who could not follow. 

In wrapping a bow around this package, he thought the essential lesson was Tom saying that he was simply here. Was that how it must be? Did the merry soul now know so much about this small place that there was no room for the larger world? As a couple, they were like moderately well-to-do retirees still possessed of energy to enjoy themselves. It just lasted for thousands of years. He wished them well.

_____________--------______________

Bree is a market hub. It was almost the size of Trum Dreng though not as pretty or welcoming, perhaps because the streets were so narrow. Arriving in late-afternoon, the place was teeming with vendors and merchants and a few travelers using the last of the light. There were a fair number of Hobbits, though the quality of their clothes varied more than in the Shire. He saw several companies of Dwarves keeping to their own affairs.

A prosperous-looking inn on the high street had its own stable so he took a room for the night. Charlo would get a few carrots with his oats. Dinner, if he chose to eat it, was still a while away so Nag Kath wandered along the high street to see if there were herb or healing shops. He did not need anything but was always prepared to be surprised. 

He also tried something new. The inn was nice enough but he had cash and a few other things he wanted to keep. Nag Kath placed what he hoped was a confusion spell over his bag. The witches had done that directly to people with considerable success. Mrs. Hürna showed him how but he had not tried it on a person. Could objects be warded with confusion? He wanted anyone who got close to his things forget why they were there. There would be no knowing if it worked without testing it on an unsuspecting fellow but it seemed worthwhile in this rough town. 

There wasn’t much to see. Dinner wasn’t bad. Taking a stroll afterwards he heard familiar music. In an open square the next block over a theater troupe was performing a Catanard. He remembered little of his first, enjoyed as an escaped prisoner, but later shows always had the same theme; a local boy and girl, hopelessly in love but not very smart, are separated by evil uncles. Each area wrote-in their own fresh gossip poking fun at local luminaries. The cast were all townsmen or women. The villains were shown the error of their ways without bloodshed and the young people would soon be married with optimistic leering from the crowd in anticipation of their nuptial night.

Nag Kath stayed until the end at a table with local folk. A few left and the bench refilled with the baritone villain and his friends who had been standing closer to the stage. Verdand Vixtrous was a leather merchant during the day. The fellow and his friends were in good spirits after his standout performance. He guzzled the regional tan ale in-between wiping his face-paint off with a towel. 

A tall, skinny man called out, “Say, VV, you scared the widow-ladies silly!”

Triumphant VV roared, “It is the part. We bad ‘uns always get the best lines!”

Two women joined them, each carrying a full pitcher and topped off their company’s mugs before sitting. One lady cooed, “Oh darling, I am glad you are a nicer man than you play. Do not get any ideas, now!”

He kissed her to laughs and slurps round the table. Eyes fell on Nag Kath. One of the audience apologized, “Forgive us, young man. We have invaded your table and run riot. Fortunately, this is only performed once a year.”

Nag Kath offered his un-Elvish grin and cried, “Pray do not worry, kind sir. I enjoyed the performance and offer a toast to your triumph!”

The second tenor asked, “Have you seen Catanard before?”

“Indeed I have. Twice in Minas Tirith, though I was very young the first time. And in Dol Amroth there are good singers who entertain in taverns using the same songs.” 

The baritone announced to every table nearby, “We have us a patron! Up here in the hinterlands folk do not know this music but in the last few years, it has grown popular. I myself am from Anfalas, where every lad woos his sweetheart with the gentle Trevalid!”

Nag Kath raised his mug again and called, “Then you are well-schooled, my friend. I am especially fond of the Freron when Juvash is sure his love is lost.” In truth, it was because a sultry version of that was often used in private dancing clubs with delights to follow. His tablemates did not need to know that to proclaim Nag Kath an all-round promising young man and never let his mug get less than half full.

Commerce would come with dawn so the players wished each other well and Nag Kath returned to his inn. As he stepped on the porch, a dazed fellow wandered out the tavern door and bumped into him. Neither was knocked down and a discreet pat on his pocket said his purse was still there. Nag Kath apologized and waited for his key at the desk while the innkeeper carried empty mugs back to the kitchen.

The fellow was florid after bustling to and fro. To make conversation, Nag Kath said, “Seems the poor man just leaving had a few.” 

The innkeeper said, “No one’s left from the bar in a while. Here’s your key, sir.”

Upstairs, the hair he pasted with spit between his door and the jamb was missing. Nag Kath turned the lock quietly and looked about the room in just quarter-moonlight. He was alone. Lighting a candle, all was where he left it. He would remember that spell.

_____________--------______________

Rivendell was a hundred and twenty leagues away. Traveling lightly on a good horse he made the River Hoarwell in eleven days, including waiting under shelter for a day watching a hailstorm. A few days later he reached the north road of the Angle he had taken fighting his way up the Greyflood. Nag Kath didn’t look this time but there was still a well-worn trail to Bilbo’s trolls. 

Eighteen days from Bree he led Charlo to the secret passages into the Imladris Valley. The horse was not as comfortable on the ledges as Regalid. Gladly on wider ground, Nag Kath tied him to the post in front of Elrond’s former quarters and climbed the stairs to the library. If there were any Elves here, they were laying low. He checked a few book spines recalled from nine years ago and went out the back looking for keepers.

They were not in plain sight either. Barging into their quarters he saw one couple he remembered as the Grellars and greeted them. In their fashion, Mr. Grellar uttered a high-pitched nasal, “Hmmmmm. Good day. Can’t say I remember you.”

“I am Nag Kath and I was here nine years ago. Logass will stand for me.”

“Oh yes, Orc Six! Logass is back in Lorien, or is it Gondolin? Just two Elf-keepers here now, and our wives, of course.”

Nag Kath tried to salvage the situation, “I hope we will still sing songs and tales of old. I knew a few more.”

“Hmmmmm, I suppose so. Mrs. Grellar will see to your rooms. He nodded to the plump, hook-nosed gnome watching from the kitchen. She came out and said, “It is nice to see you again, Mr. Six. If you will come with me.”

This time he stayed in Elvish quarters. It was still nice and would have been exquisite before folk stopped waxing the woodwork. High summer felt like fall for all the leaves trapped in windless walks and nooks. 

Mrs. Grellar was chattier than her husband. He gleaned from her that they had not seen any Elves in seven years. Travelers before that were headed for the Grey Havens after snuffing out the candles in Lorien. Nag Kath didn’t mind sleeping in a full-sized bed but he didn’t want to be fed alone so he insinuated himself into the evening meal by saying, “Is dinner served in your hall at the usual time, Mrs. Grellar?”

“Why yes, Mr. Six. We are having trout tonight.”

Charlo had already been taken to the stable. His bags were leaning against the hitch post. Nag Kath fetched them back up to the library and claimed two tables for his studies. He calculated it would take two weeks to leisurely reread what he failed to grasp of magic and healing last time. There was no time like the present so he started with the creation of the orcs.

Meals were more sedate. Grellar was considered a boring storyteller, even among the Elf-keepers. Houk was better but only knew a few. Their women did not participate. With Nag Kath present, the four keepers made a good show but evidently, the Elf had caught high-season for lore the last time. No other Elves arrived. He covered the ground sooner than expected and was headed for the High Pass in ten days with a few pounds of real Lembas. 

In Rosghobel, Nag Kath waited in the same clearing for a week to see if Radagast might appear. He did not. Nat Kath did not get a sense of his presence either. That sense was better honed than last time. The Forest Road continued to improve with use but the Elf trail would have still been invisible but for remembering a large rock forty paces from the turn.

One approached the Elven Halls noisily. Charlo was a fairly loud horse but Nag Kath removed some of the padding from his tack for extra jingling. Sure enough, a pair of the brown and green-clad dark Elves walked in front of him in a clearing with another pair nocking their arrows in the brush. The taller of the two said in Silvan, “What business brings you here, friend?”

In Sindarin Nag Kath called, “Forgive me, brother. I do not know the local tongue. I have come to pay my respects to Fearnold and other friends in these lands.”

“You appear to know the way,” this time said in Sindarin. “We will escort you.”

They traveled another hour to the great halls with few words exchanged. His guard walked him to the doors after tying Charlo and spoke with the interior guard. That fellow nodded and gestured for Nag Kath to follow.

The place hadn’t changed. The Sylvan Elves preferred life outdoors. There were still offices and storerooms here but this was not a hive of courtly activity like in the days of Thranduil. His ohtar told him to stay in a corridor and returned shortly with Fearnold. The chiseled Elf smiled and said, “Welcome back, Nag Kath. I thought you might have taken the ship.”

“Too crowded, Lord Fearnold. I like elbow room.”

“I hold the same view.” The Elf Lord led him into the central lobby which still had plenty of folks busy preparing for whatever was next. Fearnold asked, “Are you staying long?”

“Nay, sir. Just to say hello and take the short-cut around the Great River.”

“There is plenty of room in the west wing. Join us for dinner and share tidings of the wider world.” The meal was pleasant. Nag Kath spoke of Rivendell and asked if Lorien was empty as well. Not at all! Sylvan Elves had stayed there too. It being so close, they met occasionally. Both were Moriquendi bloodlines and their purpose was very much the same.


	20. It Couldn't Stay the Same

** **

** _Chapter 20_ **

** _It Couldn’t Stay the Same_ **

Dale seemed warm and familiar. It was up in the world too, at least, someone had painted the storefronts. Nag Kath walked Charlo through the dock market as folk hurried to finish their business for the day. Even more than Osgiliath, there was always a confusion of languages, often spoken at the top of someone’s voice. People looked at him but he didn’t see anyone he knew.

His house had a new coat of paint too. It was locked and no one answered the knocker so he made his way up the hill to Brenen’s new home. It was a large, two-story with balconies on the upper floors and a sizeable personal garden. He clicked along the flagstones and rapped on the door.

An elderly cove he didn’t recognize opened and smiled before hearing, “Good day. I am Nag Kath to see Brenen. I believe I am expected.”

“Of course, Mr. Kath. Please come inside.”

The entryway opened into a spacious, main room with large windows on three sides. The steward said he was welcome to have a seat and would let Mr. Fal know he was here. Nag Kath remained standing expecting the bear-hug he got moments later when his old protégé bounded from a hallway. Released, Brenen stepped back and said, “It is good to see you, my friend. I wasn’t expecting you for another month.”

“Things went my way with the usual assortment of strange stories. How are you?”

Brenen was much rounder than in F.A. 20. When the creators imagined Northmen, it was not eating three squares a day and living in a heated home. Now in his mid-forties, Bren's hair was still full with a trimmed beard showing a little gray. The robust Dale businessman said, “I am just fine. By the stars, it is good to see you. Let us have some introductions.”

The man walked back down the hallway and reemerged with an assortment of relatives. All bowed to him except Brenen’s wife Nedille who ran over for a kiss. “Oh dear Nag Kath. Welcome home.” She turned and said, “You remember Renelda, don’t you?”

“I do indeed. Hello Bugs.” 

A tall woman in her mid-twenties came forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Welcome home, Uncle Nag. This is my brood.” She wagged her hand to bring two children forth from the hall jamb. “Children, this is Uncle Nag. Nag Kath, these are Aleurn,” pointing to a seven-year old girl who looked just her mother, “and this is Brenald.” That was for a four-year old boy who stood with his arms crossed, no doubt because this stranger was getting all of his attention.

Nag Kath walked to them and offered his hand. The girl took it with a smile and a curtsy. The little boy wasn’t sure what this meant. He glanced at his grandda who mimed shaking. He offered his little hand as if to a dragon. Nag Kath took it gently and looked him in the eye. “Glad to meet you, young man.”

That brought a giggle, though the tyke rubbed his hands together as if to remove whatever they had touched. Brenen said, “Renelda and Luther are staying here until their new place is finished. Have you been home yet?”

“I stopped by but it was locked.”

Brenen thought this was a good time to catch-up so he pronounced, “Dear, we’re going to walk down to Nag’s house.” Looking at Nag Kath, “You’ll come for dinner, of course?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Brenen rummaged through a drawer full of keys with little string-tags and dropped one in his vest pocket. Taking a gentleman’s cane and his hat from the stand by the front door, Brenen gestured for his guest to go first. 

Charlo was not used to cobblestones so walking with Brenen was a good way to get the Lossarnach horse used to the slight slip and catch. Brenen said, “Are you just back?”

“Yes, I came home and then went to your place straight away. You have a lovely house.”

“Thank you. We like it. It has come in handy with extra room for family. I’ve got five grandkids now and another on the way. Life had been very good, Nag. I owe you a great deal.”

“You earned it, my friend. I suppose I’ll need to ask you a thousand questions about how everyone is doing since I’ve been gone, starting with your mother.”

“She is strong. Her husband died three, is it three, yes, three years ago. Nedille and I are talking about buying the little house just to our left for her. The big place is too much now. I am fortunate. They get on well so it will be good to have her close. She can keep an eye on the little ones too.”

Brenen hopped a pot hole and continued, “I suppose I should ask; will you be here a while?”

“I plan to be. I’ll always leave for stretches but I think close for a year or two. Before fall I’ll make for the Buhr, though. I’ve been getting regular letters from Ardatha too. Working down the list, how are the King and Queen?”

“I only see them once or twice a year. She is always the picture of health. King Bard is not doing so well. He is sixty four, something like that, and is rumored to have trouble with his heart. Friends in high places say he seldom stands or meets people for more than half an hour without a rest. The Thainmoot has been postponed a year. Now, their son Bain is a man grown and by all accounts, a worthy successor. I like him.”

Nag Kath said, “I will send them a note now that I am back. Rosscranith too, though I saw him until he left Minas Tirith, when, a couple years ago. He’s a good ‘un. Tell me of the Brightens brothers.”

“Fit as fiddles! No one has Syndolan Eve parties like we used to throw but they can be counted on as quality guests. Still live in the same place.”

“I’ll wander around and see everyone. How about Moaan?” Brenen pulled a blank. “Miss Quessan, the healer?”

“Oh, no idea. Haven’t seen her in years.”

They arrived at Nag Kath’s house. Brenen played with the lock while the Elf took his packs off Charlo. Inside was just like he left it. Brenen said, “An older couple works for the company. They clean and care for a dozen places. Calather still does the fixing-up. Gave the outside a coat of stain last year.” Brenen walked into the middle of the large room and turned in a circle. “I haven’t been here since you left. Do I need to get you a cook?”

“Good idea, though it will be hard to find someone as good as your ma.”

“Bard’s wife knows everyone. We should stop at the office on the way back so you can say hello.”

Nag Kath nodded and walked around the room. Then he bounded up the stairs to the bedrooms and storage area. All his drawings and paintings were there, covered by a sheet. He would thumb through them at leisure. He went back down to the man he considered a son and put his arm around his shoulder. 

There being nothing else to do there for now, Brenen locked-up, handed Nag Kath the key as they walked outside. Brenen said, “Stable’s still there. Want to see to this handsome fellow?” Charlo was left with promises of evening oats and the two friends walked west a few blocks to the office of Kathen Properties. Brenen’s cousin Bard had managed the day-to-day operations since before Nag Kath left. 

Bard gave the Elf a hug no less grand than Brenen. Unlike his stout cousin, Bard had kept his figure and remained a handsome man. It was Bard who introduced the two partners. It seemed their shares of Kathen had done well. His wife was in the little kitchen making a pot of tea when she heard the commotion and came out for a kiss. Their son was with the building crew. One daughter married the heir of the Chandler’s Guild elector and the younger girl still lived at home.

Since tea was ready, Rosalin fetched it along with a little pot of honey in the local tradition. As Brenen had done, Bard asked, “Are you back for a while, Nag?”

“It seems so. I did a large building project for King Aragorn and Prince Faramir in Gondor. That went well but took eight years. Alas, my marriage did not fare so well, but now I am free as a bird.”

Rosalin, always a cheerful and never timid woman asked, “Are you still a sorcerer?”

Nag Kath grinned and said, “Worse than ever, I fear. And I’ve met even more dangerous types in my travels. Please, though, let us keep that to ourselves. For now, I am just Uncle Nag the peculiar Half-Elven. I will tell you this; I got a supply of Gandalf’s firework powders in Orthanc. If I can figure-out how to use them without burning down the house, we will have a Syndolan Eve party in the old style!”

Everyone thought that a capital idea. Brenen asked Rosalin to send someone round about cooking and keeping Nag Kath’s household. Two women came to mind who were either available or might be looking for a change of scenery. The Elf asked her to mention that his habits were irregular.

_____________--------______________

At dinner, Brenen had already told Nedille to leave mention of magic to Uncle Nag. They had plenty of other things to discuss. If you could imagine, she was on the flower committee, knowing full-well the unlikely turn of events that brought the Elf to the royal family. Their home was not in the most stylish part of Dale but they were among the wealthier folk in the city. His third of the troll-hoard alone put him in that category. Nag Kath’s gift of as much and a lifetime of shrewd decisions made the unassuming dock-rat a man of substance. Nag Kath insisting Brenen earn an officer’s commission helped overcome his humble beginnings. The portly Northman still rolled out with the reserves every autumn to plink arrows at straw-men, followed by a single pint of tan.

Quite out of the blue, Brenen asked, “Nag, have you thought to your other holdings here?”

“Hmmmm? You’ve got those now.”

“Not all. You gave us Kathen Properties, but you still own a half a dozen outright.”

“I had no idea. Really?”

“Sure. Some of it is just land outside the gates but you’ve got two shop buildings and a couple apartments in the Slattery district, not to mention the Mason’s Guild Hall. They’ve been trying to buy that for years. We mind them the same as all the rest.”

“Well, thank you. I’ve still got money in the bank here and similar operations in Minas Tirith and Osgiliath. The man on the river was my southern Brenen. Younger and shorter. You’d like him. Now Nedille, tell me about the children.”

She explained the fortunes of the three not there. Turenon was at a repair site when his da and Uncle Nag visited. Brenen and Nag Kath agreed years ago that even though he was an honorary grandfather, his eternal youth would eventually be confusing. Uncles can come in all ages.

Second son Gerrulth became a jeweler. Brenen and Nedille didn’t mind. Nag Kath had told them of Mr. Tallazh’s difficulty of finding room for everyone and it wasn’t like the young man needed the income. Nedille and Renelda were each wearing one of his broaches and it was beautiful work. Ardathlin, named in honor of Nag Kath’s other family, had married a handsome Lieutenant in the King’s guard and told her mother last week that another grandbaby might be in the offing. Renelda had outgrown the nickname Bugs long ago. She was a beauty.

As was his lifetime habit, Brenen only sipped at a single goblet of wine during the meal. Nag Kath might ask him about his long-lost da in a private moment. No ... maybe not. The Elf was off before the sun was gone but would stop by the office in a day or two.

_____________--------______________

Back home by lamplight, Eniece poured on him like rain. This was their home, every inch of it. There had been enough time to accept that she would always be with him. And after Flor, it was nice to remember further back.

Nag Kath’s breakfast was the last of his Lembas and water from the canteen. No sooner had he wiped his lips than there was a knock at the door. He put her at about thirty-three, dressed in brown homespun with a pug nose and freckles but still an attractive woman. She looked up at the looming Elf and said cheerfully, “Rosalin said you’s looking for someone.”

He swung the door open and she walked in looking around the large main room saying, “I’m Tella Rancasth. Do some cooking and cleaning.”

Her being here meant excellent references. Nag Kath held his chin, as all good decision-makers do, and asked, “What sorts of households have you served, Tella?”

“Mostly families with young ‘uns, Mr. Kath.

Did Ros tell you I don’t eat meat?”

She shook her head and said, “No. But I can cook other things. Do you eat fish?”

“I do.”

“I make a right proper fish stew or can bake it if you have the right kind of oven.”

Nag Kath stood and Miss Rancasth, he guessed miss since she was not wearing a wedding band, stood as well. Wondering what else Rosalin hadn’t mentioned he asked, “Did Ros tell you of my other needs?”

The woman gulped in resignation, dropped to her knees and began unbuttoning his trouser fly. Nag Kath stepped back and cautioned, “She didn’t tell you that!”

Miss Rancasth looked up in shock and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Kath. No sir, but I know what requirements it takes for a girl to get a job with a gentleman, well, some of them.”

Trying not to break into his largest grin, the Elf said sternly, “That will not be required here, Miss Rancasth. No need to mention this to Ros, either, eh?” Still kneeling, she gulped again and nodded. Nag Kath offered his hand to help her rise and pulled two silvers from his vest. “You’re hired. There’s probably nothing in the pantry. Get what you need. Can you read?” 

She gave an unconvincing shrug and said, “A little, Mr. Kath.”

I’ll make out a list of other things shortly. Here’s your room …”

_____________--------______________

It wasn’t until he was on his way to the stable that he had a good laugh. That was not so funny. Men took advantage. It was not how he saw the world but he knew he was naïve. 

Charlo seemed to like his new situation. There were two mares and a cart-pony in the stalls next to him. The stableman’s son remembered Regalid and was just as impressed with the new horse. Nag Kath took him out the gate and made the two hour ride to Lake Town.

There was new paint here too. He climbed the steps to the Borenne business and saw the fellow who reminded him so much of a young Mr. Tallazh thirty years ago. Now he reminded him of an old Mr. Tallazh. The man recognized him immediately and said, “Welcome back, Mr. Kath. Mrs. Borenne doesn’t come in much but I would be glad to take you to her home.”

The clerk called into the back to have someone watch the door and walked into the sun. Nag Kath said, “Thank you, Mr. Jemeneth. I hope you have been well.”

“Indeed, sir. I have been buying the business for some time. We are having a good year.”

“The family has been well served.”

Eniece’s mother’s home was only three buildings over. Nag Kath hoped this would not be too much of a surprise. He asked Ardatha to mention his return to the old lady but mail is never reliable. Mr. Jemeneth rapped the brass knocker three times and took his leave.

A gaunt woman wearing gray opened the door and peered up at the Elf. He said, “Good morning, Miss Urnn.”

She blinked a few times, knowing she knew who he was but not sure of the name and said, “Please come in, sir.”

“If you could tell Mrs. Borenne that Nag Kath has come to call?” 

Comprehension appeared on her face and she hurried to inform her mistress. Mrs. Borenne came out a minute later and offered her hand for a kiss. She was eighty if she was a day but still had the regal poise and beauty Eniece inherited. Graciously she said, “Ardatha told me you were coming. How nice of you to visit.”

“It is my pleasure ma’am. Your granddaughter has been a good correspondent.”

She motioned to a pair of comfortable chairs saying, “Please, Nag Kath. Would you like tea?”

That wasn’t even out of her mouth before Miss Urnn appeared with a tray, cups, a steaming pot and honey. He sat down and waited until his hostess was comfortable.

Mrs. Borenne seemed at peace. Her husband died not long after their dear daughter. She threw herself into longtime interests and with the help of many friends still lived a full life. Nag Kath had missed her. They spoke for almost two hours and he left with promises to return often. Mrs. Borenne got teary as he rose, remembering how much Eniece loved him and how he had helped her blossom. He was a dear soul.

Nearly dusk getting back, Nag Kath dropped by the studio of Master Golord. A new Dwarf opened the complex door and asked as brusquely as only a Dwarf can for the tall, pale one to state his business.

“I am Nag Kath and am come to pay my respects to Master Golord.”

“He is no doubt busy.”

In the Elf Lord voice he saved for special occasions, “As are we all, Ghazd ( Khuzdun for youngster).”

The Dwarf gave him a wide-eyed up-and-down before saying, “Wait here.”

It did not take long. The Master came back with the junior fellow, which validated the youngster’s decision to interrupt him. “Nag Kath, you old devil! I wondered if you would ever knock on my door again!”

“Wild horses could not keep me away, Master Dwarf.”

“Come in, come in! This is Wallord who I hope can find us some tea.” Hint taken, the shortbeard hurried as much as Dwarves can do indoors towards a dark hallway. They walked back to the studio and took the same seats they had years ago. “So, tell me of your travels Mr. Kath.”

The young Dwarf was instantly there with tea which was too hot just now. Nag Kath let it cool and said, “Of interest to Durin’s people, I have spent considerable time with Dwarves of the Glittering Caves. Engineer Thurgin consulted and Lord Gimli got his groats in too.”

“I have heard about this; a long water pipe like the one to the palace pool.”

With pride Nag Kath said, “Yes, we named the chute from the mountain the Gimli Cascade. It shines different colors of light like a rainbow depending on the sun.”

Master Golord muttered, hardly meaning it, “I need to get abroad more.”

In the event he actually might, Nag Kath encouraged him, “It is not that far if you take the Great River Road and avoid the Gladden bogs. I’ll wager you have caravans down there all the time.”

“Indeed. My cousin Urald trades there. Thorbar was with those who settled the caves.” Dwarves have endless cousins. Any relation, no matter how distant, is awarded that honor as long as their reputations are relatively clean.

Nag Kath paid the Master a tribute, “I use your little knife often and think of its craft every time. It has received many compliments. I still have the test knife too.”

“I thank you for that. Men learned of our work and came for pieces of their own, albeit it without bringing their own mithril. Don’t suppose you’ve come across any more of that?”

“Just the little piece. That was from a troll-hoard. Thankfully, they were well past asking.”

“Never hurts to try.”

“If you will excuse me, Master Dwarf, I am newly back and must see to errands. I am just here to hope we can bend our elbows with fine ale at leisure.”

“I will see you then.”

_____________--------______________

Nag Kath walked to a tavern near the palace gate and asked if anyone had seen Sergeant Burry when he ordered his pie. The old archer still came in a night or so a week. Nag Kath left a hefty tip and asked that the Sergeant be told his old student was in town. If that didn’t work, Nag Kath would stop by the home.

Back at the house, Miss Rancasth had already been shopping and was now rearranging the kitchen with a vengeance. She did not seem self-conscious about her employment interview when she asked where he wanted the towels stored so hopefully that was water over the dam. Nag Kath wrote out a list of foods, household items and sundries Tella would not know to get. 

Then he watched her read it. She studied it with the kind of frown unlettered folks use but then asked if Mr. Kath wanted the red or green peppers. So she could read well enough, and she should get some of each.

He had other writing to do:

** _My Lord King and Lady Queen,_ **

** _I hope the Valar have smiled on you and your family. _ **

** _I am just returned from Gondor and will be staying here for some time. If I can be of any service, I am at your call. For what it is worth, I have a small measure of ending for the health concern of our Lady Queen so long ago. _ **

** _With humility, Nag Kath_ **

Folded and sealed, Nag Kath realized he needed another lad to run errands as he walked to the palace gate and handed the note to a sentry along with a second for Lord Rosscranith.

The next morning there was business to handle. Nag Kath walked west to the Royal Bank of Dale and asked to see his balance statement. It took some time to confirm he was who he said he was by signing his name for comparison. Finally, old Mr. Colas, who was blind as a mole but as sharp as ever, was located upstairs. He walked down and said, “Good day, Mr. Kath. It is a pleasure to see you again.” What he could see was debatable but none of the junior clerks would gainsay him. His account was worth one hundred twenty two Florin, including the interest. His rental trust had another thirty plus four silvers. Nag Kath didn’t need any of it so he wished everyone well and made his way to the Hobbits’ home.

Lotold answered the door and beamed with his arms wide. You understand that is not wide in the relative scheme of things, but he meant it as strongly as any Northman. Rather than have the Elf smack his head on the ceiling, Lotold collected Lorens from the kitchen and they all walked outside to the patio. Their wives were shopping. Nag Kath said, “It was on this porch that we first met all those years ago.”

Lorens agreed, “Indeed it was. Uncle Stifo was here and cantankerous as could be. Are you home for a while, Nag Kath?”

He called it home. Was it? Nag Kath thought he might now have two homes because there were people in both that loved him. He also thought he would never stay anywhere very long as his powers increased. “I think a year or two, Lorens. That is no guarantee but it feels about right.”

Lotold bore in, “You must tell us all about your adventures. We haven’t been any further than Esgaroth since you left.”

“I do have some Hobbit news. A couple months ago I visited the Shire with King Elessar. It was the only way to get in. There I met Sam, Pip and Merry. I thought it went rather well, considering I was one of the Uruks chasing them. And I have been much in the company of the Dwarf Gimli so that only leaves the Elf Legolas to meet of the surviving Fellowship of the Ring.”

Lotold thought first and queried, “Odd; that. I should have thought he would be the easiest to find.”

“I am not sure he wants to be found. I will be in Middle-earth for the foreseeable future and the first ale will be on me if he knocks.”

Lorens stated for the record, “You must excuse us, Nag Kath. Our wives have decided that alcoholic beverages are not to be served before the five-bell, for reasons of health.”

Lotold rejoined, “Horsefeathers! Here we have the world famous Nag Kath come to visit and we cannot even wet his whistle! We have our reputations as hosts to consider!”

“Quite right, brother. We should not set a bad precedent. May we offer you a libation to take the edge off your hard travel?”

Nag Kath pretended to consider their local standing before agreeing to a half-pint. After draining it he promised to organize a dinner when he found a cook. He had one, but wouldn’t subject friends to her meals until he had tried one himself.

That meal was still a couple hours away so Nag Kath walked to the healing and herb district. Of all the places so far, these buildings had seen the least improvement. Signs were painted and sidewalks were swept but it still looked like a place people went to die.

He pushed his hair over his ears and entered a shop that probably would not offer magical cures. He was sure when a plump proprietress cheerfully asked him how she could help. He said with his most charming smile, “I am trying to find a healer known here long ago called Moann Quessan. Before your time, I am sure.”

The woman sized him up for other than medicinal purposes and said, “Never heard of her. What do you need, young fellow?”

“She was a midwife who helped me into Dale thirty years ago. I thought she might still be available for a new generation.” A Magister could argue that statement was technically true, even if completely misleading.

Since he was obviously spoken-for, she offered, “Three doors east, cross the street. Old lady named Bolaris. She might go back far enough.”

Miss, and she would have you know it was Miss, Bolaris was having cold tea in her back room when the bell above the door rang unexpectedly. The elderly herbalist limped into her showroom and appraised the tall young man waiting for help. She was polite enough, “How can I assist, young sir?”

“I am looking for Miss Quessan.”

More annoyed than suspicious the lady stated, “You’ve got the wrong shop. It is just me here.”

Nag Kath walked to the counter and placed a silver down so it snapped on the surface. He looked at it for a moment and then said, “We are old friends.”

She grumbled, “Old friends stay in touch.”

He leaned towards her with, “Are you old friends?”

Oh, this was terrible! That silver would cover last month’s rent and a pork roast. But Moaan was a good person and this could not possibly be to her benefit. Nag Kath knew he struck gold. In a gentler voice he said, “You don’t have to tell me where she is. If you are a friend, she probably mentioned me when she moved up the hill. You keep that silver and ask her if she remembers me. If so, I am at my old house again. Good day, ma’am.” 

He whistled the Orthanc trail song on the way home.

_____________--------______________

His house smelled wonderful. Tella Rancasth could cook. As spelled, her name was pronounced with a lisp but no one had put the “h” on the end in her lifetime.

They had baked fish and he let her sit at table with him, the first time that had ever happened for her. She was sure permission was meal-by-meal but he seemed nice enough. Ros had not given her the details of his diet or private needs but she did say he was more than he appeared. He appeared very handsome and her thoughts drifted during dinner.

That night, Nag Kath was visited by dreams much like at the house of Tom Bombadil and Goldberry. It was a call of longing and care but also of satisfaction. In his mindful rest, he acknowledged it and let it pass to clear his thoughts. The next morning he was refreshed and ready for more exploring. 

Tella found some fresh eggs and loaves at the market yesterday. It would take her another day or two to let the yeast rise to make her own bread. She seemed very refreshed and cheerful too. Nag Kath did not intend to make for Buhr Austar for another month but it paid to learn of the routes in advance. He took Charlo down to the royal stables. These were escort facilities for when Bard left the city. That wasn’t often these days.

Charlo was the bait. He could have just walked down but parading one of King Aragorn’s stallions past their own handsome mounts put Nag Kath in the category of those who get information first. He also had Tella sew his Dale cavalry reserve-Captain’s gorget on his lapel, hoping it wasn’t six years out of date.

Sure enough, Charlo brought a crowd. Unlike most horses, Lossarnach bred animals had a tattoo stamped in their ear rather than a burned brand on the flank. It still hurt the poor little foals terribly, but much less than fire. A hardened sergeant said, “Fine mount. Are you new to Dale?”

Nag Kath turned so the sergeant could see his officer’s insignia and replied, “I have been away for a while and thought I would take him over the charging lanes.”

“Very good, sir.”

“No need for that Sarge. We are all just folk in the summer. You might help me though. I make for Buhr Austar this fall and am too recently returned to know the road. What news of either way?”

Since the blonde lad, certainly a rich man’s son, said they were off-parade, the sarge spit something brown and whistled for a corporal who was carrying a saddle to the tack room. “Capt’n said he’s heading to the Buhrs this fall. How was the Dwarf Road last month?”

The corporal held his unusually shaved chin before saying, “Fine. It was dry. No ruffians reported, even by two or three-wagon teams. Not much forage, though, and there’ll be less then.” He looked at Charlo, “Bring your own oats.”

The Elf said, “Thank you gents. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

Sarge drawled, “Well, let us talk about that. My Captain would be sore interested in this fellow.” He gave the horse a muzzle-scratch.

“That is reasonable enough. He is Charlo and he is from King Elessar’s stud in Lossarnach, below Minas Tirith. I am told he is mostly Rohirrim stock with some of the faster Gondor lines from light cavalry. He dearly loves to run.”

Another spit, “I don’t suppose he would be interested in parenthood?”

That brought a grin and memories of Regalid’s surreptitious romance in Helm’s Deep. “I wouldn’t mind and I’m sure he would approve.” Nag Kath took one of the cards he wrote the night before from his vest and handed it to the Sergeant saying, “I should be easy to find.”

Both sides thought that a fair exchange. Nag Kath took Charlo out to the farm roads between the millet fields for exercise before riding back to the block stable. Then he walked to the Kathen office. Bard was there with his son going over a new wall one of the tenants needed for their store. Barthanid was just a boy the last time Nag Kath saw him but Bart was seventeen now and would be a prize when the right girl set her sights on him.

They made polite conversation until Bart excused himself to visit the Woodworker’s Guild. Bard shared Brenen’s aversion to alcohol so they had cool tea which Ros made by the gallon. Nag Kath kicked his feet up on the chair next to him and said, “Looks like you and yours are in tall barley, Bard.”

“Aye, Nag. Bren and I could retire anytime. Our boys are near ready to take the reins, good ‘uns both, older than we were. I’ve got hobbies but I’m not sure what Bren would do with his time. I wish he would take more exercise. You notice that little shuffle in his walk?”

“I did. My healing powers are stronger now, but there isn’t much anyone can do for the knife and spoon.”

Bard took a long pull of tea and said, “Aleurn, his mother Aleurn, will move below them when we make a deal on that brown house. Bren and Nedille mostly mind the grandkids. Did he tell you there’s another on the way?”

“Rumors.”

“That will put him at six and counting. Aleurn loves them silly. If she is closer, maybe Bren and Nedille can travel a bit, though I’m sure he hasn’t been on a horse since Vandery died. What’s that, twenty years ago?”

Nag Kath smiled after his own swig, “Almost. Course, getting the ladies on a horse is the tricky part. Can Nedille ride?”

“Just a man-cart. They’re all over modern Dale ... run over your foot if you don’t step lively. They have their own Guild now.”

“I saw. I’m a little surprised he hasn’t visited Ardatha.”

“No need. She is here every other year for the Thainmoot. Her young ’uns are teenagers and the oldest bore her two grandbabes for good measure. Old Thain Conath doesn’t make the trip anymore. His oldest steers the boat now.”

“We stay in touch. Conath has two fine sons. Good soldiers. How about Bart, is he a man-of-arms?”

“A better archer than either his da or uncle, if I say so myself. You taught him and Burry let him train after harvest. Fair rider too.” 

“Oh, good. I stopped by Burry’s watering hole to leave word.”

Bard thought fondly of the tough old sarge and said, “He is the same as ever and still quick on his feet. Heard tell a hill brat gave him lip at last year’s training and got some stitches for his sass.”

“I’ll wager that is a story to go with a pitcher of tan.”

“You’ll get no takers. I expect you can still pin a fly at fifty paces.”

“Probably. See here, Bard. I’m settling in and will be here a season or two at least. Let us conspire to get Bren on a swayback nag and ride a stone off him. In the meantime, he told me I still have property. I don’t remember which ones. Suppose I should pop round for a look.”

One was a building with four nice apartments just below the Cheesemakers’ district. Another was less inviting down by the docks. Urchins were playing in a horse trough in front. The two shop buildings were side-by-side near the boatwrights. Both were leased and seemed to be doing good trade. Nag Kath didn’t enter either. His policy was still to keep a low profile. There was no need to see the Mason’s Guild. Everyone knew where that was.

The ground outside was near the Erebor Gate close by Master Golord’s compound. The Long Road Inn seemed to be doing business. No matter. If the men who ran Kathen Properties wanted to keep it, who was he to say otherwise?

Tella made vegetable pies for dinner. His was delicious. With his Elvish appetite he only finished half and let his proud cook know it wasn’t her recipe. She said she would make smaller ones. After dark Nag Kath put an oil lamp on either side of his table and brought a handful of his old drawings downstairs to look. They weren’t as good as he remembered but were now his own version of the Red Book of Westmarch. A pile of newer pictures from the trip north went into empty hanging files.

That night he was again visited by dreams of longing and release. This time they lingered. He pulled out of his meditation and realized it wasn’t a dream at all. Those were noises in his house. Nag Kath crept down the stairs and heard Tella pleasuring herself. It was so quiet that a human would never hear. To Elf ears, it was plain as day.

He smiled and went back to his room. Shutting the door he found deep rest difficult. Proper Elves had training to block distractions along with controlling their own impulses. He had neither skill and it had been a long time since bedding Flor. Putting his pillow over his head didn’t work. Humming Tom Bombadil songs under the pillow didn’t work. His choices were to tell her to stop or wait until he was not home, dismissing her or finding her a man. Looking down, his body suggested another option but that would cause more trouble than it solved.

She was her usually sunny self while serving the morning omelet. He was more reserved. The bought-bread was fine but Tella assured him they would have their own tonight. There was a loud knock at the door. Nag Kath had been handing out invitations for the last two days so it could be anyone, but that was a soldier’s knock for sure.

Standing at the door was grizzled old Burry. He had lost some weight, in a good way, and was as formidable as ever. Burry gripped his hand in the greeting of Northmen as he stamped inside. The Master Archer knew the house well and found a chair without being told. The Elf asked his amorous cook, “Do we still have tea?”

There was plenty and she bustled off to fetch a mug and honey pot. Burry stared at the tall ceiling and said, “I got an ale last night and they told me you had been round. No name, but no one else fits your description. Been back long?”

“Good to see you, Sarn't. Just a few days. The place hasn’t changed.”

“Times have been good. Nobody walks no more.”

Nag Kath wondered, “Man-carts?”

“All over, they are. One of them ran into Corporal Dungan last month and then the fellow sassed him for standing in the road. Well, you know Dungan. That may stand as the city record for how far you can fling one of those things from a battlement.”

“I hope it was empty!”

Burry laughed, “Aye, at least it was when it landed.”

“Are you still stalking the keep?”

The old soldier said without rancor, “Four years ago they culled the bull elks. I still teach the militia for a few coppers but I’m retired now. Saved my pay, kept a few of your coins and we bought the apartment above ours. Now the rent pays for our food and I wrestle the bairns. Oh, and Lola sends her best.”

Nag Kath said, “I haven’t been upstairs (the nickname for inside the palace walls) but there aren't as many men in the turrets.”

“Getting soft, we are! Thirty years without a good war will do that. The men up there are professionals, but I shudder to think of breaking out of Erebor with journeymen glassblowers to the fore. That would be a proper goat’s breakfast.”

The Elf thought the same. “Though I understand Bart, son of Bard is a fair hand.”  
  
“A good ‘un. He’s got your eye. He’d better be sure he isn’t ordered to lead light cavalry into spears by some hill brat. Probably won’t come to that. Easterlings are farmers now.” He leaned forward more seriously, “Heard tell some of their hard men are itching for empire again. That’s fine as long as they stay on their side of the river.”

Tella came up to them and curtsied before saying, “Excuse me, Mr. Kath. I’ll just get to the market now.”

He said, “That’s fine. Oh, Tella, this is my old friend Burry who taught me archery. He’s welcome any time. Burr this is Tella.”

The big man said he was pleased to meet her and gave her an extra look as she sashayed to the door. “Nag, you do seem to find them.”

“Just met her. Bard’s wife sent her down to cook. How’s your brood?”

“Towing the line, they are. My middle boy is having a rough patch. His wife divorced him and he’s mooning about like a calf.”

Nag Kath pondered, “Divorce is not easy here.”

“Just long. She wrote the petition a year ago and it was proclaimed in May. He’s staying with us now since her da owned the house.”

“No kids?”

“Nay, that was the problem.” Burry leaned forward again, “Between us, she did not care for the marriage bed. He’s a normal man and wants a family. It is probably for the best.”

Oh, thank you old Burr, solver of riddles. This might not rank up there with preventing Bard’s assassination, but as a scheme, it was perfect in its simplicity. “Burry, can you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“I am going to send Tella by your house this afternoon to get the Arrow of Dulnach. It has sentimental value to me.”

“The arrow of what?”

“It’s the rankest turkey-quill target-shaft you have to scrape your boots. What matters is that your love-sick boy is the one who gets it for her, might even ask her inside while you look. Understand?”

Nobody’s fool; Burry grinned to rival Nag Kath and said, “I have just the one. You might give her the evening off, being as you’re visiting one of your lordly friends for dinner, unexpected like.”

“Must have slipped my mind.” 

Not much happened for a few days. Nag Kath found time to get fitted to replace the dress-clothing he left in the White City. He went fishing at the Chairn Stream towards Erebor, wondering what would bite at venison soaked in barley spirits. The trout liked hooks bound with green and red thread and he brought them home to be cooked by his tired servant.

While he was out, a sealed note arrived by a messenger in livery. That was Rosscranith’s ring or he was a fool. He should come up to the man’s house tomorrow after dinner for a goblet of Dorwinion. It did not have the usual excuse printed at the bottom for regrets.

Nag Kath wore the best he had and gave his name to the sentry at the main gate. There was no confusion. The Corporal pushed the gate and made sure the visitor knew how to get there. He had only been here once before. Journa opened the door herself and welcomed him inside. They had entertained another couple for dinner but cleared them out after a decent interval so the Colonel and Elf could talk.

Rosscranith walked out of the kitchen with a cup in his hand, said hello and went back for another. The two arranged themselves in comfortable chairs as the lady of the house excused herself. Without a word, Rosscranith raised his cup. Nag Kath did the same. The man had always reminded him of Captain Marchand. He was what good men aspired to be.

“Welcome back, Nag Kath. Congratulations on the aqueduct.”

“Good to be back. It actually works! It is nice to know men can still build great things. You’ve been back what, two years now?”

“Almost. We liked Minas Tirith. Despite the distance, it is more like here than anywhere in-between. That was my last posting. I am retired now, except for consulting.”

This was cordial but not a social call. Nag Kath hinted, “A bird told me things go ill with the King.”

“His heart. He can’t get his wind. He waves from the window on holidays but Bain controls the army. The son is good, a bit like his grandda, leading from the front.”

The Elf said, “I sent the King and Queen a letter the same day as yours. We settled the witch from Nauthauja.”

“I heard. Good work. Things would be different if Counselor Finrales had succeeded here, or even failed less grandly.”

“A noble in Dol Amroth tried the same thing. It seems the witch’s apprentice wanted the job instead and put paid to the old one before she got on the boat. That one is ashes now too. I did see Durnalath in case they were using her again. She is fine and happy. Her son should be commissioned in their Marines by now.” Nag Kath put his elbows on his knees and folded his long fingers. Picking his words carefully, “You know something.”

“Easterlings. The old Bror died two years ago. The favored son took the miter but his brother has adherents, mostly on our side of their lands, same sort of hard men you met when I was younger. It will be a dry year. Scouts in the Buhrs and ferry report parties on horse probing forward positions. No one has come to blows yet, but they aren’t being discrete.”

Nag Kath knew the wily Colonel had ears along the water but knew better than to ask. He did venture, “And north?”

Colonel Rosscranith leaned back in his chair and had a satisfying pull of the wine. “No flies on you, Elf. There are noises there too, more along your former line. No attacks, but we have reports. Sheep go missing.” The man would know Nag Kath planned to visit his step-daughter soon. The Buhr Thains were the first line of defense. It looked like he would be taking the Iron Hills road looking for orcs. 

Nag Kath did his sums, “I’ll need a dozen of your best, dressed like tinkers. Better put me with your eyes on the wastelands too, numbers, arms, beasts, everything you’ve got.”

“Sarnt Edelbras cleans-up well. Expect him soon.”

“How does the Prince fit in?”

“He knows. So does his Highness. This is official. Training this harvest will not be a beer party.”

Nag Kath said, “I saw Burry. His nose is twitching too.”

“I hope his uniform still fits. That’s where we’re weakest, Nag Kath; tough sarn'ts who can feed their men when the enemy starves.”

“I’ll leave in two weeks.”

“Good. Their Highnesses want to see you first. Watch for that.”

_____________-------_____________

Two days later; “Tella, you have been coming home late. Are you working for another employer?” Nag Kath’s voice was not accusing, just businesslike.

Cook/cleaners could be in-house or day-work, depending on the home. They had never really discussed that. She had a room here, a nice one by service standards, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have another somewhere else.

The flustered domestic stammered, “Oh no, Mr. Kath. This is my only work. I’m sore shamed if I have let you down.”

He was really just teasing her but it also might let her think she was getting away with the more serious transgression of rolling in the hay with a newly divorced Northman in this staid land. After the pretty blonde exquisite recoiled from her, she probably wasn’t sure of his tastes. Poor Burry would be hearing more than little whimpers at his house, but he could sleep through anything.

Sounding more serious that he felt; “Very well. Don’t want to make you stay if this household isn’t to your liking.”

“I like it here fine, Mr. Kath.”

Later that morning there was another soldier’s knock. Tella fair shot to the door proving her sense of duty and greeted the man respectfully. He said, “I am Edelbras to see Nag Kath.”

“Won’t you come in, sir?”

The fellow looked more like an officer before he was transferred to quiet-work. Edelbras was tall, plain, softspoken. Nag Kath came forward to shake his hand and show him into the main room. Tella fetched tea, watching for the signal that her employer needed privacy. She got it and announced that she was going out for groceries.

Edelbras watched her saucy exit just as Burry had done but quickly looked at the Elf saying. “The Colonel told me more about you than he wanted to. Good thing. I wouldn’t have guessed by your looks.”

Nag Kath brushed his hair behind one ear and said, “Rogue Elf, left behind. I have my uses.”

Special Assistant Edelbras leveled, “Rosscranith was square with me so let us be as well. Here is what we know; the Easterlings have a quiet civil war on their hands. The heir, Dulgov, got the better lands further east. The pretender has been consolidating territory on their side of the Redwater. Other than probes they have kept this bloodless. 

“The trouble is that the harvest along the river will be poor, for them and us. The Bror has no need to share his Rhûn bounty with the usurper. We think Frûnzar, that’s his name, is looking west or he risks his warriors seeking accommodation with the Bror.”

Nag Kath listened intently and asked soldier’s questions including, “What kind of horse can they field?”

“We don’t think much. Thain Durnaldar keeps a weather-eye on their comings and goings. They are not great hands at raising stock and they haven’t stolen enough mounts to put up much of a fight. Our friends in Rohan haven’t sold them any either. But they have been buying steel, old swords from the war. And they are not beating them into plowshares.”

Nag Kath cut to the chase, “Do they have old friends to the north?”

Edelbras sighed and then formed what could be called a smile, “There have been reported orc sightings just above the road. Armed bands of no more than twenty at a time but we think different bunches. They can stand a little light. Forgive my insensitivity but couldn’t your kind as well?”

“Yes, but we were bred to it. If these local lads have picked-up the knack, that is new. Do you know what they eat? Those wastes aren’t hospitable.”

“I don’t know.” The Sergeant was pleased that the Elf wasn’t defensive about his origins. They were going into the dragon’s mouth and he did not need weaklings. If what Rosscranith said about him single-handedly carving Easterlings into steaks was half accurate, they had the right man. Nag Kath surprised him with the next question, “How much grain can we get to the northern border on short notice?”

“I’ll inquire.”

The Elf said, “Then we’d better get cracking. I’ll send a letter to Thorin Stonehelm. They have skin in the game.”

“Morning Burry, sleeping well?”

“Hughmmmmm.”

“That’s what I thought. I need another favor.”

Burry shook his head but then smiled thinking of his son’s happiness. “No problem.”

“I need two hundred unmarked war-headed shafts in a week. Used is fine. Borrowed from royal stock is fine. Price is no object but this has to be quiet, deadly quiet.”

The burly Sergeant dropped his pretense of fatigue and gave Nag Kath his full attention. “North or east?”

“North.”

“Dougsh! See what I can do.”

_____________-------_____________

After lunch another messenger in hill livery brought another letter sealed with another signet Nag Kath knew well. The man said nothing but stayed until his delivery was read. The Elf nodded his assent and the man was gone. 

The next morning at ten thirty Nag Kath presented himself at the palace gate in his newly arrived togs. They pinched around the armpits but would have to do. He was passed without demurrer and made his way to the Hall. Guards nodded him through at each door. Their Highnesses were in the same pretty room he remembered from the Queen’s care. She rose to offer her hand and accept his bow. King Bard remained seated on the couch but nodded and smiled. Delatha spoke for them, “Welcome back, Nag Kath. How fortunate you are to never age.”

“Your Ladyship has the same talent.”

“Were that but true. Please, have a seat.”

He sat on the couch and waited. King Bard cleared his throat twice and said in a strong voice, “We always seem to involve you in some intrigue. It is a wonder you return.”

“Service is my honor, your Highness.”

The King halted for a moment and then carried-on, “Before we look at the business at hand, I would be interested in hearing old stories.”

Nag Kath looked at the Queen, who had indeed cheated time as well as any woman could hope. Some faces, like his mother-in-law’s, never lost their grace. “There is not much to tell. My best guess is that the witch who afflicted My Lady and the young woman from Nauthauja was contracted for similar villainy in Dol Amroth, presumably with enough time and distance to not be recognized. 

“Then, her apprentice killed her and took the errand herself, aiding another witch in Belfalas who needed more power for the spells. I went there at the request of King Elessar taking yet another witch of considerable power but inclined toward right actions and we foiled the plot. The apprentice was killed along with her local counterpart and Prince Imrahil settled up with an ambitious noble much as your Highness did here. 

“None of this is secret. The good witch was celebrated for her courage and is living large in her new land. Lady Durnalath actually lives there now but she was unaffected and lives a full life with her family.”

Queen Delatha clapped her hands together, more for a happy ending than revenge on her tormentor, and then looked to her dear husband. She knew she was losing him. The King was kingly and brought the subject back to his borders. “Nag Kath, Rosscranith has briefed you on events north and east. He said you are willing to serve your adopted country.” Bard needed a moment to call his reserves. This was the final thing he needed to get right in this life. “You are resourceful and brave. Will you help my people?”

“It would be my privilege, Sire. I make for the Buhrs in a week. Edelbras is exactly the man I would have sought if you hadn’t thought of him for me. I took the liberty of seeking an audience with Thorin Stonehelm. I’ll need to speak with his cousin in the Iron Hills. They will know more than they have shared thus far. It is time to remind them of successful alliances before the world forgets.”

Bard summoned the last of his energy to say, “Go with my blessing. I’ll send word to the Dwarf Lord as well. We go back together. May the Valar keep and protect you, Nag Kath.”

Dismissed, the Elf rose as did the Queen. She walked him to the door saying softly, “I will speak to the heir this very day. He readies our men without raising alarm. May your journey be blessed.”

“Thank you, My Lady. If it falls within your reach, a word with Miss Quessan might help me ere I go.”

“Tella.”

She dearly hoped this was not another admonition for evenings out. Smiling on the outside but wincing within, she presented herself at the table where the strange blonde man was busy with his hobbies. “Yes, Mr. Kath?”

“I journey to my step-daughter’s home in the east earlier than planned, in little more than a week. You must keep the place in fine condition until I return, which may not be until spring. Here is your salary, in advance.” He slid over several silvers and added, “Ros will see to the upkeep of the home. If you like, you may have company visit, providing, of course, that they are respectable women of good family.” He knew good and well that her lusty Northman did not fit the description, but bending her master’s interpretation of reasonable guests should get Burry’s household much needed rest. 

Over the next few days he had her purchase an assortment of powders and papers from far-flung regions of the city along with the curious cane stalks with hollow interiors, big ones, mind you, not the smaller ones people used for catching fish. She fretted watching the tireless man fiddle with piles of these things and some from his travel bag. If everyone did not know that sorcerers and dark magic had been banished from the Fourth Age, one might think he was conjuring. It was silly to even think such thoughts! They were gone, weren’t they?

Tella also saw him visit his friends to let them know of his accelerated departure. The two little Hobbits even came to visit. She had never spoken with a Halfling before and wouldn’t you know; they were just ordinary folk! 

_____________-------_____________

Another visitor, an elderly woman, came the day before he left. She had been here before, long ago. Tella went shopping.

“Good to see you, Moaan.”

“Against your own demons, you survived! You are lucky, Nag Kath.”

“No argument there. I’m off against Easterlings, maybe orcs this time too. We found the witch from Nauthauga, in Osgiliath, dead as Durok. Her assistant killed her and took a commission just like the one here. You can help me. Any idea what poison would make a person’s tongue turn blue?”

Before she would answer, Miss Quessan needed some background, “Did you have any help in Osgiliath?”

“Dol Amroth. And yes, a Mrs. Hürna.”

Quessan raised an eyebrow, a sweeping gesture among her expressions, “You are moved up in the world, sir Elf. Even I’ve heard of her. Did she survive?”

“The Prince created her Lady Hürna of Galador and bestowed a nice house and a purse of gold.”

“Blue tongue is probably gressroot cursed with a binding spell. Lady Hürna would know that.”

“I got that from the undertaker after the affair in Belfalas was put to bed.”

With curiosity and not an ounce of fear, Miss Quessan said, “I can feel your power, Nag Kath. Are you a monster yet?”

“I wonder myself, but no, I am somehow an innocent, applied loosely. I married again, lost her and a child, dug a ditch and still care for folk.”

“Tell me about it when you return safely. Here is a card with my address.”

When he looked later it was blank. He would have to discover its secret.

_____________--------______________

Nag Kath rode Charlo to the post in front of the house to load his bags and waved goodbye. It wasn’t until he was out the Erebor gate that a dozen riders joined him for the Lonely Mountain. 

Not five miles into the trip, a rider said, “We never did find the right mare for him.”

Nag Kath looked over to see the Sergeant from the King’s guard stable riding alongside. He smiled and replied, “Let us hope the ladies get their chance on our return.”

“Aye, sir. I shall hope that for all of us. I am Bernas Tellig of the Second Flank.”

“Nag Kath. Still no need for sir. We are just civilians out enjoying the countryside.”

“Tourists!”

“As you say, Bernas. First we are going to tour Erebor. They won’t let us in very far but it is a sight you will tell your grandchildren.” And it was. Unexpectedly, Lord Tombor met them personally at the gate and brought them all into the first Hall before taking Nag Kath with a guard of honor to King Thorin III’s chamber. 

The Elf’s experience with monarchs was that they sat in upholstered chairs and tried to keep their daily business in comfortable, well-heated rooms. This place could never be warm. The King remained seated in an ornate, carved marble throne. Above the crowned head, in a mithril, setting, was what the Elf thought was the Arkenstone. Of all the colors he had ever painted, there were still not enough to capture it. Nag Kath stood the prescribed ten Dwarf paces from the first step of the dais after bowing. Thorin spoke with a deep and lordly voice, “Welcome back to Erebor, Mr. Kath. I understand we have common interest.”

“It would seem so, King Under The Mountain, though I am away to discover the extent of that.”

“We are learning ourselves, Sir Knight. My cousin Lord Bregan will know more. Here is a letter from me asking him to assist you earnestly in your worthy quest.” An ornately armored Dwarf took a sealed packet from his liege and walked it to Nag Kath with a bow.

The King continued, “Our Lord Bard reminds us of our shared purpose not so long ago, the very day we both came into our inheritance. I have also been told stories of your own past, Mr. Kath. I hope some of them are true.”

“I deny only the bad ones, Your Lordship.”

“MMHaaa! Those were the best! You may approach.”

Nag Kath walked to the foot of the throne stairs and bowed again. King Thorin, called Stonehelm to distinguish his from the short reign of Oakenshield, stood and walked to the second step so he was eye to eye with this curious, remaining Elf. Opening his hand revealed a single jewel of deep blue encased in a gold mounting, carved as a cavern of treasure.

“Take it, for my sake. It is one of the Traybor stones, the ones your own people cherish. May it bring you luck. May it bring us all luck. Go now with my blessings.” Nag Kath accepted the gift, took two steps backwards, smiled, bowed and turned for the door. That was a blessing indeed. Reaching the horses, Nag Kath nodded at Edelbras who nodded back. Bard had his allies. 

They camped on a familiar road. Sentries, two north, two south, were relieved every three hours. Mutton stew was the fare. Nag Kath had Tella make a large batch of false-Lembas against that likelihood.

“Mr. Edelbras, do you think these are Gundabad orcs?”

“Originally, but they are well east of those caves. Two different sightings from reliable persons put them two days this side of Buhr Wenjan, one group headed further east, one going west. They are lightly armored with bucklers and their curved swords.”

Nag Kath needed to know all he could, “Archers?”

“With their little crescent bows the spotter couldn’t tell. I am assuming they have them, though not with the range of our Northbows.”

“Wargs?”

Edelbras smiled without showing any teeth, “Not yet.”

“Tell me of our companions.”

“Six are fine archers. I had a word with Burry so with you; that’s seven. We ordered unmarked arrows in advance. The other six are spearmen who can move together at speed. Any of us can use the other with skill and they can all swing a sword.”

“They will have questions about me. We should probably answer those tonight around the fire.”

An hour before the first sentry shift-change, the remaining nine gathered round the circle. Nag Kath started, “Does anyone in our company speak Easterling?”

“A trooper with his knees wrapped by his arms said, “I speak some. Rudathin on the north post speaks it better.”

The man next to him said in jest, “Where we’re going, we need someone with orcish!”

Nag Kath said, “Well, that would be me.” That got him even more than his usual uncomfortable stares. “I had better set the record straight so we know where we stand if things get tight.

“I am Nag Kath. I am an Elf now but was an Uruk-hai before the war, those were big yrchs from Isengard. I can heal and I can kill very quickly. Some of you have probably heard of my work on the Dwarf Road with Easterlings some years back. That is true. I lived in Dale for nineteen years but have been in Gondor for the last nine. Legroth, I recall you from spear training under Sapeldon.” The corporal was glad to be remembered. He knew what the Elf could do.

“Now this next bit is important. If we find a party of orcs, the idea is to parlay with them. If they kill me, then you can have your way or leave if that is wiser.” Edelbras knew this but the other men were surprised. “As much as possible, I want us to look like a routine patrol on a dougsh assignment. Keep the formation sloppy.

“The reason I asked about Easterling is that if this lot is conspiring with the usurper in their western lands, I would not be a bit surprised if they have eyes in each other’s camps. I want you to watch for crows. If you can pick a single one out of the air, do it. Don’t bother with a flock. That’s why no uniforms. They can tell those and two-by-two formation. 

“If you see wargs, let me know.”

The man who asked about orcish called, “Tell us about the wargs of Rohan!”

_____________-------_____________

Their first planned stop was at Buhr Wenjan at the end of the open land to the north. This was the place where the old Thain had fulsomely welcomed Nag Kath on his first northern crossing. It was a nice little market town with attractive women gazing at the troopers. Not wearing uniforms would only fool the crows. They still rode like the King’s best. The Thain’s Marshal told them over dinner that orcs had actually been seen at dusk or dawn. Disorganized footprints were found in field where a pair of sheep went missing. The farmer was a militia man and not given to vapors. He rode here and reported it the next morning. 

A few days later they pulled even with both the first orc sighting and the troll-hoard. The men took their orders from Edelbras but Nag Kath had authority for ‘special needs’. Edelbras had been told in advance they would stop here for at least the night and this was when they would use the torches some of the men brought. Nag Kath took four of the archers up the grade with their swords and bows plus a torch for each man.

He could not smell it this time but only took an extra twenty minutes to spot the fissure. The men deployed around the entrance and watched for any sight or sound for another half hour. If their quarry were keeping from the sun, this was a likely den. Nothing stirred so they gathered round the opening and tossed a lit torch inside. Still nothing. Lighting the rest of the torches, they crept in.

Someone had been here using a fire inside the cave. Men would avoid that because of the smoke. These ashes were long dead. Older smells confirmed they were orcs. The way this place fit in the saddle of the mountains, it could be approached from either side without being seen from the other. Whoever cooked the sheep would have counted on that. The mannish swords were still leaning against the back wall. Nag Kath told one of the men to see if they were worth keeping. One was quite nice but the other was a rusty relic. The orcs must have taken what was left of the Elvish armor.

Now on new ground, Nag Kath led them further up the slope to have a look down the north side. It had an easier gradient leading to the same sort of patchy grasslands on their side. They saw nothing at all. The Elf had the men return to the flat ground in front of the cave for a fireless camp. They would not sleep inside it and were nervous about being near it at night, but these were tough soldiers of Dale and did as they were told. Nag Kath stayed in the lee of mountain saddle and watched for movement. At dusk and dawn was when he would see something.

He sat there all night. Outside of a deer on the plain and a pair of thieving ground squirrels after his Lembas, nothing moved. He rejoined the men at the cave with the sun and they made their way back to the base-camp. The men were not sure what to make of the pale creature. He could be terrifying in his purpose and then tell stories of dancing Hobbits. As with almost every soldier he ever served with, they were glad he was on their side. 

The next stop was the Dwarf enclave in the Iron Hills. It was a sizeable mining operation under the over-lordship of Thorin Stonehelm. The underground city had been the capital of King Dain before the dragon war but reclaiming Erebor reduced it to a purely commercial enterprise. What mattered more was that these Dwarves had a degree of autonomy and ears to the backside of the range. One of the two reports of orcs came from Thuras, Lieutenant to Fief Lord Bregan. 

As before, there was a village nearly the size of a market town outside of the Halls to trade with men. After billeting the troopers in some comfort, Nag Kath and Edelbras took a trooper as a groom to the Dwarvish Provost office and presented their credentials. There was none of the initial disdain one usually expected when asking leave of Durin’s Folk. A seasoned Longbeard bearing scars that probably dated to the Five Armies, said, “You made good time, gentlemen. I think you should plan on a fine dinner in the Halls of Lord Bregan.”

The soldier took their horses back to the paddock and the two representatives of Dale went with four hardened Dwarf warriors into the nearby grottoes. Nag Kath always marveled at the way these peoples brought light into sheer darkness. He had the advantage of suburb eyes but even men could make their way safely in the more public reaches of Dwarfish halls.

Bregan was Nag Kath’s kind of Dwarf. He was dressed plainly, without regalia, and greeted them in an antechamber with a hearty grip. “Welcome to my humble fief, favored guests. I don’t suppose you are hungry?”

“Edelbras showed his diplomatic side, “After mutton stew for a week, tales of your table are inviting indeed!”

“Haaa! Well then, you came to the right place. Come this way. Let us speak privately first and then join my officers.” Twenty yards away they entered a smaller chamber with a massive oak table. Torches and sconces spaced closely around the walls made it possible to read fairly well. Bregan gestured that they should take the chairs on one end.

The Lord opened by saying, “You are known to us, Nag Kath. Tombor is my cousin (wasn’t everyone?) and he said you treated him well in Orthanc. I heard about that little piece of mithril you, ahem, acquired.”

The Elf acted surprised, “Oh that trinket? In truth My Lord, we explored the troll cave where I found it just two days ago. We looked for more but that was the only one.”

“And you were Mithrandir’s student?”

“I was. He must have made friends here over the years too.”

The Dwarf Lord reared back in his chair with a grin saying, “A few. And you, Mr. Edelbras, you are known to us as well. That you are here suggests seriousness on the part of our dear friends in Dale.”

Edelbras operated in the shadows so recognition was a two-edged sword. He accepted the compliment as intended and repaid it with praise for the long line of Durin’s Folk as neighbors. Bregan leaned forward without becoming any graver, “Now, there is the matter of your coming.” The Lord nodded to his door guard who, in turn, nodded to another waiting just outside. The fellow was not armored but with Dwarves, it was hard to tell their experience. He approached like a soldier and stood until his Lord told him to find a chair.

“Hûrn, son of Hûrnd, tell your tale. These are friends.”

Hûrn sat down and said, “Thank you, Lord Bregan. Three weeks ago I was the guard-rider with wagons making for Erebor on the northern route. The wagons were pulled by jurr-oxen and I had the only pony. At dawn two days west, there was a commotion at first light just to the other side of a small ridge on the right. The merchants continued packing and preparing for the journey so I stole up a dry creek for a look. There I saw two dozen orcs finding shelter in a series of little caves where rivulets had worn away weaker stone. By then there was bare light so these were not the bug-eyed orcs of the deep.

“They were getting out of the sun and did not send a sentry to investigate the clankings of my company. I stayed with my train for two more days until we reached the jurisdiction of Erebor, told the camp Sergeant what I saw and hurried back here. I did not tell the merchants.”

Nag Kath asked, “Tell me, Hûrn, son of Hûrnd, did you see any among them who were not orcs, an Easterling perhaps?”

“Nay, sir. But some must have already withdrawn from my sight. They had some haste to find the dark.” 

Edelbras asked about wargs, weapons and demeanor. Hûrn confirmed initial reports but added, “I’ve seen service myself. This was no random lot of foragers. They were in what might pass for uniforms and they were soldiers, no error. I slipped into the site on my way back and the footprints were older heading east than west so either they had been that way before, or others had.”

Bregan said, “Gentlemen, is there anything you need to ask of me before we join other trusted Dwarves?”

Nag Kath took that one, “Yes, Lord Bregan. What kind of army can you field come harvest time?”

“Enough, friend. Enough.”

For a place with no visible cows, the Dwarves of the Iron Hills managed to spit half a side of beef over a slow fire with a delicious assortment of foods that hadn’t touched it. It was the best meal some of the soldiers had ever had. The ale was good and, contrary to every report of their race, they had some Dorwinion wine if you preferred.

From here the road turned south with another day’s ride to the intersection of the Iron and Dwarf Roads. Since his last trip, the beginnings of a town had sprouted. There were enough quarters to billet the men comfortably. Lieutenant Berandinar listened to their information but could not add any of his own. His men were already looking for activity to the west but he admitted he did not have the personnel to scout east of the river.

Edelbras did. If orcs were in league with their old pals, this was where one would see them. There was no real ford here since neither side wanted visitors from the other. That harvested a good, cold wetting in the crossing. The troop made camp immediately so they could risk fires to dry their things.

There was no road but the ground was the same kind of plain with thin grass like eastern Rohan. Edelbras had two van scouts riding a quarter mile ahead, often out of sight. Nag Kath was with them about half the time. That night they shared no fire and kept silent. One man stayed with the horses if they spooked. Nag Kath perched behind a rock overlooking a valley. He found what he was looking for. Three miles away, a hundred and twenty low figures trotted two abreast towards an overhang of the rock he sat on. It was an hour before sun-up.

The men’s advantage was in daylight so the Elf planned to approach them just before the orcs sought cover. 

Back at camp he gathered the men around him and outlined a plan they all thought was the sheerest form of madness. “I will walk down there before the sun rises and find the leader, see if we can come to an accommodation. Two of you stay where I was tonight. If I pull my sword, the fight is on. If not, I’ll walk back and explain. Any questions?” Other than quietly questioning whether he was possessed, no one said a word.

Nag Kath left his bow and Charlo with Sarnt Tellig and made his way towards the orcs coming in from the northwest. They saw him about a hundred yards away, patiently sitting on a log. The entire troop loped forward another fifty yards and then three of them with a tsitsi warag came to within thirty feet.

In a voice he had only imagined, Nag Kath projected an echo in the black speech, _**“You travel far. It is of concern.”**_ Even the men on the rock heard it.

The largest of the three stepped forward a few more feet with his sword drawn and said in a more orcish version of the same tongue, _**“And what is that to you, Elf?”**_

_ **“That is not your business. I am concerned about your commerce with low creatures to the south.”** _

**_“You speak boldly for just one!”_** He looked at the warag.

_**“I speak boldly at all times. Those close by will know where you sleep soon enough.”**_ The Elf pointed at the little grottoes dotting the saddleback ridge immediately behind him. As he did, his arm shone a beam of pure silver light along the base. Orcs don’t sweat but if they did, they would have. There was some puckering among his watchers too, but they kept their eyes fixed on that long-sword buckled to his belt in the predawn light. 

It was time to let the orcs breathe. _**“I do not care where you travel. You are welcome to north of the Iron Road. But if you join or assist the Easterlings, powers will pee on your heads from great heights.”**_

Their leader did not earn his spurs, in a manner of speaking, by taking lip from pasty firstborn. He spat and said, _**“We have little to eat for two years. It will take much pee.”**_

_ **“My friends are prepared to help their old enemies. You have long shown good judgment after mistakenly serving Sauron, the incompetent. The Easterlings you know are a faction that will lose just as he did. Crops on the Redwater will fail this year. You do not want to be seen helping the rogues when the Bror avenges.”** _

The orc lowered his sword a little and asked, _**“Help, how?”**_

_**“Tell your Lugnash to offer the Easterlings aid but do not come. I will deliver grain and dried fish to the Iron Road in return. It is for this year only. It is not tribute. Take it or settle with the Dwarves.” **_Nag Kath shifted his weight, careful not to touch his sword. _**“Sheathe your blade and sit with me. We must not send you back to your Lugnash with empty promises.”**_

The orc officer growled, _**“Do you have the symbol of the Servant? That is the sigil.”**_

Nag Kath had no idea what he was talking about but didn’t want to admit that. He probed, _**“No, I represent your indulgent neighbors who have no trouble with your Lord’s realm. Come. Sit. Tell me of this symbol.”**_

To the horror of his watchers, the Orc leader sat for the few minutes he had before sunup. Before he forgot, Nag Kath stretched one leg to take his quill knife from his pocket and cleaned his fingernails. The blade shone blue. Knowing it worked was worth the trip, if he lived.

The orc Captain had useful information for his superiors and scurried into the nearest cave. Nag Kath waited until full sun and walked back to camp, gathering the men around him. “I think they will take the offer.”

Edelbras snapped, “All right! Vertiggis, Sandoch, ride like ghosts back to the Colonel. Tell him, ‘blue’, along with anything else he wants to know. If Nag Kath agrees, I’d like to be well away from here when those orcs finish their naps.” The two fast men headed back the way they came after Nag Kath gave them several Lembas cakes. The rest made for the Northwatch. The rearguard would have sore necks tonight from looking behind them. 

_____________-------_____________

Not much happened on the rest of the trip to Buhr Austar. The company stopped outside of town at Thain Conath’s compound. Ardatha hurried from the house to the stable with a four-year old in hand and gave her step-da a northern bear-hug and kiss in front of the leering troopers. As if they didn’t know he said, “Men, this is my daughter, Princess Ardatha.”

Those still in the saddle swung down in unison and bowed deeply. This was the King’s sister. Now in her late forties, she showed the years but the smile was still strong and well-meaning. “Hello, da. Welcome back. Erig, this is Uncle Nag.” The child was too busy looking at all the pretty horses to bother with the kneeling Elf but he was not frightened either, a good sign.

Her changeling father asked, “How’s your middle da?”

“He’s inside. He forgets things but he still gets around. Since Hadista died he keeps to the property.” The Princess of Dale turned to Edelbras and said in royal tones, “You will find space and good provender for your men here, brave sir. I will look forward to proper introductions before a fine meal tonight.”

Edelbras, who had been standing, bowed and told his lot to settle-in and look sharp doing it. Ardatha put her arm around Nag Kath’s waist and led him and the youngster back to the main house. Inside he was warmly greeted by Ardatha’s husband Reyald and his older brother Torrald. They had been good friends for many years. Since the Elf had not aged, it was like he never left. Ardatha's teen-aged boy and girl came in to see Uncle Nag and were off again as soon as decency allowed.

From a back room were heard the rhythmic combination of two boots and a cane working their way closer. Before he was seen, “Is that him? Bout time!” Thain Conath emerged into the main room and was given the Dalish handshake by his fellow grandfather. Afterwards, Nag Kath grasped him by both shoulders and said, “It is good to see your ornery face, old friend.”

“Ha! You have no better manners than when you left. I still remember you trying to throw that archery match when the children were married!” Everyone in the room smiled at a story told every chance it came up for air. The old Thain pointed with his cane towards the arrangement of couches and chairs where they always sat. In a more serious tone, “You’re here on hard business too. Sorry about that. It is our doing, I fear.”

“It keeps things lively, Thain. I’m with a dozen good men who are bunking now. They are led by Edelbras who acts a Sergeant but he is the King’s best spy or I’m a fool.”

Conath said boisterously, “We’ll dine with the man! Here, sit, sit. Vireene! We have thirsty guests looking forlorn!” Tea or ale had been waiting since the horses pulled in and was brought by reliable, if slowing, family retainers. The Thain gratefully accepted Ardatha’s help finding his seat and laid his cane next to his feet. “How old are you now, Nag Kath?”

“Just turned thirty four.”

“You finally look it. The rest of us are getting old, except Ardatha, of course.”

She retorted, “Oh da. I’m a grandmother.”

Torrald, Thain in all but title, brought the conversation back to the present by asking, “What news from your trip, brother?”

“Good, so far. The Dwarves say they are committed. Better yet, I think I have bribed the orcs to betray the western faction of the Easterlings. They have to talk it over, and will probably play both ends against the middle, but that went well with no one dying. Now I have to assess things below us.”

Reyald said, “Farmers say they’ll pull in the wheat and barley by early August. The harvest will be poor, but more than the far side of the Redwater. If there’s anything to steal, that’s when. Stores are still good. Some farmers will just let horses graze what little came up and nourish the fields in the bargain.”

Nag Kath thought a moment, “They should do that tomorrow and remove the temptation. Let us speak to Edelbras as well. Now, tell me of the family!” They spoke for another hour about grandchildren and horses and archery and horses again. Conath felt strong enough to walk out to the stables and lay on lusty praise for the King’s Men’s bravery. Both of his sons were known as the warriors he had been. Ardatha might be tougher than any of them. Tonight the family would dine separately with Edelbras and tomorrow they would put out the feedbag for all these stout soldiers after suitable viands could be ordered-up from town. That offer was met with hearty cheers.

Torrald remembered Edelbras from the Thainmoot two and a half years ago. The King’s man was a gracious guest, making Nag Kath wonder again if he hadn’t made considerably higher than Sergeant before recruitment by the quiet side of the crown.

Brother Reyald filled them in on what ears were hearing to the east. It was largely as thought with the new Bror not wanting to bloody his hands dealing with third brother if he could starve those provinces back his way. The Bror was of his father’s peaceful view but would not mind if the Usurper Frûnzar and his renegades got themselves killed on the Dale side of the river. Essentially; Dale was put in the position to settle a political rivalry. 

All first and second generation Easterling farmers were infantry at heart with arms and ferocity. They did not have cavalry for more than scouting or skirmishing and had no use for artillery, even if they could pull it, unlike their Balchoth ancestors. What made this different than petty squabbles before was that orcs were hungry to the north. They did not, correct that; probably did not have the swarms to hold territory, but they could keep the northern Thains and Dwarves busy enough to let Easterling infantry cross the river in force, hoping to share in the spoils. Nag Kath telling the orc Captain of a bad harvest would sell their decision, if they believed him.

With his astonishing ability to say something outrageous as routine conversation, Nag Kath asked the party, “If I kill this Frûnzar, will someone just take his place?” 

Everyone was shocked to silence except the old Thain who thundered, “Aye, they’ve got some sort of cult that prepares for the rising darkness!”

Torrold recovered first, “Fraid so, Nag. Frûnzar brought followers to him because he claims to be the prophet for sleeping Dark Lords. There’s been minor sorcery reported. If so, whoever that is steps in, call themselves the Visitors.”

Again, as if everyone seated dealt in deep magic, “That’s been going around lately. I killed a Barrow-wight on my way here that transformed into a fish monster. The Lings tried witchcraft thirty years to kill Queen Delatha. Same witch tried again in Belfalas couple years ago. Do these cultists have any sway in Dorwinion?”

Reyald this time; “I don’t think so, but if they did, there’s nothing stopping them. Dorwinion couldn’t put down a tavern brawl. Éomer is paying attention, though.

Nag Kath kept up the questions, “What about Nauthauja?”

Torrold answered, “Loyal, but weak. His best people keep leaving for better work in Dale or Dorwinion. He’s got more horses than men to ride them.”

Nag Kath seemed to relent, “That’s our focus, then. Were I an Easterling holy man looking to lead his people to glory, once I’ve got horses, we can go where we want. How do I get around the pretender to see Bror Dulgov?”

It was too absurd for anyone else to contemplate. But coming from Nag Kath, it bore consideration. Torrald said quietly, “Dorwinion.”

_____________--------______________

The next morning, Nag Kath and Ardatha found time to be alone. She was everything a father could want. And she had had four fathers, though one was by blood only. 

Ardatha was not sure what would happen when dear Thain Conath died. Torrald would take his place and the big house. He and her Reyald were close but you can only have one Thain. It might be time for them to move to Dale too, or maybe Esgaroth, and raise the next generation of heirs. With the money settled on her by King Bard, Eniece, something from Conath and her grandmother’s estates, they really didn’t need Buhr Austar’s rents in exchange for waiting thirty years until their son ascended. 

Shurran was just fifteen and did not take to training the way they had hoped, a soldier but not a commander. Daughter Eniecia was thirteen and a dead ringer for her great grandmother Borenne. They might have to look further than the Buhrs for a husband. Of course, Torrold could still take a wife and sire heirs of his own. Nothing was certain.

Thain Conath made a good showing at the feast that night. About an equal number of his own troops complimented those of Dale. Ardatha excused herself early to not be the only woman. It was over at a modest hour. Torrald, Reyald, Edelbras and Nag Kath sat by themselves afterwards and talked about what needed to happen next. One thing that could not happen was Dale soldiers, however dressed, setting foot in Dorwinion unless there was war. That was part of the Reunited Kingdom. From the confluence of the Redwater and River Running to the west was unclaimed until halfway to the Rhûn. 

Reyald proposed visiting the Thain of Nauthauja since of all loyal subjects of King Bard, he was closest to Dorwinion. From there, the King’s men would ride back along the Redwater reinforcing the Thains’ scouts while Nag Kath continued to Dorwinion to assess their readiness and consider ways to speak with the eastern Bror. 

One thing in his favor was that Nag Kath had made an example of the current usurper’s men’s fathers a generation before. That went the old Bror’s way. Their spies would have certainly noticed the attention the Elf received on returning to the capital. If anyone remembered now, it might either pave his way or keep people out of it.

Four days after they arrived, the King’s Men, Nag Kath and Reyald made for the Ironhold and from there to Erland’s Ferry, the last town of Thain Fändul’s land. The current Thain was the brother of the Queen. Lieutenant Friskars was posted here at the border of Fändul and Nauthauja because he knew his business. There was legitimate commerce to and from the east and this was the only shallow crossing after miles of steep banks. Traders reported seeing irregular cavalry less than half a day’s walk from the Redwater. No one had been bothered, but it was unsettling.

Nag Kath had never been further south than Austar and looked at the ground carefully the whole way. The barley crop was fair. The wheat was thin and the oats mostly dead, which was why farmers usually planted all three hoping one would flourish. Getting closer to Rohan, this was really horse country. Less scrupulous Thains and farmers had been known to sell horses to cloaked fellows with accents and ready nippers. Sometimes those fellows just helped themselves.

Buhr Nauthauja was a sleepy little town of mixed parentage. Most people were Northmen but down here you also found eastern and southern blood. There was also a strong streak of the Rohan ginger hair. Everyone had passable Westron but it wasn’t always spoken at home. Reyald knew the place well and had the men dismount at the militia paddock. A gaunt old stableman was about to object when he saw Captain Conath and hard men of military bearing eyeing him sternly. “Good day, Captain. Does Thain Durnaldar know you’re comin’?”

“I do not think so. If he is available, some gentlemen from Dale were hoping for a word on our way through. Nothing urgent, you understand.”

The stableman whistled-up one of his grooms and told the man to let the Thain know he had guests. The fellow nodded twice and trotted over to the main compound. A few minutes later, he came back with a house steward who said the Thain welcomed them.

Edelbras, Reyald and Nag Kath followed the steward back to the office. Thain Durnaldar walked out to shake hands with Reyald and then Edelbras, in order. At the end of the line came the Elf. Durnaldar reached out first and then recognized him from the troubles with his sister. They both owed their lives to this creature though he nearly killed them first. No matter, he grabbed the Elf’s hand and welcomed them all.

Durnaldar was a working Thain. He spent part of most days in the office with two clerks and his staff keeping the little Thainhold oiled. One of the concessions he got at his first Thainmoot after surviving the Elf’s intercession was free access to the lands directly across the Celduin. It was not claimed by anyone and there were pockets of good pastureland. Farmers considered Nauthauja their market-town and paid district taxes, same as here.

Thain Durnaldar said to his secretary, “I will call it a day. Gentlemen, let us repair to my home.”

By necessity, the Thain’s residence was more fortified than Conath’s sprawling farmhouse. Bad ‘uns with arrows had often tried to settle scores with Durnaldar’s kin so it was made of stone two-stories up and the windows were louvered for archers. It could not resist any sort of artillery but never had to. The steward had already prepared the household staff who were waiting for their master bowing with clean hands. A lovely woman of about fifty came forward, bowed to her husband and received a peck on the cheek as reward. 

Antulie had just given birth to their son when the witch and Easterling mess unraveled. She was a natural mother and had raised that boy and two girls in the traditional way. One girl was already married to a Guildsman in Celduin. The other had the same problem as Ardatha’s children because there were no strategic matches left in their closed world. Everyone was friends these days. Their little Tilli was an attractive woman of nineteen and might have to display her breeding where parvenus paid for nobility.

Reyald took the lady’s hand as a courtier, “Antulie, these are my friends Edelbras and Nag Kath. Neither name meant anything to her.

The Thain said, “Please come into the main room and make yourselves at home. Can I interest you in ale or wine rather than tea? It was late enough in the day for Reyald and Edelbras to have a pint. Nag Kath asked for cool tea. Antulie excused herself to see to the household and let the men have the room.

Durnaldar said more softly, “I thank you for coming. Reyald, there is fresh news along the Easterling trail. It seems Frûnzar and the Bror are exchanging more than insults. And we found out where they’ve been getting their horses: some were stolen here, a few are from Rohan but most are from their own farms on the Rhûn. They are squat, sturdy, mop-haired beasts but serviceable for riding in formation.

“From what we can tell, the pretender Frûnzar stole most of them before making his break known. His brother didn’t want to admit it, called it an act of Ghrâr, or some-such. I sent a rider to the capital four days ago.”

Edelbras stepped into his role as King’s man, “Thank you for your vigilance, Thain. Here is what we know from the north; Orcs from above the Ered Mithrin have been visiting the Wildlands in armed parties but not in force. We think they are conspiring with the Usurper’s side to tie-up our northern forces and weaken our eastern defenses. With some luck, we may have nipped that in the bud.” He looked to Nag Kath.

The Elf continued, “I spoke with one of their Anglachors on our way here. That is a Colonel in our parlance. This is a learned guess but I think they thought to share in spoils from these lands for their cooperation. I told them the harvest here was not worth the trouble and tried to bribe them with grain and fish from Dale to get them through the winter. It will not take long for them to confirm the pickings down here will be sparse now that they know to inquire.”

Durnaldar had aged well. Pretty as a young man, he grew handsome with the lines of age. A loving wife and family helped. Escaping his father’s treachery by a hair, his relationships with both the Buhrs and Dale had been cordial ever since. The Thain leaned forward in his cushioned chair and asked, “You spoke to the orcs yourself?”

“It was my first tongue. I also find it strange to consult with them against men, but these fellows over the river are the trouble now.”

Durnaldar said softly, “They will not have forgotten you, Nag Kath.”

“I am counting on it.”

The three guests had dinner with the Thain, his wife, and Tilli along with Durnaldar’s chief of staff, Legoran. Tilli was pretty after both her parents but had her mother’s raven hair and pale complexion. Her parents thought to take her to this year’s Thainmoot for the book-learning that young women seemed to need these days but that had been canceled for what they now knew was the King’s poor health. 

Nag Kath did not think it would risk opening old sores to say, “Thain Durnaldar, I had occasion to visit your lady sister in Dol Amroth two years ago. She is healthy and happy. Her son is a promising fellow and by now will have been commissioned in their Marines.”

Tilli, who like many modern women was allowed to speak at table, was a year older than Caladrion and intensely curious about the outside world. “Forgive me, Mr. Kath. I am not familiar with such service.”

“Being surrounded by water, their armies must travel by sea to land or even fight on the sea in their great ships. They train both as sailors and then as light cavalry or infantry when they reach their destination. Your uncle is an officer of high repute and Caladrion follows his footsteps. Cal was kind enough to show me around his city when I was there.”

Tilli said dreamily, “Oh, thank you.” This blonde fellow was quite handsome and worldly. Like her mother, she had no idea he ripped black sorcery out of her aunt’s mind before the woman could murder the King. 

Antulie noticed her daughter’s infatuation, “Mr. Kath, I hope you can tell us more of Durnalath’s home during your stay.”

Nag Kath gave the Thain a knowing look before turning to his hostess and saying, “I would be honored, ma’am.”

Chief-of-staff Legoran asked, “Are you Kath of the Water?”

The Elf said, “News travels fast. Yes, I had a hand in that.”

Legoran was a frustrated builder and culled bits and pieces of the grand project from traders who worked the Anduin before crossing the brown lands to the east side of Mirkwood. He held forth quite a while on the scale and scope of the work and asked lots of questions. Nobody stopped him because the innocent topic left dire matters off the table.

Reyald saw Tilli blush talking with his father-in-law and wondered if she might be a good late-season match for his brother. Torrold wasn’t too old for children and it would keep his own son Shurran from ever having to be a strategist. Maybe Uncle Nag would teach him art or architecture.

The meal could have been fraught with tension but everyone had a good time and carried on later than most Nauthauja nights. In the morning, Nag Kath dressed and walked over to the barracks to catch Edelbras pulling on his boots. He sat on the next cot and said, “Things are going well.”

Edelbras finished buckling the cinch and agreed, “Yes. That always bothers me. Do you still want to try your luck with the High Devil?”

“Not really, but it gives him an out. If they don’t settle this on their side of the river, he will be hard-pressed to claim he wasn’t involved. This is more your province than mine, but Dale is likely to have a new King who might want to put his stamp on bothersome neighbors. Between you, me and that post, does the young man have the temperament to watch and wait?”

Edelbras was not used to being asked or divulging his inner thoughts but the Elf had earned it. “I think so. He is like his father that way rather than old Brand. Frankly, and you never heard this from me, both father and son are thinking more of the unclaimed lands south of the Celduin. For the longest time we thought Rohan would move horse masters across the brown lands, but they have not. If hungry Easterlings cross the river and leave with nothing, it signifies little.”

Nag Kath said, “I still think I should go. This cult of the dark lord sounds bad. I know a thing or two about dark lords. If someone has tapped unclaimed powers, I’d like a word. Who of your ministry will be watching the orcs?”

“Teletchin, good man. You said if the orcs agree they will send word to Erebor?”

“That’s closest. One of them will have some common speech. He just has to say ‘yes’. Wagons of wheat and dried fish can get there after harvest and we’ve got peace to the north for another year. Maybe it leads to a lasting understanding.” The Elf shrugged, “I can’t be there, though. Let us discover what this Bror has on his mind.”

Nag Kath ate lunch with the Thain’s family. By then, son Durnalid had been recalled from his posting to the northwest. Unlike Ardatha’s son, this one was a born leader and seemed wise beyond his years. His wife was a local girl like his mother and stayed home with their young daughter.

Nag Kath did not know how much anyone but the Thain knew about the Thain’s father’s intrigues so he would follow Durnaldar’s lead if it came up. To her mother’s consternation, Tilli wore an alluring scent rather than something more maidenly. The male members of the family didn’t seem to notice so Nag Kath pretended not to as well. The girl was quite a looker. He sat directly across from her.

After the opening banter died, Durnaldar asked, “Now, Mr. Kath, I am glad you were able to see Durnalath. Letters are not quite the same as being there.”

“Yes, she is happy and well placed in their society. Your sister is still an attractive woman and her son takes after her.”

Durnalid had only met his aunt once when he was small and asked about the legendary Principality of Belfalas. Durnaldar still wondered how his sister was swept off her feet by a man from the furthest point in the free world but was glad she was well. Tilli asked about the courtly manners and elegance of the famed island capital as well. As Nag Kath was about to answer he felt her toes touching the side of his calf. These country girls make their feelings known!

Antulie had had enough, “How is it that you know Reyald, Mr. Kath?”

“He is my son-in-law.” The foot was gone. 

As they were finishing the sweets Nag Kath said, “Oh, sir Thain, it almost slipped my mind; An old woman, formerly of your lands, passed away in Osgiliath just before I left, a Mrs. Ingrall, though I do not know her maiden name. I believe she was known to your father.”

In a very even, understanding tone, Durnaldar considered that, “I cannot place the name, Mr. Kath. I hope she was a fine example of our citizens.”

“I am sure she was, sir.”

Walking back to the barn Elf ears heard from the house, “Son-in-law! Of all the … I do not understand!” That was cause enough for a Nag-Kath grin.

_____________-------_____________

The easiest ford south was three miles west across the Celduin before it met the Redwater. There was a well-kept merchant road the whole way and he saw traffic in both directions but mostly going north with wine or other edibles. On horse he could have cut corners but the road was fair and full of people who loved to talk, he kept Charlo at barely above a walk and made camp around merchant fires.

There is a camaraderie of traveling traders that seems much the same anywhere in the free regions of Middle-earth. Yes, they will risk a black-eye defending their home’s honor, but they have seen enough other homes to understand people do things their own way. Now with thirty orc-free years of hauling their goods back and forth on safe roads, folk were less like the soldier/traders of Tharbad or Dunland when Nag Kath first risked those paths.

He fell in with a train of three wagoners who were taking barrel hoops to the winelands just west of the lakeshore. Dorwinion was not self-sufficient in iron-mongery. Barrels of wine were shipped north. Some were kept for use there but most were burned and the hoops collected for reuse. 

“I’ll tell you this for nothing!” said trainmaster Endulas in stentorian tones, “The Dorwinrim militia is the best in the world! Why do you ask, lad?”

“Well, Mr. Endulas, my uncle was up with the Gondoran archery trainers and he said the local rabble couldn’t find their backsides with both hands.” Nag Kath had no trouble lying for a good cause. He needed, among other things, to find out if this place could defend itself if the Easterlings had indeed started raising cavalry mounts on the other side of the inland sea.

“You’re a beardless boy! Bet you’ve never even bedded a woman! I’ll tell you this for nothing, maybe the louts in Brithen can’t hit a target but you’ll get a fat lip saying that in Riavod!”

“Haven’t been since I was a boy.” Nag Kath knew that young men like to put as much space as possible between their childhood and now. “When do we make the river mouth?”

“See it noon, day after tomorrow.”

The old trader confirmed what Durnaldar thought; the Gondoran influence was limited to the far western corner of the sea. The northern shore was Easterling farmers and fishermen. More importantly, the Usurper’s forces, such as they were, were well north of here so from the river mouth east was nominally controlled by the hereditary Bror on the other side of this pretty road.


	21. Hard Diplomacy

Chapter 21

Hard Diplomacy

We are going east. Maps that will help are: Rhûn Towns and Khand Topo. <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8>

When they made the turn above the small delta into the Rhûn, Nag Kath was shocked. There would be no stopping horsed-troops in force from helping themselves to anything they wanted. Why in the world would they bother stealing wispy stalks from well armed Buhr riders when they could dance across the river down here and live large?

The place was beautiful. The lake, sea as defined here, was massive. He would test it several ways later but it was said to be slightly salty. Like fish of the ocean, local fish were right at home. Nag Kath fared the hoop merchants well and took Charlo at a gallop to the business district of Riavod. 

He found an inn on the shore that catered to gentlemen farmers. It was expensive but nice and full of people with nothing else to do than tell the handsome young man anything he wanted to know. That included where the Provost office was. He rented a room for a week and rode over what turned out to be only three blocks, presenting himself to the desk Sergeant saying he needed a word with the Marshal immediately.

“I am sure you do, boy, but he’s a busy man.”

In no mood to bandy excuses with officious clerks, Nag Kath walked down the hall and entered what he thought was the biggest room just in time to slam the door in the Sergeant’s face. There was a Lieutenant sitting with a decorated Captain at a large table looking at notes. Nag Kath glared at the younger man and growled, “Out!”

The Captain stood and remonstrated, “See here!” He got no further when a beam of confusion made him forget the rest of his threat. The changeling hadn't tried it on a person before but there wasn't time for practice. The Lieutenant looked at his superior, decided these two could settle this themselves and joined the sergeant in the hall. Memory recovered, the Captain demanded, “What the devil do you think you’re doing, boy?”

Nag Kath sat in the chair across from the Gondoran and said, “Within the month you can expect five hundred horse and fifteen-hundred, maybe two thousand Easterling infantry to cross the Celduin and start eating grapes.”

The Captain was an instant from throwing the brat out the window but he knew he didn’t have the troops to shovel the stables of such a force. The best he could manage was, “I am a Captain of Gondor!”

“I outrank you. My name is Nag Kath. I traveled to the Shire with King Elessar this spring and made for Dale when he went to Annúminas for the summer. There I conferred with Kings Bard and Thorin. They have orc activity on the northern border. It is a diversion for what the Thains thought was an attack on the grain harvest by the Usurper Frûnzar across the Redwater. 

“Now I see their real purpose. By reliable accounts, Frûnzar stole most of the horses bred east of the sea and is massing forces out of his brother’s reach. I think they are coming here.” Nag Kath stood to reach in his pocket and pulled the chloer-wood token he never returned from the Dol Amroth adventure. Of course, the King knew nothing of this, but his man in Dorwinion was busy wrestling with expense ledgers and this was the time to set a new tone. He handed it to the Captain and sat down again.

The Captain remained standing and hollered, “Sarn't!”

The desk man should have retired five years ago but he came in spoiling for a fight with the snotty blonde kid. The Captain said, “This is Nag Kath. Get him anything he wants." The Lieutenant peered in to hear, "You too, Fendülas. Dismissed!

“Kath of the Water?”

“Umhumm.”

“I am Lenös Talfurmir. My brother was one of your surveyors. What do you need from me?”

“I am not sure. I just got here. How many solid men can you field at the river mouth?”

“Precious few. I’ve got a hundred good horse from Anorien and another fifty Rohan mercenaries. They work cheap. Foot? Three hundred at best, and that would mean pulling them from their fields in no mood to fight.”

Nag Kath rubbed his chin, “Let us assume I am not completely wrong in this. Our subjects will fight or they will run. If they run, you’ll need to pull them back further than the Lings want to chase them. I expect this Frûnzar fellow is looking for a capital and will expand after he makes a few examples.”

Captain Talfurmir said plainly, “Let us assume you are not completely wrong. If so, the high end of your strength estimate puts them a hundred miles inland. They can go no further unless they don’t consolidate their takings.”

“Captain Talfurmir, I need to know everything about the Bror and the pretender. My plan is to go see the Bror. If I can, I will convince him that he does not want his internal squabbles spilling into Gondor or Dale and destroying the balance his people have enjoyed since Erebor.”

The Captain chewed on his moustache and said, “There are some folk who should be here. Let us say tomorrow afternoon. That will give me time to issue the … invitations.”

Nag Kath appreciated the man’s position and said, “Thank you. Sorry about coming in so strong but time is not on our side. What should I be doing between now and then?”

Talfurmir walked into the hall and spoke with his clerk for a minute. Returning to his chair he said, “Let us get you some eyes. I’m going to have a lad stop round your inn as soon as he can be found. He is an Easterling, but not overfond of how his family was treated. Sharp fellow. I wouldn’t share anything strategic, but if I wanted to get the mood of the market place, I would ask him.”

___________--------__________

The guide was cast in the same mold as Tumlen, small, dark curly hair, a noticer of things around him. Nag Kath was sketching in a chair on the seaside porch of the inn when he approached and gave a slight bow. The Elf looked up and said, “Good morning, young man. Have a seat.”

He looked around before sitting. Lings didn’t generally mingle with westerners at the Sea Breeze Inn. But if this fellow said it was all right, it was. He wasn’t a lad, more like sixteen with the beginnings of a beard and an earring of silver. He smiled showing a missing eye-tooth but he was otherwise unscarred.

Nag Kath reached his picture over so the young man could see it and asked, “What’s your name, my friend?”

“Vegad Druhamel, good sir.”

“Pleasure. I am Nag Kath.” The Elf went back to his drawing, mostly to see what Vegad did with nothing to do. He sat there patiently looking at the drawing and water, interested in how the artist captured colors with shade. Art where he was born was usually in vivid paints. After a few minutes, Nag Kath put the pad in his satchel and slung it over his shoulder as he stood saying, “Let us take a walk.”

They had gone a hundred yards further south before Nag Kath said, “Are you from here, Vegad?”

“No, best of sirs. My family came here when I was eight.”

“How do you like it?”

“Better than Rhûbar. More to eat.”

Nag Kath kept his eyes on the road and asked, “Do you have family now?”

“I have a little sister. Mother and father have joined our ancestors, Mr. Kath.”

“I am sorry for your loss, Vegad. I know very little of your people. I would like to know more. Tell me, this lady in the stall, what is she selling?”

“That is gureeq. It is like wheat but grows in dryer soil. She sells it as it comes off the stalk or will grind it in that stone bowl to make flour. It keeps longer in the kernel.”

Nag Kath wanted to know what the civilians thought. They would not be the first to know if there was trouble brewing but they would be far from the last. “Do the merchants here come every day?”

“Some, like her, are here every day. Some only come when they have finished goods to sell. They have to take which stalls are available that morning. Some come once a week, depending on the competition, sir”

“That makes sense. Where would I buy a horse?”

Vegad thought about more than came out, “They are rare. People either bring them or do without, mostly do without. I would ask at the stables in the Dorwinrim sectors, some blocks south. ”

Nag Kath stopped to look at small brass charms hung on a dry branch. The vendor looked fast enough to catch anyone who snatched one on the way by. The Elf asked the man how much for one in the shape of a heart and was told it was four groats. He got one and put it in his pocket.

When they started walking again Nag Kath said, “I saw a number of people crossing the river this way. That is a hard ford. Is that where people usually come and go?”

Vegad stopped and looked at the Elf. “They are only coming this way now ... and I suspect you know that.”

“I do.”

“What do you need of me, Mr. Kath?

“I am not quite sure yet. Has the provost office arranged for your pay?”

“They gave me a modest advance against your satisfaction.”

Nag Kath turned left towards two fishing boats being repaired on the beach and sat in the sand. Vegad sat next to him. Sure they were out of listening range of any but other Elves, Nag Kath reached into his vest pocket and took out ten silvers. He slipped them into Vegad’s palm. Looking out on the water the Elf said, “If anyone wants to know what you are doing, you are guiding a rich man’s simpleton son around on holiday. I will ask many stupid questions of the people I meet. It is possible some will not appreciate that. Is there someplace you and your sister can stay that will make you hard to find?”

“Several.”

For the first time Nag Kath really looked the young man in the eyes with his pure Elf face. “I need you to tell me about Frûnzar.”

“Third son of Telantish; thankfully rotting these two years. He is smart, attractive to women and thinks he should have been first son. A good horseman. Men want to be praised by him and he wants high praise in return.”

“Where does he stay?”

“In the Feeruld province upriver. He is from the capital but kept the Bror’s summer home after the split.”

Nag Kath asked, “What else might you have told me about where to get a horse?”

“There are many on the east side of the sea, not that they would sell you one.”

“I thought as much. The Feeruld, is that where the mercenaries are from?”

Vegad had decided to be as helpful as he could. This Nag Kath was a dangerous fellow but those were nine more silvers than he had ever held at one time and he had no love for the Black Visitors. “They are where you find them but the Balchoth were mostly in that region.”

Nag Kath tried to glue some of the parts in place. “And they didn’t see eye-to-eye with the dead Bror, yes?”

“You know a great deal for a witless son.”

“Not enough.”

“Yes. They were the cavalry in the old days. When the war ended, their horses were put to the plow or eaten in the famines. They lost their voice in the council. They were waiting for someone with keys to closed doors.”

“How does Frûnzar fit in with the Visitors?”

Vegad spit and touched his mouth twice. Then he looked at the Elf, “Not so witless at all.”

Nag Kath scooped sand in his right palm. It began to glow silver. Grains glistened and circled his hand like stars. The he slowly poured it out leaving trails of light trickling to ground. Vegad did not display any emotion but he never blinked once. The Elf said, “No, not so witless.”

Vegad said, “Mr. Kath, I do what I must to care for Hillilea and me. I would like us to both stay alive. But burned in my mind are Visitors whipping my father bloody for lighting candles on Gelansor. I will help you if I can.”

“Gelansor?”

“The first new moon in July.”

“So, what about this bandit prince and the Visitors?”

Vegad gave him chapter and verse about a sect among the Balchoth descendants who yearned for the days of favor by Sauron. They disdained farmers and townsmen and everything else the world had become, trading little pieces of this and that to fill the larder. Now, a genuine leader had emerged who could bend the knees of their central Khans if he could outmaneuver his brother. The difficulty was that first son was no fool and grudgingly shared with folk who appreciated it. Nag Kath listened carefully and interrupted with, “Now, what about those horses?”

“All I know is what people coming west tell me. The old Bror was breeding Puklak horses along the eastern rim. The grazing is good there and he finally had farmers enough to raise and train them. Gold found its way to the right palms and over a week they were ridden to Feerold across the Bror's holdings. There is poor grain there, but enough. Dale is across the river and they have fertile lands as far as a man can see.”

Vegad’s first error. He had no reason to praise dry fields so that must be the view of fleeing refugees who had not seen them either. But Frûnzar would certainly know the only grain for more than a week’s loaves was already in the storehouses. So why the pretense of probes in the Buhrs?

Orcs!

Frûnzar had to make the orcs think they would get fed or they had no reason to keep the Thains busy on their borders and unable to come to Gondor’s aid in Dorwinion.

“Vegad, come by my inn after dinner. Meanwhile, find a cozy place for your sister.

** _My dearest Durn, _ **

** _I am in Riavod and enjoying the lovely seaside views. Thank you for recommending I visit. _ **

** _There has been a change of plans. Our guests will be coming here rather than to your home. It is shocking to think they would have us go through all that trouble and change their minds! I should think my hosts will have a difficult time entertaining such a large family. We are arranging their welcome as I write. _ **

** _Of course, you and my son-in-law are always welcome to come with any of your friends. Please tell my family I love them as soon you can. _ **

** _In appreciation, NK_ **

After a light dinner, Nag Kath and Vegad strolled on the walk between the buildings and the shoreline. Unlike the great seas to the west, this one did not have large waves crashing and shifting the sand. They went to a place Vegad knew where successful Easterlings escaped their wives and chose a table not far from the kitchen door before ordering a middling local wine.

As arranged, Vegad said, “Please remember, Mr. Solvanth, the local wines are very potent.”

“Nonsense! Nothing to a good red ale!”

“Of course, sir.”

“Now, what is this business about Sauron? My father, bless his heart, danced on his black grave before he met my ma.”

Other drinkers made the kinds of sounds they could hear over. Vegad said patiently, “It is nothing. Estimable persons think his memory has been sullied unjustly.”

“Hughmmmph! We could never get our salt up north with Dark Lords about. I’ll tell you this,” Mr. Solvanth slurred his speech, “Just let one of those dougshs say otherwise and we will have words! Now, you’re sure the horshes are good?! I don’t want no fuzz-tailed nags, mind.”

“Yes, Mr. Solvanth, prime Rhûn-bred, they are. Very sturdy.”

The blonde man looked like he was having trouble focusing but he managed to say, “That’s a good price. Too good. Wager they’re stolen!” 

“Oh no, sir. Sometimes our army friends across the river have more than they need.”

The drunken merchant slurped his wine and glowered at the cup, “Where’s next? I need a proper ale to take the taste from my mouth.”

His long-suffering guide reminded him, “I think your friend said the Full Sail.”

“Lead on, then! I can’t tell one of these places from another.” They walked into a pleasant night towards a darker part of the high street. Two men near the door dropped groats on the table and gave Solvanth a reasonable head-start.

Vegad said under his breath, “I dearly hope you know what you’re doing, Mr. Kath.”

“Me too.” Then, much louder, “Hold a minute. I need to lose some of that wine.” Nag Kath lurched into an alley and was followed by his loyal guide. The two men crept behind them and Vegad saw a flash of steel. Just then, a pulse of energy bathed in pale, yellow light swept by him making his head swim.

Nag Kath walked back towards the street and said sharply, “Where have you been? We’ve been waiting.”

“One of them said in the blackness in poor Westron, “I … I’m not sure.”

Their superior was not pleased. “When are you supposed to get back to the main army?”

The other fellow managed, “We leave in three days.”

“Leave in the morning. When do we secure the ford?” There was no reading their faces but neither said a word. Nag Kath ordered impatiently, “Well, out with it! I need to prepare here.”

The taller of the two said, “Day after Yegraph’s Feast. Same as it’s been.”

Nag Kath relented, “Good work. Go get a cup of wine and forget this conversation.” The two men said in unison, “Yes Gvordling” and sheathed their knives before wandering back into the street.

Vegad was glad he did not actually have to relieve himself or he would have. As if he had been asking directions to a pub, Nag Kath said, “That would have been better in your language. Can you tell where these two were from by their speech?”

After a moment finding his tongue, Vegad muttered, “Feerold. Rebels from Feerold.”

_____________------_____________

Captain Talfurmir called the meeting to order. “Gentlemen, this is Mr. Kath of Minas Tirith and Osgiliath. Mr. Kath, these are; Mr. Sundermol, Captain of the local foot militia, Lieutenant Fendülas of the cavalry you’ve met. Captain Fenuldorn of the Rohirrim and Mayor Jurgantis. Mr. Kath has alarming tidings and we need to pay special attention.” He nodded to the Elf.

“Sirs, none of this is expected or certain. I am also a citizen of Dale and was asked by King Bard to investigate orcs along the Iron Hills Road on my way to the eastern Thainholds. They seem to be out of old caves above Erebor and are definitely soldiers, but not in force. Orcs appear to be in league with Easterlings running drills along the east bank of the Redwater, again, not in real force. The harvest will be poor on either side of the river. The Thains are prepared to the extent they can be. I came here to circle the Usurper and make for Kugavod seeking an audience with the new Bror.”

Jaws dropped, except Talfurmir’s. Nag Kath pulled a fierce fever from his brother the surveyor so the Captain knew this unassuming fellow had tricks he hadn’t shown.

Nag Kath continued, “Here is the problem. I now believe the noise along the Redwater is a feint and they intend to ford above here in force, five hundred horse, three or four times that in infantry. I squeezed two spies last night and the attack is set for three weeks from today.”

Mayor Jurgantis was ex-irregular from this district. His family had fought the same foe in the same places since no one kept records. He cleared his throat and said clearly, “We cannot pull the people back in time. I know a little of this Frûnzar and he is looking to create his own land if he cannot have theirs. What Mr. Kath said makes sense.”

The Lieutenant observed, “My horse cannot do much until they land. The river is low now for lack of rain but getting infantry across is still no easy thing.” He looked to the Rider of Rohan and asked, “Is there news of boats or barges on the eastern shore?”

The man shrugged his shoulders. The Mayor said, “If they launch barges where we can’t see them now, the current won’t get to our side until Tas Surren. The horses can cross above and swim. What we need are archers.” 

Nag Kath followed with, “Then my guess is that the horse will come first to secure the landing. I cannot help you much with defenses. You know the river and the bank. Now, more than ever, I need to talk to this Bror fellow and convince him that he doesn’t need King Elessar as an enemy.”

Men of the town would see to defenses. As they left, Captain Talfurmir said, “I got your letter off at first light. I know Durnaldar a little. I will send another asking him to watch for barges should he wander this way sightseeing. It is not their fight.”

“Aye. Blessings be upon us, Captain.”

Charlo was ready for exercise. He wasn’t as ready for cold water. Pushed, most horses ford rivers well when they remember to swim. Then they made good time towards the traditional capital of Kugavod. For three days Nag Kath saw only farmers and the occasional merchant until the day before reaching the capital when he was met by a six-troop of lancers under the Bror’s standard. Beardless blonde riders needed questioning so the company pulled to a halt and the Sergeant came forward saying in broken Westron, “You are far from home. What is your business?”

“I am on an errand to speak with Bror Dulgov.”

“And why would he be interested in that?”

“My friends think we may have common purpose.”

The man showed an assortment of brown teeth, “You have high friends.”

“They think so.”

“You will ride with us.”

“I would be honored.”

Whatever the troop was doing wasn’t as important as escorting the westerling back to the capital. Other than stopping to water the horses and take relief, they pushed to the capital Kugavod in darkness. The gate was closed. A sentry on the battlement called down and was given a password. The gate squeaked open enough to let the horses through single file and Nag Kath found himself in a large courtyard lit by occasional torches mounted on stands away from the wooden stockade. Only the Sergeant dismounted and walked over to two men at a smaller gate. One of them went inside and everyone waited where they were.

After a few minutes a man in robes accompanied by two soldiers with torches came out with the sentry. The Sergeant whistled and the trooper next to Nag Kath said, “You come.” Come he did and they rode to the small door before dismounting.

The man in robes said in fair Westron, “Please come with me. Your horse and sword remain.” There was never a hope he would get close to any royal bearing arms so there was no reason to protest. The man and his two torchbearers led Nag Kath through a warren of hallways to a small room. One of the torches was used to light a candle. The robed man said, “Please, make yourself comfortable. We will tell the Bror you have come when he wakes. Stay here until then.” They left and he heard the unmistakable sound of the lock clicking. It wasn’t a prison cell. It was probably nicer than most people’s homes. Nag Kath pulled off his boots and sat on the cot after blowing out the candle. 

There was no window but he could tell it was probably mid-morning. Another man, in the same sort of robes as the first, unlocked the door and gestured for the Elf to follow between two sizeable guards. He was escorted through a different warren of halls with the light and furnishings getting better at each turn. When they reached an antechamber with an ornate tile floor, his minder turned and said in passable Westron, “I must now ask your business with the Bror and who has sent you.”

“I come representing the governments of Dale, Gondor and the Dwarf Halls of the north. My business is difficulty the Bror’s brother may cause between your land and theirs.”

The man seemed to be repeating Nag Kath’s statement before nodding and walking through an open door in front of them. He came out five minutes later and said, “This way.”

He was shown into a large hall and then into a smaller room on the other side where a large bald man with a thick, braided beard was sitting at a huge, plank table eating chicken. His clothes were heavy for the season and had ornate embroidery on the collar and cuffs but were otherwise ordinary. The fellow looked up and licked his fingers before saying in tolerable Westron, “You have traveled far. What can the Bror of the Rhûn do for august Lords of the West.”

Nag Kath bowed deeply and said, “A small thorn in the toe, My Lord. Hardly worth troubling you.”

“Untended thorns fester.”

“Indeed.”

“You are here about my brother, yes?”

“We are concerned he may not honor your lawful inheritance and seek lands controlled by friends of the true Bror.”

“And what is that to me?”

“Nothing, if he fails.”

The Bror wiped his mouth with his sleeve and took a slurp of something in a large, jeweled goblet. Collecting his thoughts he growled, “And if he succeeds?”

"Then your lands have old enemies again. Worse if one of them is your brother.”

Dulgov wiped his face with a real napkin and observed, “I do not think the Thains of Dale stand to lose much after so little rain.”

“Methinks south, Lord Bror. His troops are set to invest Dorwinion the day after Yegraph’s Feast. He purposes to attack Gondor.”

The Bror set aside any notion of banter. Putting his thumb and forefinger to either side of his mouth, he sent a piercing whistle through the air. Immediately, two more sentries came in the door Nag Kath had entered. The man told them something in their language and they disappeared. Then he swished whatever was in the goblet in his mouth and swallowed before rising and walking to his guest.

“If you are lying, it will take you a long time to die. What is your name?”

“Nag Kath, Lord Bror.”

The man looked at the floor and back at his guest before shaking his head and saying to himself, “Too young.”

A proud officer walked through the door receiving nods from both the interior guards and presented himself to the Bror on one knee. His liege said, “Rise.” The man straightened up with his helmet under his arm.

“This foreigner says my confused brother thinks to cross the Kelduash and take land in Dorwinion. Why have I not heard of this from you?”

The officer blanched slightly but held his ground, “I cannot say, Excellency. He will have moved much closer to the river than he has been.”

They were speaking in the common-tongue so this was for the benefit of the foreigner. The Bror turned to Nag Kath and ordered, “Explain why you claim this.”

“Your unfortunate brother has been in league with orcs to the north, promising them food for harrying Dalish Thains. All the while, he masses troops in Feerold along with considerable horsemen so as not to be confined to your eastern lands. If the infantry is to cross fully armed, I would seek barges to follow the current to Tas Surren after the cavalry has forded to make safe the landing. The barges will either be there or they won’t.”

The Bror got very close to Nag Kath. That move usually had him tower over his own people but he had to speak up at the Elf, “And if you were me, you would destroy the barges?”

“I dare not presume to think as Bror of your people.”

“And if you did?”

Nag Kath thought a little challenge would help, “I would get my horses back.”

The Bror’s face changed colors twice before he blurted to the officer, “You heard the man.” Relieved to be out of Dulgov’s withering stare, the officer nodded curtly and marched out the way he came. 

“Kath, you will remain here until this is certain.”

“I look forward to my stay, Lord Bror.

___________--------__________

Nag Kath was led to a gate just outside of the palace and waited alone for quite a while until a man in ordinary clothes silently waved him to follow. They walked past what seemed to be a proper gaol to a small, walled compound with four huts surrounding a well-kept garden of flowers and vegetables. It was fully a quarter mile from the Bror’s northern wall. His hut was a single room with a chair, cot and basin. He thought this was the detention area for people who might have to be produced alive later. 

Everything on Charlo was impounded but he still had his satchel with birch tooth twigs and spare undergarments. Surprisingly the little quill knife in his pocket had not been taken.

The Elf doodled pictures of the garden and what he could see of the river outlet into the Rhûn. Part of that exercise was looking for escape routes if needed. From here he could leave anytime if he only took the clothes on his back. The walls seemed stout but somehow not menacing. At dusk the fellow who led him here was admitted in the gate with hot food. It was the grain Vegad described with spices and goat butter along with mutton and a version of lennas greens. Without the meat there still enough to make a meal.

He slept that night which was unusual. He also dreamed softly and slept quite late. In the morning the servant returned with porridge and refilled his basin, which was also his drinking water. There was nothing to do in the hut, which was getting hot by mid-day. Nag Kath felt like he had slept for days and went outside to stretch. That wasn’t necessary for Elves but it was a habit he formed in his conversion and helped him concentrate. Then he took his sketch pad into the garden.

On his count of day six, the servant also put food inside the hut opposite his. After the heat of the afternoon, an old man shuffled out his door and said hello. He was bald and beardless but had good teeth and used them in an almost constant smile. There was more than a drop of Khandian blood there too which gave him an olive complexion in a contrast to the pasty Northmen and pale Nag Kath.

“Good day, young man.”

“Good day to you, sir.”

“You are newly arrived, yes?”

Nag Kath said, “Five days ago. I may be here some time.”

“I have been here for two months.” The man was wearing a flowing robe over a loose blouse and rather comfortable-looking trousers. Pointing at the sketch pad he said, “Are you writing your verses for Gelansor? I do mine by memory, but not as well as I did.”

Nag Kath showed him the flowers and said, “No, sir. I am new to these lands and only just heard of Gelansor. I hope I have not caused offense.”

The small man grinned, “There are few who remember now, but fewer who write, so I guessed.”

The Elf smiled with, “I would offer you tea but I haven’t any. You are welcome to join me for conversation. Please tell me of Gelansor.”

“I have tea, of a sort. One does with what one has. Just a moment.” The small man turned towards his hut and slowly but purposefully made his way back in the open door. A moment later he returned with a clay bowl. Nag Kath went inside his own hut for his only mug and was back before the older man made it through the garden.

As he poured, the fellow said, “I pinch the leaves in my basin and leave it in the sun. Close your eyes and imagine it is Telandren.” He poured and sipped, savoring the taste before saying, “Those who still speak my name call me Orlo.”

“I am called Nag Kath. It is a pleasure to meet you, Orlo. Two months is quite some time. I hope your quarters are comfortable.”

“It is a nice place, thought they have no notion of how to fillet the seehar fish correctly, northerners being what they are. Alas, my brother-in-law is Khan of Mistrand and it seems there were irregularities with tax receipts. I am visiting while the Bror’s clackers check the ledgers.”

“Oh dear, are you the Collector?”

“Heavens no. I am a retired boat-wright. But someone must come as the Bror’s guest to guarantee fealty. The Khan’s daughter is a foolish creature with a foolish husband, scarcely worthy of the Bror’s hospitality.” Nag Kath thought that the most graciously explained detention he ever heard. Orlo continued, “My wife is long past such cares and my own daughter, be she blessed by Those Named, is a simple girl and lives out of reach.”

The Elf could hop the wall with the Bror’s scalp if he wanted, but he was here for information and to support the more moderate eastern neighbor. Gently nudging he said, “I fear troubles with Bror’s brother have brought me to this lovely garden.”

Orlo took a sip of the weak tea and thought aloud, “Brothers can be trouble. I never had a brother. My sister made a good match all those years ago. She is a clever woman but did not produce a child. The Khan’s concubine did. He finds the woman silly and has my sister tell him stories.”

Nag Kath admitted, “I have no brothers or sisters. But I have known many families where brothers live as friends.”

“Yes, but everyone has to agree that no one gets all, else hard feelings stew. A man with two fish will give his brother one, but a man with two lands will not. It is a confusion.”

Nag Kath gently steered, “Orlo, you said you live on a river.”

“Yes, yes, an unlovely brown ditch that comes from a grudging desert. It silts the inlet and the fish, in their wisdom, breed vastly. I made boats to catch them when I moved more quickly.”

The Elf added to the thread, “I forded a river on the northwest corner of the sea. My horse and I got a good soaking for our pains.”

Orlo touched his chin with his finger and said, “Yes, that is a real river. I have not been there in a generation but I should imagine it is the same now.”

Nag Kath fed-out a little more line, “Another man crossed when I did. He was riding a small, hairy horse but it swam well and did not shy at the water.”

Orlo considered that, “Those are the horses bred along the eastern shore, above Kelepar. That is the grazing land of Rhûn. I have never owned a horse but those are said to be good-natured and easy to feed. I know more of boats. If you live on a sea, you must know boats.” The old man brightened saying, “Of course, he could have easily taken a barge across the inlet of the sea like any number of merchants.”

The little blood coloring Nag Kath’s face drained into his stomach. Had he sent Dorwinion’s paltry defense upriver while the enemy leisurely floated across the little bay? His circulation returned when Orlo continued, “Of course they have to pay the tax. His Excellency the Bror keeps good troops on the north bank, and the winds blow east this time of year. I had forgotten that.

“If you will excuse me, young Nag Kath. I should rest and finish my recitations. Perhaps if your business with the Bror’s family is not completed, we can speak again.”

“Until then, Mr. Orlo.”

_____________------_____________

After breakfast Nag Kath sat on the stoop sketching, mostly for lack of anything more interesting to do. He thought it might be some days before even fast riders could scout the Celduin for troops, horses or barges. There were not a lot of trees along the eastern bank within fifty miles of the river mouth so that amount of timber floating by would be plain to attentive or coerced farmers.

After the gardener finished watering and weeding, Orlo came out on his stoop and sat with his tea. Nag Kath walked over to the identical hut and sat next to him. “Good morning Mr. Orlo.”

“Just Orlo, young Nag Kath. No news of the Usurper?”

That was a change. Anyone above ground knew of the squabble but the old boy had made only the most general references to tensions when they met. Nag Kath contemplated that and answered, “No, I think it may be some time. His Excellency has extended his courtesy while he verifies my peoples’ concerns.”

“His Excellency is a considerate host. Wait here.” Orlo rose with the help of a steadying hand on the roof post and went inside, returning a minute later with his water basin. Placing it in the sun, he crushed leaves from a pocket in his robe and floated them on the surface. Sitting in his place again he said, “We must not forget the little things, young Nag Kath.”

“Orlo, you mentioned Gelansor. What is that?” Nag Kath just opened a large jar of learning that would take years to explore. He would be very glad he did, primarily because it gave great insight into his own life’s work. In the here-and-now it also hurried creeping time in the small compound. 

Orlo began, “You are a stranger so I will start before my time. The Easterlings of the south sea are quite different from the north. We were all part of the Balchoth rising but deserts are different than woods. You see mostly Northmen in the woods.” Orlo took a better look at Nag Kath’s smooth face and continued, “You are no Northman either, but this may still apply.

“There are many ancient stories of our creation. It was said, some claim written, that great lords of power were imagined to shepherd feeble men, or Elves in their day. They lived in fertile lands of plenty without want. Even then they argued, just like his Excellency and his noble brother, causing ruin and pain.

“But out here, fanciful tales of green lands bearing fruits one can pick at will brought disdain. Legends of these creatures never included drought or watching babies choke on dust. Men of dry lands need their own lords and demons to explain our lot in life. Mind you, I am of Mistrand, which is paradise compared to the sands of Mordor. The dark lord was no friend of rain.”

Nag Kath stayed motionless as Orlo put his finger on his chin again, “Now, where was I? Oh yes, Gelansor is the three days of the July new-moon when those of us who keep faith light candles through the night and offer prayers that our fields and women may be fertile. Now, your newer adherents sometimes write their own halting script for the occasion. Older fellows like myself recall the original verses so those spirits can find us. I fear I used my candle already.”

“You are welcome to mine, if I have one.”

“I have already found offerings in all four of the huts, forgive me.”

“Apology accepted.”

“Thank you.”

Nag Kath probed gently, “It does not seem Frûnzar is a keeper of candles.”

“No, he believes in himself, as one who would be Bror must.”

“Does he not have supporters that wish for old ways?”

Orlo looked again at Nag Kath’s face. His vision was not good and he only saw the same young man everyone else did, but that question gave him pause. “Well, if you are here I suppose you know enough to know more. The eastern bank of the Kurnug was where our Balchoth riders held sway, fierce and terrible men who carried the standard.

“They were warriors and favored of Sauron for centuries. They were also the first to die when the orcs of Angbad shriveled like peppers at the Dwarf gate. Such of them as survived were left the worst lands and ate their horses after their children. Your people saw no need to chase enemies east of the sea or demand tribute where none grew. Wainriders, not the first but the renamed, sought seats at council but were denied. So they waited and schemed and finally found the son of a Bror, a son who would heed their petitions.

“Of course, that was not enough. As all from these lands, they reordered Those Named to their own purpose but could not replace the Dark One.” Orlo changed to a more practical voice, “After centuries of favor by Sauron; that was a large gap to fill. Now, some claim congress with the dark lord’s spirit and use that to exhort men to glories only graybeards remember.”

The youngster played naïve, “I should think all wise men would avoid such association.”

“They would! But their lives were better when they were servants of war. Now they are esteemed beneath farmers and peddlers.”

Nag Kath pushed his luck, “There were many on the wrong side of history. I hope they do not have the ability to remake new dark lords.”

Orlo showed emotion, “They try, summoning forces from remaining humors. These recent rascals claim to pull unclaimed powers from earth and sea. My own view is that they would make their livings hiding peas under clam shells in the market if they did not find employment exhorting hungry soldiers! Mordor probably has evil spirits remaining.”

The Elf said thoughtfully, “Yes, I have not been everywhere but it seems most places have folk who claim congress with the dead or powers unavailable to everyday folk in exchange for a few groats. I personally know of an old woman who could take sickness away, though it made her ill in the bargain.”

“Houlars! Mistrand has one. She is a crafty old villain but she will heal a fever for coppers. That is a hard life, young Nag Kath. It wears them to skin and bone.”

“I remember the woman being gaunt and in poor humor.”

Orlo slapped his knee and chuckled in agreement.

Nag Kath became theatrically serious for his next foray, “There is tell of fell spirits that still live in hollows of old forests. You may not have seen those but there are places as big as this sea to the west filled with old and cunning trees. They are of no better temper.”

“Forests, seas, deserts, they all have powers, some smarter than others. I was in the east when Sauron and his servant were slain. That seemed to be the end of all power, though it rained three years in a row, so someone took pity on us. I returned home. Fish found their way on deck and we prospered. But until I see my home again, I will make Rhub tea and wait patiently.”

Orlo smiled and went back inside to say auspices. 

_____________------_____________

The eighth morning started exactly like the first. The gardener/servant brought porridge and clean water but, as before, did not speak a word or make eye-contact. Nag Kath wondered if his tongue had been removed. 

He was gone when Orlo claimed his breakfast and again sat on the stoop to eat it. His hut faced east, presumably taken to avoid the afternoon sun. He did have to squint his eyes in the sunrise. Nag Kath sauntered over and offered him his floppy hat which the man politely declined before saying, “I do hope the clackers are making progress, young Nag Kath.”

“I am sorry, Orlo. What is a clacker?”

“They are those who use the counting beads. Wait here.” He carefully rose pushing his palm on the rude porch floor and returned holding a small wooden rack. It had eleven wooden balls sliding on each of twelve thin bamboo rods. Another rack strut was above center with several more balls. “You see, here is one.” He slid a bead from the top of the rack to the bottom. “Two, three and so forth. When you get to twelve, you move the bead up here and start over.”

The Elf said, “We do something like that with marks on a tablet or slate, though it is a count of ten for the change.”

Orlo fingered his chin and thought, “I suppose all people must do something.” The chin again, “Ten? Five does not divide ... this is much faster. When you push them around they make a clacking sound, like this.” He placed them according to his count and showed it to Nag Kath saying, “There, now you can remember.” He left it in-front of the confused Elf for quite a while before cautioning, “Clacker is not the preferred title for their earnest labors, should you share wine with one.”

Changing the subject, Nag Kath asked, “Is today the end of Gelansor?”

“Yes, at sundown. After three nights, men will now bed their wives. I remember enjoying that. No spirit ever spoke to me, though. Some are more sensitive to their call. Others pretend favor. I have eaten well and have grandchildren who are smarter than their parents. That is enough. Yesterday’s tea is drinkable. May I offer you a cup?”

“Thank you Orlo. It seems the Bror does not have many guests if it is just us.”

Orlo poured a measured amount of the yellow liquid into Nag Kath’s mug and the same for himself. He thought about the Bror’s hospitality and said, “This is the best he has. Other places of confinement do not have gardens.” Orlo sipped his tea and muttered, “It seems you are making progress. The Bror usually lets people confined here leave alive.”

“Have you been here before?”

“No, but I know some who have. We are not here for our own transgressions.”

Nag Kath wondered that his case might be closer to judgment. If they had confirmed nothing useful, they would have come with swords drawn. Using the ‘Fast’ he would be armed when he jumped the wall. It would bode better for defenders of Dorwinion too. Orlo said, “That is encouraging, young Nag Kath. I hope I will not be made an example to cheating Khans around the sea.”

In the first Elf Lord face Orlo had seen, Nag Kath said, “I will need to leave shortly regardless of the outcome. I would be glad to release you as well.”

“You are young and optimistic, as we should all be at your age. A man of my years can only return to his life. That would be short and uncomfortable without a favored leaving.” Less in the tone of village Elder, Orlo said, “Two guards circle the compound taking one hundred and seventy paces each time. When they relieve themselves, it is behind the hut to the right. Remember in leaving, you can not always take the straight path.”

Nag Kath was fairly sure that whatever path he took would be in a hurry if it came to that. “Thank you, Orlo. I worry that going without the Bror’s leave might expose you to fury they cannot use on me.”

“You might punch me in the mouth before you go to show I feebly tried to restrain you. Come and visit me someday when this business is settled. I hope to be back in Mistrand.”

“What is the discrepancy between your honored brother-in-law’s ledger and His Excellency’s?”

“Four Florin and change, far beyond any but a Lord’s ability to pay.”

_____________------_____________

Orlo did not appear the next day. The changeling let him sleep. About midday, a soldier entered the compound looking around as if after a long search. Spotting the guest, he approached with a slight bow and said, “You will come with me.” The Elf collected his satchel and followed the soldier out the gate. 

He was taken to the same dining area before the same Bror who was eating again. The man said, “Sit.” Nag Kath did so after bowing. “Much as I hate to admit it, my esteemed brother had been building barges on the river. Someone accidentally cut them from their moorings and they floated to the sea where will be found other uses for them.” The Bror looked up and said, “Such things are not wasted in my kingdom.

“Now, we did not find the horses. Prints, yes. Hooves, no. What do you make of that?”

“They are upstream distracting Dale. If it were me, Lord Bror, I would ford the horses further upriver and ride them down to secure the barge landing in stealth. They would have to discourage merchants they found from telling tales.” 

“I agree. You seem uncannily knowledgeable for one of tender years.”

“Not so tender, My Lord.”

“Perhaps.”

Nag Kath said respectfully, “If I may be so bold, this is a good time to let your friends in Gondor know that any incursion on that soil is not of your making.”

“Again, we agree. My fellow Lord Kings, friends in western lands, need not be concerned that the rightful Bror of Rhûn is, as you said, a thorn in the toe.”

Nag Kath chose his words carefully, “They may also be encouraged that the rightful Bror has been the steel anvil for the hammer of friendship.”

“That gives you seven days to share such glad tidings, Nag Kath. Much as I would keep that horse as a gift from your people, you will need him.”

“Kingly acts deserve kingly praise, Lord Bror. Forgive my impertinence but I would like to make amends for certain tax irregularities by the Khan of Mistrand.”

The Bror stiffened a little and growled, “The weasel is light …” he adjusted his estimate “… two Florin! I would not be Bror long were it known I condone such larceny!”

That was cheaper than Orlo thought, “I should think two Florin a bargain for such gracious hospitality. I will settle the bill with my own funds after your Lordship has dismissed me.”

Bror Dulgov was gracious, “It is the custom of our peoples that others may pay the debts of friends and family honorably. Your offer is accepted.”

“If I may ask, My Lord, I am curious if your inquiries found any who claim congress with dead dark lords. My superiors would like to discourage that.”

“As it happens, Mr. Kath, our fellows did speak with one such. Two officers will conduct you to him, or what is left of him. I will instruct them to share their findings.” He nodded to a senior guard. “Please also take these letters to my friends in the west. I have not been as good a correspondent as I will be. Safe travels, young man.”

Nag Kath bowed and was walked out to Charlo.

_____________------_____________

It took three hard days to reach the barge site but it was only a few hours from his ford on the Celduin. The Bror's main army must must have been keeping between the rebels and capital to get them here this fast. Nag Kath presented his sealed letter from the Bror’s scribe to the sentries who passed it unopened to a Lieutenant charged with burning bodies with barge-wood. He looked at it and said, “You are just in time.” He pulled his head summoning a large, swarthy warrior armed with a whip and axe. In Rhunish he ordered, “Telugh, this man is authorized to ask questions of the dark prisoner. Fiel may be of use. Take both.”

The Visitor was in a tent pitched well away from the headquarters, tied to a post, sitting in his own ordure. The inquisitor Fiel did not fit the usual description of a grim torturer. He seemed an ordinary soldier. Nag Kath looked in the flap first and asked him in Westron, “Has he shared anything useful?”

“Nay, but we asked about troops and timing. He raises the blood of fighters.”

“Anything about sorcery?”

“He called it down on us for our blasphemy. Haven’t seen any yet.”

Nag Kath nodded and went inside alone.

The Visitor was a man of about thirty. He had been handsome. Lips were stuck together with dried blood so Nag Kath went back out for his canteen and a rag before returning to crouch beside the figure. The man was motionless but alert. Nag Kath wet the cloth to wipe the man’s face and then slowly dribbled water in his mouth. Laying the canteen in plain view he began, “You are a Visitor of the Dark One, yes?”

The man looked at him with disgust and spat the precious water on Nag Kath’s hand. The Elf had no experience extracting information by force and this fellow was now beyond inducement through pain. The threat of death was welcome. Nag Kath gave him a longer drink, sure that Fiel had teased him with the same or played the kindly gaoler for sympathy. Nag Kath only needed him able to move his tongue.

As with the two advance men in the alley, a pale pulse of energy left the Elf’s hand towards the prisoner’s face. The Visitor blinked. Nag Kath said softly, “I am sorry for your misfortune. I come from those we honor. Were there many men here?”

The man tried to resist but then swallowed for the first time in a day and rasped, “Horsemen and soldiers. Building, waiting.”

“Yes, they do the work that is needed. When did the horsemen leave?”

The man was fighting blood oaths in training to resist unbelievers. Another pulse shook him and his eyes calmed. “Not long ago. I have not seen the sun to tell.”

“Good, then they are away from the corrupt Bror. Rightful Bror Frûnzar is safe?”

The man nodded which earned him another drink. Nag Kath said in an other-worldly voice, _**“Dooshs kum dellor khazûn fuul.”**_ It had no effect. He tried again in Westron, “The Dark Lord honors the faithful.”

The prisoner made a bare smile. Nag Kath asked him, “How may I praise your men to him?”

That hit a nerve but the spell was too strong, “Summon him,” licking his lips, “summon him from the glyph.”

“The pig soldiers may have already desecrated it.”

“Rock … fifth rock from pit. He calls to us. Defend … claim …”

Nag Kath stalked out of the tent and said to the sentry, “No one goes in.” He made his way over to the saw pit on the bank and relieved himself. Pretending to drop something, he came back up holding a flat stone about three by five inches with crude runes carved on one side. The Elf made a show of checking his trouser buttons and walked back to the hulking guard outside the tent saying, “I have what I need.”

______________-------______________

Nag Kath ran Charlo hard enough to make the river before dark with enough energy left to swim across. It took another hour in twilight to make Riavod which gave the magnificent horse a chance to catch his breath and dry off. Nag Kath took Charlo to the stable himself, rousting the stable-boy to ensure good care before carrying his bags into the inn. His bag had been searched. The confusion spell on the purse-pouch must have worked. Pausing only for a quick meal and tea, he walked to the provost office and told the sentry to find the Captain. Everyone on duty knew to make double-time as soon as the blonde man showed his face. The sentry unlocked the door to let Nag Kath enter and then left to tell his boss.

That took about twenty minutes so Nag Kath tried wakeful rest. Before discarding the thought, he hoped the Easterlings would give the Visitor a quick end. They are a practical people and would think no more of it than dousing a campfire.

Captain Talfurmir was in full uniform when he sat next to filthy, wet Elf. “Honestly didn’t expect to see you again, Nag Kath. Why don’t you talk first.”

“Spent eight days as the Bror’s guest. Wasn’t so bad, really. Talked quite a bit with an old fellow from the south who told me about how the Balchoth settled the east and weren’t rewarded for their pains. That’s who’s coming. The Bror destroyed the infantry on his land and scattered the barges. Here is where it gets touchy; he did not find his horses. I would not be surprised if they are either upstream waiting to ford or have already done so. Are merchants still arriving from the Dale Road?”

“Got some today. Nobody mentioned two columns of Easterling cavalry.”

Nag Kath nodded slowly, “Well, that’s something. Any word from the Buhrs?”

“Not yet. If we get an answer, or help, it will come down the same road, and they will look for broken branches. Let me tell you of preparations here: I have the cavalry camped above where you forded. The Rohirrim complained until I reminded them they took the money. Word has been sent to Brilthen, my sister command. They are farmers too but if Easterlings are threatening in force, they know they are next. I don’t know Captain Cestlend very well. He’s new. The runners were to stay there until he says yes.

“We had a look across the inlet too in case they thought to barge from there. The wind is wrong if they use sails and the current is strong enough to float them in plain sight without oars. That’s the Bror’s territory. Unless he is acting the innocent, his brother will get no quarter there. Our friends visiting family on the east bank are always watching.”

Talfurmir worked down his list, “I’ve got twenty horse reminding the militia that training started yesterday. They don’t like leaving their grapes. Those men are forming up now.”

Nag Kath nodded and said, “You do your esteemed brother proud. I could not ask for more. In the morning, let us go up the river and look for the pinch if cavalry is coming this way. Of your infantry, how many are archers?”

“Not many. Fifty or sixty, but they’re good with longbows. Cestlend should bring more. In our favor, if those horses have to swim the river, they won’t be armored.”

“Then I won’t keep you, Captain. Get some sleep and we’ll see about slowing them down in the morning. They might not even know their foot soldiers aren’t coming.” Nag Kath smiled for the first time, “I have some surprises for them either way.”

“Kath of the Water, when we have time for ale, I want to hear this story. I hope it is told for a hundred years.”

_____________------_____________

It rained that morning. This was not the season and it wasn’t much of a storm, but everyone in uniform was miserable. Nag Kath wore his last set of clean clothes. Charlo was tired for the first time in his life. Riding back up the merchant road they saw a team of wagons plodding along under the King’s peace with Lieutenant Fendülas behind them. The teamsters waved nervously. 

This was Tas Surren where the river current swung to their side. Fording horsemen would know that. Talfurmir called to his cavalry chief, “Any riders from the north?”

“Nay, Captain. All quiet.”

Talfurmir muttered, “I suppose that is good. Nag Kath, if I had five hundred cavalry without infantry or artillery support, I would cross them eight miles upstream. The river widens as the cliffs give way to mud banks for two miles. Below us, they can’t get up the bank.” 

Fendülas called, “I sent a six-troop up there yesterday with orders to ride like the wind if shaggy horses start swimming west.”

Talfurmir pinched his lips on his moustache and declared, “Here is where we stop them. Lieutenant, have the men dig and spike trenches to either side of the road. Archers behind those, cross-firing up the road. Cavalry to the rear for the ones that make it through or to drive in if they make a stand.” As an afterthought he shouted, “Have the riders dig pot holes while they wait.”

The first infantrymen started arriving with spears in one hand and shovels in the other. Men with axes chopped and sharpened branches. Jurgantis was seeing to provisions. They would eat whatever he found. Tents were moved out of view. The weather cleared. Ominously, no more merchants appeared that day and none were allowed north. They grumbled but left and were told to keep their mouths shut. One lucky fellow sold his cargo of salted-pork then and there. 

Nothing happened the next day except their woolens finally dried. One of the militias from the west bank of the Rhûn arrived to reinforce the local men. The pork and food brought from town was better than usual soldier’s fare. Men waited and wished their love to families. If Easterlings were coming, those loved ones were only twenty miles away. The next morning was clear and fair. It was the day before the enemy infantry assault was scheduled. If Nag Kath was in charge and thought the foot soldiers would leave tomorrow, this is the day he would ford the cavalry. 

A lonely wagon rolled up. The teamster and his son enjoyed a leisurely breakfast at dawn thinking to make the rest of the trip well before dinner. The drover looked at the soldiers and said in good humor, “Well, change my underclothes if you aren’t fearsome fellows!”

Sarn't Guilforn of the Fourth replied, “Hello Travid. What news from the road?” 

“Nothing going up.” Looking at the troopers, “I expect you know that.”

Travid would have been in the militia call-up if he wasn’t working. Lieutenant Fendülas said, “This is real, Travid. Easterling cavalry might be headed this way. If you and Benvier have your bows, settle your animals and fall-in.” The man looked at his son, nodded and pulled his rig downstream with the other wagons. They were back shortly with their weapons. No other wagons came but Cestland’s Dorwinions arrived from the south hot and stinking. His archers better than doubled the men defending the trenches. 

An hour before dusk, Corporal Warno and his five men sped into camp. Fendülas walked out and heard, “They’re coming. It was hard to count but I’d say closer to four hundred rather than five. Viggas got a better look.”

Trooper Viggas panted, “Half spears, half swords. Not many bows. They’ll have to replace the strings in the dark. I stayed long enough to watch the first of them climb the bank. They were spread the whole length and I think a few went too far and are trapped in the canyon walls. I put them an hour away.”

Talfurmir shouted, “We’re in it now, lads. We’ve got angry Lings coming down the road. Everyone knows what to do. Hold your positions because we can’t reform. Fight for your families.”

Nag Kath said, “I will be watching.” With that, he took his art tube upriver. Sooner than Viggas thought, hooves thundered their way. 

_____________------_____________

In the encroaching darkness, a red comet shot drunkenly across the sky. The men of Dorwinion were startled but were told to expect the unexpected. Further north, horses and riders were unnerved. The comet is the ultimate disaster in Rhûn and here was one racing over their heads at what should be their moment of glory. Some men broke ranks and dismounted to offer contrition for man’s faults. Officers screamed at them to ride or die. They got back in the saddle but the formation was now in shambles. As they approached, pitch-trenches were lit by brave Dorwinens waiting alongside the road. Another comet of pure silver helped light them as Cestland's archers began pouring arrows into their flanks. 

Ling officers in front sounded the charge to get past the barrage only to trip in the spiked ditches. Their next line followed them into the pits or pulled up as easy targets for the second and fire-at-will volleys. Allied cavalry closed in from beside the road to take those breaking through.

The enemy’s second wave had to slow when the first stalled at the trenches and then looked back in horror as one hundred and twenty cavalry closed the trap from the north. The northern allied van engaged the last ranks of the Easterling cavalry until the Ling commander sounded the horn to press south hoping that reinforcing his forward column would let them punch through. They got the same treatment in the pot holes and ditches as arrows rained in from both sides. 

Perhaps a dozen stragglers broke through the rear cavalry pincer and rode for their lives. Others crawled into the hills to be captured or die later. By torchlight, the Easterlings had one hundred forty dead or dying, ninety who might live and the rest captured or soon to be.

Nag Kath was sorry for the horses killed or that needed to be put down in the spike pits. Something like a hundred of them would be dinner for the next few nights. The rest charged off in all directions or milled about, neighing for solace.

As the Dorwinions secured their prisoners, officers rode up in the gloom from behind the lines. One called, “Permission to enter Gondor, sir.”

Talfurmir smiled broadly and answered, “Permission granted, Lords of Dale. Glad you could come.”

Nag Kath walked up with his bow and bowed to the host. Durnaldar grinned, “There was no missing those rockets.”

Nag Kath announced, “Captain Talfurmir, may I introduce my son-in-law Reyald Conath, Lieutenant Freers of Fanüel and Mr. Edelbras, a gentleman of Dale.” 

The Captain said, “It is my pleasure, sirs. Truly.”

Horses and men were screaming in pain so this was no time for chat. Talfurmir shouted, “Spears on the prisoners in circles. Hands and feet bound. Keep ‘em quiet until we can see what we’re doing.”

Nag Kath walked over to a bleeding officer who hoped his uniform would not stand-out by torchlight and said, “You, what’s your name?”

“Captain Turradin Pen-Sollaag.”

“Stand up, Captain.” He did on a game leg.

The Elf said softly, “Which one’s Frünzar?”

The officer nodded his head slightly to his left. The Elf looked over and saw a well-fitted knight breathing his last with a goose-quill arrow through his lung. He walked to the man and knelt beside him. “Anything you want said in your memory?”

The man smiled and shook his head. It was the last thing he ever did. Nag Kath stood and said to the other prisoners, “He will be returned to your lands with respect.” Then to Captain Pen-Sollaag; “Tell your men hiding in the bushes that they should come out now and accept such mercy as their cooperation earns them. If we have to go get them tomorrow, we’ll drag them back.”

The Captain limped to the hill side of the road and shouted several sentences in their tongue. He nodded to Nag Kath and mustered some dignity, “There will be those who are wounded and cannot come. I hope you will show honor.” The Elf said nothing.

The night took forever. Men and horses cried and suffered. At first light, one crew was assigned the unenviable job of dispatching horses beyond hope. They did the same for men, including some of their own. Most of the Easterlings in the hills came at their Captain’s urging but a few held out for as long as it took. Dorwinion had nineteen dead and twice that many with serious wounds. One of Edelbras’ men was killed and one of the Reyald’s riders got a spear through the leg-bone and would be here two months at the minimum. Sarnt Tellig’s arm was in a sling. Nag Kath spent the morning applying flesh-knitting and pain spells for wounded on both sides. By noon, everyone was where they were supposed to be.

Captain Pen-Sollaag was subordinate to Colonel Fôrsh who was in the back prisoner coffle. It was his job to ask for mercy and terms. That was awkward. The Bror would be in no hurry to get them back. The officers might wish they had died here. Some fell on their swords, including three dressed in black. 

Captain Talfurmir had the King’s authority to settle border skirmishes. This was bigger than that but who was going to complain? Nag Kath presented Edelbras and Talfurmir sealed letters from the Bror to their Lords explaining that he had settled with the infantry on his soil and begging pardon for any trouble rogue elements of his people had caused. It came with offers of reparation. Those who could walk or ride did so and the rest were loaded into wagons for the bumpy ride to Riavod.

___________--------__________

Four days after the fight the Dalelanders and Nag Kath rode north. This was Gondor and they had things in hand. Weeks later, a letter from the Captain, whose career was ascendant as the hero of Riavod, said that prisoners were sent home across the inlet. The Bror would take three of them back for every horse returned. The rest of the shaggy beasts belonged to the victors or were sold to compensate the families of local casualties. 

Before they left, Nag Kath gave the Captain a letter for the King of Gondor to include with his own dispatches. Sent quickly, it could probably be handed to Aragorn at the gap when he returned from Annúminas. Nag Kath’s letter was written in Sindarin and included meaningless marks on a separate sheet.

** _Dearest High King Elessar Telcontar, _ **

** _I hope this letter finds you well. It should come with dispatches from the excellent Captain Talfurmir who showed great leadership in our victory. I apologize for acting in your name. It was needed. I will leave accounts of the fighting to Talfurmir and only add that which I learned privately. _ **

** _The men of Dale came to our aid and also performed superbly. They did not have to do that. Some of it was because I asked but the friendship between the two lands is strong. Expect a change in kingship there shortly. _ **

** _Bror Dulgov is a reasonable sort. Now that his brother sleeps with his ancestors, the man may be open to diplomacy. He speaks decent Westron and you can make what you will of his letter to you. _ **

** _Then there is the enclosed sheet. The rogue Easterlings were aligned with a cult or sect revering Sauron. I do not know how deep or widespread that fans into their society. They believe it and the Bror is actively discouraging the practice. The paper has a tracing from a stone thought by a low-ranking ‘Visitor’ to hold power. It is not Black Speech and the man spoke none. I send it your way in the event scholars can make sense of it. The rock itself is now gravel in the Rhûn. _ **

** _I will keep my ears to the ground for similar tidings. That may take me north and east before we meet again. _ **

** _With kindest regards, NK_ **

King Aragorn was intercepted at the Gap of Rohan and read the correspondence from everyone else first. When he opened one end of Nag Kath’s packet, an ounce of green/gray powder poured on his boot. Three matches were sealed in wax on the outside. 

The messenger was told to burn it before the end of need.

___________--------__________

Non-combatants from the Dale train had been left two hours behind and they made their way into town the day after the battle to enjoy dinner and tastes of the exotic wine capital with the soldiers and townsmen. Even the logs and barges arrived at the river mouth over the next few days as gifts for plucky men willing to retrieve them. Unfortunately, horses and men floated down later.

The Dalean captains were in good humor on the way home. Soldiers always mourn for those lost or wounded but this had been a success on every level. The enemy had been crushed. An accommodating Bror had shown reason while removing the thorn from his toe. The informal alliance between Dale and The Reunited Kingdom came through in shining colors, probably to be strengthened as a result. Nag Kath did not know it yet but this was the first time he had used his gifts for leadership. The changeling deflected praise to his comrades but they all saw command in him, even if he didn’t. 

Edelbras said while riding, “It shows that cavalry is more than mounted men. They broke formation twice.”

Durnaldar responded, “Aye, horse and man need to know the measure of each other, like pick drills at speed. Lieutenant Freers, what think you to do with your shaggy mounts?” 

Freers led thirty troopers from the Thainhold of Fanüel, Queen Delatha’s home. Durnaldar and Thain Conath thought the lands between theirs should be represented. Thain Fanüel risked thirty casualties to present a united Buhric force and chose well. They were discussing fifty claimed horses in the rear of their train. The beasts were not natural cavalry mounts but they could draw wagons and happily ate any weed offered.

Freers said, “Plowing and pulling. They do not seem much bothered with the change of masters.”

Reyald cried, “They did not care for those fireworks!” Edelbras just grinned, something he seldom did. Their own horses were spooked but in the hands of more experienced riders.

Nag Kath said, “When I had my last confrontation with Easterlings from their hard school, I was told they fear comets as harbingers of evil. I could not use it then but with notice, I thought to celebrate Syndolan early this year.”

Durnaldar laughed, “Well timed. When did you learn to make them fly so close to their heads?”

Nag Kath finally grinned, “I didn’t. Those were Gandalf’s powders. Lord Aragorn liberated them from Orthanc a few months ago and I asked for a few. The wizard could make tiny packets inside the end that would burst at different times in different colors. I was relieved they rose high enough not to scald our own lads.”

Edelbras said more seriously, “Twas your arrow put paid to the Usurper, like the Ling on the Dwarf Road, eh?”

“Fraid so. Taking him alive would have made things complicated with his brother. They really should teach these eastern potentates not to wear the only clean uniform.”

Reyald wore a small smile thinking of his strange father-in-law. In battle he was the most dangerous man alive with a combination of speed, intelligence and audacity. Then he could switch to discussing toy fireworks with the same degree of concentration. He prioritized, but whatever he did got his full attention. Reyald was also thinking of Thain Durnaldar’s where were certain to be found celebrations. If he could keep Durnaldar’s amorous daughter off the Elf, he would invite her to visit Buhr Austar to meet the rest of the family. There would be nothing like a young woman to liven his beloved brother’s outlook, though the man seemed content.

Nauthauja was indeed ready. Durnaldar sent a fast rider north before making camp the night before. One of his troopers would have to stay in Riavod with the other wounded until his broken leg mended but the rest were heroes returned from combat! Folk from across the Celduin were invited. It was now more likely than ever that they would be proper Daleans after the next Thainmoot.

Tilli was cordial to Nag Kath but at learning he had been married to Reyald’s wife’s mother (Ardatha being almost as old as her own doddering father!), the young beauty decided she would wait for a dashing Prince, thank you very much. That did not bode well for Torrold’s chances but he knew nothing of the plot. Everyone else in the Buhr was more than cordial. There wasn’t a bag of jerky left in the larder when the soldiers of Dale, Fanüel and Austar waved goodbye. No matter. This was the stuff of songs sung wherever men of good will were met for a hundred years. 

Thain Fändul put out the feedbag too. His thirty riders were his best, but only as many as asked for by his brother Thains. Now well into his fifties, he had only daughters, one of whose sons returned with laurels this day. Old tensions among the eastern Buhrs were long past, which was why marriages among them dwindled as modern girls dreamed of more exciting lands.

_____________------_____________

Buhr Austar had also been notified their returning warriors would arrive the following day. Leaving at dawn put them into town just after lunch where folk threw flowers and brought sweet cakes to their riders. If any men had been waiting to propose to their sweetheart, this was the time. Troopers with family and Edelbras’ men stayed in town and the rest rode to the Thain’s holdings just northwest. They would have a smaller celebration there tonight and come back to town tomorrow for the speeches. After eating their way up the Redwater, most men just wanted to sleep in a real bed.

Ardatha gave Nag Kath a smile that said they would catch-up after she and Reyald celebrated alone. Torrold sat next to Nag Kath on the porch steps and put his mug on the planks. He commanded the larger local force watching their own lands. They both looked across to the stable barracks and listened to the men choose between celebrating and sleeping. 

Nag Kath said without altering his gaze, “You are in trouble now, my friend. Your brother thinks to bring Tilli Durnaldar up here for courtship.”

Torrold did not move his head either, “He and Ardatha have been at that for years. Between us, and a dozen people who also know, I’ve had a friend in town for some time. She is mother to two girls of passing fathers and considered beneath my parents’ standards. After da is gone …” he looked at Nag Kath for this, “… and I hope he lives as long as he wants, I will take her to wife.” He grinned as broadly as Nag Kath might ever imagine saying, “So Tilli will have to find someone her own age to flutter those famous eyelashes at!”

“Good for you, Torrold. Are her daughters included?”

“Oh yes. I would have no one suffer for this. Their husbands are townsmen and militia both, but not considered successors here.”

There was a stillness that begged the question; who would follow? Reyald, if he lived longer, and then Reyald’s boy Shurran. Nag Kath was first to speak, “There is plenty of room in Dale or even Minas Tirith for the sister to the King of the Northmen. They don’t need money. I was thinking of ambassador now that Rosscranith is put to pasture.”

Torrold said, “I have thought that too. It is strange the way ages play in this pageant. I am now fifty, still fit and strong. I wouldn’t have to last as long as my da to make someone wait here with little to do.” He looked Nag Kath in the eyes again, “And if footloose Elves steal all the thunder from our brave troopers, there is not much future in that either.”

“I suppose so. None of this was planned. I have a knack for finding the oddest things and living to tell the tale.”

Torrold grinned again, “Did you really send Syndolan rockets over their heads?”

“Weak efforts by Gandalf’s standards. I still have enough powder for a couple parties.”

Torrold put his hand on the Elf’s knee and said, “I’ll join the men for one last mug and call it a night. Thank you for your kindness, and for looking after my little brother. He is dear to me.”

The tall Northman walked towards the light of the stable.

_____________------_____________

Ardatha was in a good mood the next morning. The Elf was sensitive to women who enjoyed romantic evenings, something about being a water spirit, he supposed. She joined fourth-da Nag who spent the night in a comfortable chair on the porch. “Breakfast is almost ready, Nag.”

Lost in thought, he looked up at his step-daughter and smiled. “Sorry, I was wondering about events to the south. It is strange how it all went.”

“I shouldn’t think so. Good soldiers did what good soldiers do.”

“I spent a week as a guest of the Bror. Never tell your father but he looked a lot like Conath when we first met, big, bluff fellow, broad as a beer cask.”

Ardatha said tartly, “He does not enjoy such esteem on this side of the river.”

“The world is changing, daughter, for the better, but with change comes upset. There are people there, and probably in our lands too, who long for the return of darkness. Common threats unite us. Adherents find themselves in worse straits than when sorcery reigned. There are probably hill brats who will join from boredom. I hope they fail. But I am the only one left who can stop them, so either their powers must not grow or mine must. That does not sit well with me, beloved daughter. I was of the darkness. I cannot go back”

She whispered, “I think of mother often. She could never have loved you if you were a dark lord. I am sorry for your last marriage, and for the baby.”

“I must say goodbye to all I love at some time. Perhaps that is why real Elves are not often close to men. Unless killed by battle or injury, they manage because their society lives on. I hope it takes me a long time not to care about my mortal friends. I like caring.” He grinned, “And I like women. That is not very Elvish of me.”

Ardatha put a piece of long-grass in her teeth and looked at the paddock. “Speaking of women, Reyald told me he invited Durnaldar and his folk up for, what did he call it, a strategic conference.” 

Nag Kath nodded, “He said he would.”

She teased, “I will put an end to that in due course.” Nag Kath looked at her quizzically. “Torrold is spoken for. The woman is like mother. We are hard on mothers who cannot resist men’s needs.” Ardatha looked in the Elf’s eyes and said, “Of course I know, silly. I am a daughter of Lake Town. We don’t raise fools. Now, if someone else would just tell Reyald. I think even dear Conath knows.”

“Invite her to dinner tomorrow.”

Ardatha pretended to be shocked by raising her hand to her mouth. “Leave it to you! First you ride into the Ling capital with nothing but your cod. And now you put Austar in confusion!”

She bit her lip and added, “I will have Reyald invite her and her daughters’ families. It is time he did something useful for a change.”

_____________------_____________

The feast at the town hall went well. A number of soldiers and a host of a townsmen found that two or more nights of celebrating made them ill. Nag Kath did not offer to cure their distress. After most people had arrived, Reyald Conath, in his dress uniform, led an anxious woman through the front door by the hand. She and Ardatha were the same age, height and shape after children so one of the Princess’ dresses was pressed into service.

Reyald led the woman to the old Thain who was holding court near the beer table. The fearless Captain had to clear his throat twice but then said in a lordly voice, “Father, may I introduce Gerda Santaviig.” The woman bowed and smiled.

Conath looked away from his cronies and asked forcefully, “You not old Corporal Santaviig’s girl are you? Good man.” He remembered nothing of his and Haditha’s disdain after her first unwelcome child. 

“I am indeed, Thain Conath.”

“Well, I have family scattered about the room. Go say hello.”

She blinked a couple times as the old man returned to his story. Then she smiled and went looking for another family member. She found him.

Ardatha and Reyald approached the couple after a few minutes. She kissed them both. Reyald took a small silver box out of his pocket and said, “Nag Kath gave us these when we married. We never got around to setting them. It seems they need better owners.” They were the two diamonds.

The younger son was not so sure about his royal wife’s request to give the stones away like a Hobbit’s mathom, gifts given again and again. She knew the Elf wouldn’t care so when he walked by she said, “Nag Kath, this is Gerda.”

He expected this was the mystery woman and he bowed graciously. Ardatha, ever the Lake-girl said, “We gave them your diamonds. Hope you don’t mind.”

Nag Kath said, “I’d forgotten about those.” To Torrold and Gerda, “I hope they bring you good fortune.”

As other guests, primarily women, joined their circle, Ardatha felt the need to keep the conversation flowing so she asked, “Wherever did you get those Nag?”

“From the troll-hoard in the Iron Hills. There were several dozen and I picked the two that matched the closest. Eniece got the ruby you have now.”

No one, not even his forward step-daughter, was ready for that. She and the Conath brothers had even better Nag Kath stories but everyone else thought he was being silly. Wasn’t this pretty fellow an artist or something?

The Elf himself failed to notice the collective inhale and walked over to Edelbras. His men would be leaving tomorrow. Nag Kath would stay here a while longer so he asked him to take a pair of letters to Dale for him. Edelbras knew the royals might need him soon and would not be any later than necessary, even as other sang his praises. He was a King’s man.

_____________------_____________

As things settled in Austar, Nag Kath got to spend time with Ardatha's younger children; Shurran and Eniecia. They were rapt with Uncle Nag's stories, especially now that there were fresh ones to support the old yarns. Before they knew it, it was harvest. The barley came in late this year, slightly better than to the south but only just worth reaping. Nag Kath participated in militia training and taught archery to the youngsters. They were a dangerous lot when their attention strayed so he used arrows with cloth wrapped around the tips. This was Shurran's first year with the adults and he was a fair shot with the bow.

Gerda lived in town and now Torrold was openly seen with her. Conath never did recall her scandals among the growing list of things he forgot. When his elder son asked his permission to marry, he said, “Splendid. Nice girl.” 

That was it. He could have done it years ago. 

By September it was time for Nag Kath to go. The family wished they could keep him for luck but understood. His bags packed for tomorrow, Ardatha joined him in his ‘office’, the two chairs on the front porch after dinner. They were quiet for the longest time. Finally she said, “We will probably join you in the spring. Torrold will stay. Reyald agreed that it is time for a change. You said change is for the better. I hope so.

“If the King, young or old, thinks we would be good representatives for Dale, I would like to see the White City. We’ll go as citizens if not. It is a safe journey nowadays. I have a cousin in Edoras to visit. We’ll take Shurran and Eniecia.”

He said, “I think that is wise. You should spend some time with your grandmother. She is stronger than the Thain but cannot last forever. I may travel with you. It is time for me to visit Lorien. The fairest of Elven places is just off the road and yet ten thousand leagues away. I have been putting that off, telling myself I wasn’t ready. The Elf-keepers will be there now and they know me.”

She kissed him goodnight knowing he would be gone with the sunrise.

This was familiar road. Nag Kath stopped both at the Iron Hills and Buhr Wenjan turning the corner. There had been no orc trouble. There was no sign of them on the long stretch between mountain ranges. There wasn’t much sign of anyone else either except Dwarf trains taking their goods to Erebor or over the Misty Mountains into Arnor.

Nag Kath did not stop at Erebor this time, thinking that he might be this way again soon depending on how the orc bribe went. No news was good news and he hadn’t heard a word from the capital. With the King’s precarious health, they had other worries.

Charlo’s stable was paid up by the year so he handed the reins to the stable hand and carried his bags up the switchback. The door was unlocked. Nearing dinner, Tella was humming something out of key and making her own meal. Nag Kath shut the door loud enough so she would not be surprised when he was standing behind her. Stealth was not always a virtue.

“Oh, Mr. Kath. It is good to see you. I can just add a few greens.”

“Thank you, Tella. How are you?”

“Fit as a fiddle, Mr. Kath.” Without taking her eyes from her delicate art she said, “You’s a hero and all! Lads coming back from your troop got ribbons from the Prince hisself.”

“They fought bravely. What news of home?”

She had reached a point where things could cook untended so she turned and wiped her hands on the apron. “Well, Brenen’s got another grandchild on the way. Sarn't Burry had a bad cough but he’s better now. My friend Yosie got married, again. And the builders had to fix a leak in the guest room.”

“How about in the city?”

Tella became more serious, “Talk is; the King is poorly, but you knew that. Prince Bain has been out and about. I suppose that’s comin'. Crops were poor to fair but the vegetables were fine. I laid in a stock of wheat even if the price was sky high. Oh, and two wagons of dead fish were taken to Erebor, thought what Dwarves will do with stinking fish is beyond me sir.”

“They might have already been dried.”

“Maybe. It rained that week.”

“And what have you done with yourself, Tella. I know you like pageants in the park.”

“Saw two of those with Yosie and her beau. Sarn't Burry’s son came too. He is a nice fellow. They couldn’t find your arrow the first time so I had to go back. It’s on the mantle.”

He walked over to make a show of admiring the warped target shaft. It reminded him to order more after nearly emptying his quiver at the Celduin. 

“Thank you Tella. Now, what’s for dinner?”

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath made the rounds. One of his first trips was to see Edelbras. The man didn’t have an official office but someone in the palace could find him so he left a note at the gate and expected to hear back shortly. 

Brenen was just fine but had not started his regimen of horse riding, a little trouble with his back, he said. Bard and Ros were the same as always. She asked after Tella, probably not knowing of the woman’s romantic needs. There were no calls of yearning in the Elf’s wakeful rest last night so hopefully that was going well too.

So soon after militia training, most people would have to get in line for arrows from Fridar (the younger) but he got them within a week. People whispered. Mortals do not know that when you whisper about Elves, they can hear you. It was like the first Easterling battle; awe and relief.

That afternoon there was a return note from Edelbras, or possibly Rosscranith. It looked like the Colonel’s hand and he had never actually seen Edelbras’ script. It asked him to present himself at eleven tomorrow.

Eleven was the hour of the King. Going back in memory, his scheduled appearances with the King, Queen or both were almost all right there. That called for good clothes and a clear head.

The guards opened the gate before he got close, nodding as he thanked them. The doorman did the same. An attendant walked him to the same pretty little room he had originally drawn Lord and Lady Carstors, the ill-placed armor long gone.

Rosscranith and Edelbras were sitting together over tea with a pair of functionaries he did not recognize. All four rose to shake hands and he was introduced to the two others before they left. Sitting at their end of the table he said, “Good to be back.”

Rosscranith cleared his throat, “Glad to have you back. Good work to the east.” A servant brought him tea and vanished. “We netted some surprising fish on that cast.”

Nag Kath could tell from the steam that the tea need a few minutes so he asked, “And in the north?” He grinned, “My cook said they got two wagons of stinking fish with their grain.”

Rosscranith chuckled. “They were dry, but mostly haakun whisker-fish. Not one of my favorites.”

Edelbras said, “They took it. They sent a troop to the border and one ugly rascal who spoke a bit of the common-tongue approached with a white flag. The Dwarves were on him like stoats around a rat as he croaked, “The Lugnash accepts your offer.” That was all he said so they let him go. We piled the food at the border and that was that.”

Rosscranith looked at his successor and back to Nag Kath. “It is time to reacquaint you with the royals.” The two men of Dale rose and walked to the receiving area with the Elf two steps behind. Guards at the doors offered no interference. They went to the windowed study where he had usually met the King and Queen and found her with her son having more tea.

The three men bowed to both and the Prince rose to shake hands. Nag Kath had not seen him for two or three years before he left so that would be at least twelve years ago. The young man was now 28 and favored his mother, making him pretty rather than handsome. The Elf could appreciate the difference. He was clean-shaven. Her Highness was serene. Cares showed on her face but it was the sort of face that could handle them gracefully. She must be sixty now.

The Prince said in voice like his father’s, “Gentlemen, please be seated. Mr. Kath, the kingdom is again in your debt. I am sorry my father cannot be here to thank you himself.” That was probably hard to say. The King was a strong family man and saw to more of his children’s upbringing than most merchants. 

Queen Delatha added, “And thank your friends for including my brother’s men in defending our allies. It was good for the eastern Thainholds to act in concert.”

“You are welcome, My Lady. I had the pleasure of meeting your brother and his family on the way home. Your nephew showed great bravery.”

Bain said, “The King is indisposed at the moment. I have been entrusted with handling more of the day-to-day matters. Captain Kath, we are particularly interested in your exchanges with the new Bror Dulgov.”

The Prince spoke for the realm. Nag Kath would give him what he wanted, “My Lord, I put the man at about fifty and very much in the Northman style of their peoples rather than the smaller, slimmer folk towards Khand. He speaks the common tongue rather well, though I do not know if his letter to your Lord Father was written or dictated.”

Bain listened patiently, a habit learned from both his parents. “And you killed the Prince yourself?”

“I did, My Lord. I wanted his men to surrender quickly and for the Bror to take back the prisoners leaderless, else he might not take them at all.” The Prince nodded so Nag Kath continued, “Of particular interest to me was that the pretender was in league with elements of their older Balchoth warriors who are committed to raising dark powers, restoring the days of their dominion. Some are fervent. Some are just there for the food.

“Now, I cannot prove a word of this, but I have heard of similar notions among Southrons. The Bror will use this to persecute survivors. Some will bury their beliefs from sight. Others will seek congress with those of like views among free-peoples. Regardless, I see an opportunity for both your esteemed father and for the Lords of Gondor to improve relations with the now supreme Bror of Rhûn.”

Rosscranith and Edelbras stayed quiet. The prince held his chin in his fingers and said, “I will consider what you have said, Mr. Kath. I hope we can speak again soon. It might be better if …”

The Steward entered through a private door. That could only happen in rare conditions. Bain rose to speak quietly with the man, nodded a few times and returned to the seated group. “Lord Kath, my father would like a word.”

The Elf rose quickly, bowed to her Highness and followed the Prince wordlessly down a corridor and through another door the guard opened upon seeing them.

Bard lay on his back in bed. His face was colorless. The unquestioned ruler of Dale for thirty three years motioned with his hand for the Elf to come close. Prince Bain watched by the door. Nag Kath approached and bowed. Bard said, in much less than his usual volume, “I have never really thanked, thanked, you for all … you have done.” He coughed like he might never stop but then recovered and continued. “You, you might think you are of no people, but you are … are of all peoples. Care for them, my friend. Care for them.” The monarch smiled slightly and nodded. The audience was complete. Nag Kath bowed again, stepped back and turned as he had been taught before accompanying the Prince to the reception room. The Queen looked at her son carefully but his face showed her it was not yet time .

Bain said, “Thank you, gentlemen. The seated men rose and all three bowed before returning to the main corridor. 

Nag Kath asked a favor, “Colonel, Mr. Edelbras, I know this is a terrible time for routine staffing matters but my son-in-law Reyald Conath is considering greener pastures.” Nag Kath knew he and Edelbras got on well and both had seen the mettle of the other. “When the ambassadorship to the court of Gondor expires, I humbly put his name forward as the next envoy.”

Rosscranith was not a man to let the King’s condition affect his judgment. “So noted. The next term ends in a year. A hero of the only fight worth having lately, married to a King’s aunt helps the case. I can’t make any promises but he will be near the top of the list.”

“Captain Reyald plans to come to here with his family next spring for the Thainmoot and stay through the season. That would give you a chance to talk with him at length.”

“Done. Let us know what else you need.” The big man turned to go but stopped and said, “There may be new faces here soon. If we aren’t available, ask for Lümell at the gate.” The new King might want men of his own.


	22. Ring Heroes Fade

** _Chapter 22_ **

** **

** _Ring Heroes Fade_ **

The next Thursday, October 18th in the diary, bells began tolling at sunrise. It took longer than Nag Kath thought but the King was legend. With more notice than for his father before him, ribbons were dyed purple and gray in the traditional colors of royal mourning. Spoiled young women thought it a shame to reserve purple for such dreary affairs but Bard was of the old ways. Usually Northmen buried their dead quickly but the Funeral was set for Sunday because Stonehelm would be attending, in state. Other kingdoms would send representatives for a memorial later. Winter put that in disarray so the remembrance would be in mid-spring and the Thainmoot immediately afterwards.

Nag Kath qualified for what was informally called the ‘second circle’ of funerary protocol. The first was; family, high ministers, generals, had there been any, an assortment of the highest business leaders and such Thains or government representatives who could get here. Their duties were for the more intimate observances and consoling the general population.

The second circle was comprised of; knights and high officers, the next tier of business and civic leaders, higher functionaries and a few folk who just had a lot of money. Brenen and cousin Bard qualified several ways. These people were entitled to come to the funeral and wake afterwards and assorted other events including the coronation to be held at the memorial. A broader third circle could come to the great hall for the funeral and coronation if they would get in. Everyone else could wave from their windows.

The first circle was largely occupied with succession. Bain was a grown man and his father’s dying was expected. There was no need to show force as in a coup or against perceived weakness on the borders. Guards pulled double-shifts around the palace walls to keep well-wishers from stealing mementos.

Nag Kath went to the service and proclamation with Brenen and Nedille, Bard and Ros. He saw a number of people he knew but did not greet them. There would be time for that afterwards. Thorin Stonehelm was there with second son Thror, Tombor and a few of his court. They nodded in passing. Their procession had arrived to the respect of Daleans the day before. The Dwarf Lord had not been here for twelve years and despite his stern countenance, he was glad to be so well received as a friend of Dale. Thorin met Prince Bain once in Erebor when Bard visited six years ago. The young man was polite and kept his mouth shut, a trait Thorin dearly wished on first grandson Tordosh.

The Dwarves ability to stand or sit still served them well this day. Readings, dirges and the calling and answering of kingly observance took at least a bell and a half. Some of the privileged children shifted their weight from one foot to the other hoping to make it to the privy. Bard’s father died in battle and did not get the farewell past kings had so this was new ground for all but the ancient. When the Magister finally closed the book, a sea of folk flooded out the main doors. Most of the first circle used private doors nearer the dais. The second circle was now invited to the reception hall which meant walking outside in a drizzle and going to the other end of the great hall. A ribbon on their coats got the three of them inside with only a cursory bow.

That still put the Kathen team at the back of the reception line so they got a cup of warm, sweet wine before taking their place for condolences, handing the empty cups to attendants before reaching the bereaved. Nag Kath was in front of the five. Brenen and Bard knew the new King from militia practice but had never met the dowager Queen. King Bain was seated on the throne. The consort throne was empty, with a sizeable contingent of ladies wishing their backside was warming it. The Queen was now in a comfortable chair flanked by her daughters. 

The line came to within about ten feet of the stepped dais as people nodded and received acknowledgment. With only a family of fat merchants to go, Queen Delatha saw Nag Kath and stood with a ladylike stretch. She had sat through this, the funeral and several meetings beforehand and it was time to unkink her back. Walking forward to greet the traders personally, she waited for Nag Kath and his family on the lip of the riser.

“Thank you for coming, Lord Kath.”

“It is my privilege, My Lady. May I present my step-son Brenen and his wife Nedille. This is nephew Bard and his wife Ros.”

She offered her hands to both of them with a smile saying, “Thank you for coming too. It warms my heart to see so many who cared for my husband.” She didn’t call him the King. There was a new King now. That same King walked over to shake hands with the Elf’s unusual family after giving them time to bow. “Hello Bren, Bard, good of you to come.”

They introduced their wives. Bain II thanked them gratefully, “I am glad that my father left our lands in such good hands as the mothers of Dale.” The ladies smiled but were not flustered.

As personal as that was, it was time for Colonel Sternboldan and his brood waiting behind them to offer condolences so they bowed again and made for home.

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath really hadn’t unpacked. Most of the clothes he took were rags now. His sketch satchel hadn’t seen much use, except waiting in the garden compound. He thumbed through those briefly and thought his eye was out. One would have thought with time to burn he might have done better work but the images seemed blurred. They were still part of his life’s record so he slipped them into the hanging folio and went to get his bow tuned with new horn.

A week after, coming as no surprise, Tella curtsied before him and asked if she could introduce a visitor. Nag Kath granted it and she opened the door for Burry, his excellent wife and their middle son, Gorandar. Burry was at ease, as usual and so was Lola who had been here for most of the Syndolan parties. Gorandar was chip off the old block. Most Northmen were. It took Nag Kath three years to tell them apart. Burry announced in his thunderous baritone, “Good morning, Nag Kath. My son has something to tell you.”

Gorander was a grown man, once married, and no wilting flower. He came forward and said, “Mr. Kath, Tella and I intend to marry.”

Nag Kath wondered why they all came over. Tella was his cook, not his daughter, and no spring chicken either. But the man was here to make this official so Nag Kath summoned such gravitas as he could and decreed, “I think that is marvelous! I insist that you let me host the reception!”

They would have married anyway and having the Elf throw the party was the spice on the fish. And speaking of spice on the fish; “Tella, do you intend to maintain your position in the household?”

“Oh yes, Mr. Kath. That is, if you don’t mind my living elsewhere.”

Mr. Kath couldn’t think of many things he minded less. “When is the happy day?”

Lola took that one, “They thought to have a small ceremony on November fourteenth. The city will have settled down a bit.”

That made sense on several levels. Second weddings were not grand affairs in Dale, for only slightly better reasons than second-hand fish. Exceptions were made for widowers. For a divorced journeyman and a spinster, despite her charms, a private ceremony was the standard. An unstated reason was that his live-in servant had been ill the past few mornings. He would need a new cook/housekeeper come spring.

Lola was right, Dale settled-down quickly. Nag Kath sent a letter to Reyald that he had enough conditional approval to bring the family for the spring moot, also conditional that Rosscranith wasn’t selling cabbages next week. A large house would be available whenever they wanted it.

As it always does, the capital slowed down in October. The crops were in, the storm-shutters were repaired, firewood was stacked. In one of the rare leisure times in his life, Nag Kath experimented with Gandalf’s firework powders. A large supply of something similar was said to have blown a hole in the Deeping Wall but that had been repaired by the time he saw it. For the first year at least, these would be fired from somewhere that would not burn.

Mr. Turn was long retired but his assistant still conducted party planning. His firm was engaged both for Tella’s wedding and the Syndolan Eve event. The Burrys were not the sort of folk who could engage his services by themselves. Nag Kath was impressed that the man put just as much effort and care into their preparations as he would for anyone else. It helped that the Elf was footing the bill but most of his work was spent with the couple themselves. They used the Mason’s Guild Hall, since he owned it, and he slipped out after his first ale. 

Syndolan planning was remembrance. In the file was the very first guest list. Parts of later lists in Eniece’s hand brought tears. Many of those names were gone or he had lost track. The longed-lived races like Dwarves and Hobbits had more survivors but their ranks had thinned as well. 

This was bittersweet. He told Ardatha he would outlive everyone who loved him. Was part of what the Elves considered the gift of mortal life a shared experience of aging together? The life of loss did not linger. One might outlive the other but they would always be the same ages. It was his condition and he liked meeting new people so that must compensate.

What made this party special was that people who had come to his first few Syndolan parties now brought adult children. One would have thought the young folk would associate with their own sort but this generation did not seem to (or perhaps couldn’t afford to) entertain as much as the last. 

Everything went well. So as not to abandon his guests, he hired an old soldier and his son to launch his fireworks from the jetty. There were six rockets designed to go up and explode in different colors. Two of them did exactly that. Three just exploded all at once and the second made a beeline towards a bait shack, thankfully incinerating before it arrived. There was no advanced notice but a sizeable number of people saw the last three go up.

_____________------_____________

In February, Tella announced that she would start her confinement and did not expect to return. Ros found another, older cook/housekeeper through her contacts in the city. Lupa was all business at first but slowly warmed to her eccentric householder - no unrequited lusts with Lupa, who seemed mostly of far eastern bloods, though now several generations in Dale.

News from “upstairs” was spotty. King Bain made the usual public appearances. Nag Kath had no personal irons in the fire but he was lobbying for Reyald so he sent a note to Rosscranith who had not come to the party. Three few days he received a reply in the form of Rosscranith himself. The Colonel was now Lord Chancellor for King Bain II. Like his father, the new King retained several of his father’s councilors among the new men. Lupa was at the market buying fish that vendors kept alive in troughs rather than letting them gape at buyers in a pile. The Colonel accepted a mug of tea and they both sat where everyone did in the chair and couch by the low table.

The big man started with, “Part of the delay in getting back to you was that I waited on mentioning Reyald to the King. I did yesterday and he agreed the man would be a good choice. Then there is the matter of his son.” 

King Bain II came from a family of girls. With the death of Bard II, the heir to the throne was his full sister’s son Lord Carstors of the wedding portrait. He was in his mid-fifties, and still happily married at his hunting lodge south of the lake with little interest in governing. Their union had been blessed with two daughters who were married with one daughter each. Bain’s older sister had two daughters as well. She was now 37 and confided more children were not expected. The middle sister was a sweet but frail woman who never married.

When Bard acknowledged Ardatha as his Sister Princess, her children entered the succession which made Shurran second in line to the throne. Unless Bain had a son, the Kingship of Dale went through the unassuming sixteen-year old on the Redwater. His parents educated him and taught him country virtues but he had no notion of sharp-elbowed politics in the capital. Nag Kath wondered if he knew he was two hearts from the crown. Others certainly did. It was possible someone lower on the list would contest his mother’s legitimacy but being one of King Brand’s only three grandsons was a powerful argument in his favor. More concerning was someone who might remove him for a better place in line. It had been tried only a generation before.

Rosscranith continued, “Perhaps an education in the White City would give the young man more grounding in affairs of state, don’t you think?”

“I expect that has occurred to his parents, Davit. Reyald is a good man, with a good wife. They will represent his Highness with honor. You have your ears. How are conditions in the Buhrs and southward?”

“Quiet, how we like them. King Elessar was a bit embarrassed at how ill-prepared his vinelands were. I understand those positions will be reinforced.”

The Elf blew across the top of his mug before taking a sip and asked, “For the ceremonies before the Thainmoot, has his Lordship invited a representative of Rhûn?”

Chancellor Rosscranith was not an easy man to surprise but that raised a furry eyebrow. He sipped his tea and admitted, “You think in terms most of us do not, Nag Kath. The answer is no, which is my fault. I keep fighting the old war.”

Nag Kath leaned back on the couch and theorized, “The Bror has sons the same age as Lord Bain, men who were not even born at the siege of Erebor. At the party, which I will still invite you to even though you are much too lordly now, a number of old friends brought their grown children. The kids do not have the same misgivings. If you think it will help, I can write a note with the official invitation. I got along tolerably well with the devil. You know the public better than me, but let us not forget that he settled fifteen hundred foot on his own soil or we would have fought that battle shooting backwards.”

The soldier turned statesman ran that through his head and said, “The idea has merit. It cannot be done without Gondor. I would not put both sides in the same room without warning. If his Highness agrees, I will have riders take the proposal to the White City the day the roads clear.”

Nag Kath’s tea was at the perfect temperature for large sips. “You do not have to do this on my account. It just seems like a good idea. And I care less than most, but is his Highness considering making heirs of his own?”

“You and everyone else in the realm want to know that. I have no insights.”

The Elf smiled, “If Durnaldar brings his younger daughter, put the King in his iron underpants.”

Rosscranith broke into a rare genuine laugh. Northmen can really laugh. Finishing his tea he mused, “I have heard she is fair. Not that a man in my humble station would rely on rumors but it is said that one of Eomer’s lasses might take the short ride to our fair city as well.”

“Good! He is worthy of a fight! Maybe the Bror has an exotic female for the stew. Thank you for coming, my friend. Let me know if I can help.” As the Chancellor rose to collect his coat Nag Kath said, “Oh, please give my best your lady wife and to Queen Delatha. I hope she is well.”

That gave the Northman pause. “She has such grace that it is hard to tell, but she is lonely. Thirty-five years without peer does not leave one a wide circle of friends, a thousand acquaintances, yes, but not friends. I will convey your kind wishes.”

_____________------_____________

Thains and foreign dignitaries poured into Dale during the third week of April. Nature cooperated but this was still north enough that folk wore their warmest. 

Official planning had started when Bard’s condition was learned but its inception was thirty years before. Every king of free men had been replaced within a month of the Battle of Pelennor Fields. Éomer, Bard and Thorin because their Kings were slain. Aragorn; because he won. Prince Faramir lost his da as well. Only Imrahil of Belfalas had been Lord at the time.

Now Bard was the first of the next lot to die. This was not only a remembrance of the man, it confirmed the way of life in the Fourth Age. King Bain now ruled and his brother lords would welcome him in their midst.

The international meeting would start with a repeat of Bain’s investiture. The next three days had two two-hour plenary meetings scheduled at ten and two for large topics that crossed all borders. They would certainly run longer. Most of the Lords’ time would be spent in smaller groups or private meetings.

This was also a family reunion. Aragorn and Arwen had no children. They came from Gondor with Faramir and Éowyn who had two who stayed at home. It was unusual for Faramir the Steward to leave with Aragorn but this type of succession had not happened before. They thought it wise to present a united front.

Along the Anduin they would be joined by Éomer and his wife, Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil. Their son Elfwine and/or daughter Éowyndl might come too. From the west, Lord Fanarbríl, Steward of Arnor, was coming in train with his retainers and half a dozen Hobbits of the Shire. King Thorin III would be here. He was a neighbor with several hundred Dwarves inside the walls and knew the place as well as most Daleans. 

There were two mystery guests. One was Prince Voranush, second son of Bror Dulgov of Rhûn. They had accepted the invitation sent after exhausted riders between Minas Tirith and Dale confirmed both countries’ agreement. The second was Lord Fearnold of the Silvan Elves. He was coming with a small contingent and though it was not mentioned, only planned to stay for the investiture. That was just a partial list of Lords. They were coming in state with counselors, outriders, servants and considerably pageantry. Then there were merchants, mayors, businessmen and anyone with a dog in the fight. There would be a lot of business done here among those who had worked together for years and never met. Policy eventually becomes trade.

Prices for rooms soared. Merchants used to the best took basements for twice the price. The Thains, arriving near the end of the investiture for their own moot knew where to stay if they didn’t already own homes. As in Trum Dreng, people with fashionable or secure dwellings could be talked into staying with relatives for a fat purse.

Nag Kath got a letter from Ardatha as soon as the roads cleared that she was coming with Reyald, Shurran, Eniecia and their servant, Loral. Her elder daughter Haldiera was staying in Buhr Austar with her husband Gerruld and their two little ones. Gerruld was a subaltern in Conath’s main force until he was promoted to Lieutenant by inheriting Reyald’s troop. That also made Gerruld Librath Torrald’s heir-apparent. He was a soldier with leadership talents and the dice landed his way. Their little boy was also in the royal succession. The Conaths would stay at Uncle Nag’s house or their apartment inside the palace grounds until the Thainmoot ended. There was plenty of room. 

Prince Voranush was among the first of the dignitaries to arrive. He had a modest train of six outriders and two counselors, dressed very differently than the last time Easterlings visited Dale. They came quietly and stayed in an eastern family’s compound near the docks. It would mean daily hikes up the hill for the meetings and functions but it was secure and private. The day they rode in, Nag Kath received a note asking if the Elf might visit him for tea tomorrow. Nag Kath had no official role but he had talked with Rosscranith after the invitation was sanctioned. Both men agreed this was likely and that Nag Kath should enjoy his visit.

The Elf was shown into a modest home with a beautiful interior of both Dalish and Rhûnish styles. They fit together well. A steward brought him to the main room where two men were sitting already sipping tea. Both rose and greeted him. One was an older fellow with close-cropped gray hair and matching beard rather than the usual tight braids. 

Nag Kath knew the Prince to be about 29. He was a good-looking fellow with a scar down his left cheek. It was not disfiguring and made him seem rather dashing. Nag Kath would not mention it, but he looked a deal more like his dead uncle than his da. 

The Prince said in heavily accented but good Westron, “Ah, Lord Kath, how good of you to come. This is Minister Caoulish, an expert in diplomacy. Please take a seat.” His bottom had not hit the cushion before delicious smelling tea was served by a woman who said nothing and did not make eye contact. She was gone in a blink. 

Second son Voranush was perfect for the role of observer. As Nag Kath would find later, the Bror had three sons of one wife and no concubines. That was in the western tradition of one-at-a-time. First son had probably seen to the rebel infantry at the river before moving upstream to inquire about shaggy horses.

“Father was much impressed by you, Lord Kath. If your hand was in the invitation to our family, I thank you for that as well.”

“You are welcome, My Lord, Minister. It seemed time to look ahead.”

Caoulish said in perfect Westron, “It was a fortunate turn of events, just the sort of thing to make us realize we have much in common.”

It really was. The only principal who didn’t come out smelling like flowers was dead. The Bror reigned supreme. Borders were secure. The battle brought Dale and Gondor closer and Rohan won laurels as well. The Bror accepted three of his men back for every horse. The animals remaining were worth about the cost of defense. No money could replace the men lost or severely wounded but their families would not want.

Nag Kath was fairly sure the Minister was the Bror’s ears. There would be no shaking him to talk with the Prince privately. The young man accepted that. Voranush said, “My reason for asking you here is that you and my father understood one another. Few men in his experience share his … humor. I was hoping, if it does not betray confidence, if you could explain what the assembled Lords might expect, or, not want to happen in this most fragile time.”

The Elf looked both men in the eyes and said, “No, My Lord, counselor, I would have no trouble sharing what little I know. But I would ask a modest favor in return. Since you are the guests, I will start. I believe you are in a strong position. Your father, rightful Bror of Rhûn, could have more easily waved goodbye from the bank than destroy his ill-advised brother’s army. That is both the perception and the truth known to wise men of the west; a powerful combination.”

Caoulish agreed, “We appreciate that right action should be honored.”

“Gentlemen, I do not believe that His Highness need do no more than be earnest in his conversations. Do not demand anything. Do not require anything. Show these men that you are as reasonable as his Excellency and listen carefully.

“I would add that among the Lords present are important men of business. If your people grow, mine or create things of value, there will be no faster way to open our lands than trade. All governments have high ministers interested in such things. I humbly suggest your esteemed father invites some to your enlightened capital to discuss possibilities in comfort.”

The Prince looked at Nag Kath saying, “I believe my honored father would consider that favorably.”

Minister Caoulish agreed, “We had discussed impressions mattering greatly after so many years of misunderstanding.”

Nag Kath now raised the second half of the agreement, “There is more. I believe this is more important but should not, perhaps, come to all ears on this visit. The Usurper Frûnzal was in league with those who yearn for the dark past.”

Caoulish asked, “Forgive my interruption but there is something I must ask before we go further; was it you on the Dwarf Road all those years ago?”

“Yes, Counselor, it was.”

The two men looked at each other again and Caoulish said, “Lord Kath, the men you dispatched then are likely the fathers and uncles of the riders crossing the Khelduish. They were our fiercest soldiers when we are allied with the Dark Lord. Loss and disfavor has made them bitter.”

Nag Kath sympathized, “They are not alone, friend counselor. If claims of congress with dark powers are possible, we have a mutual and terrible enemy. This is known to high councils. An understanding that we will work together against those seeking to resurrect evil will get you further than farmers or traders.”

Nag Kath pulled a small sheet of paper from his pocket. On it were four of the eight runes from the glyph. “Have either of you gentlemen seen writing like this before?”

The Prince looked closely but his face registered nothing. Caoulish looked longer and said, “Chey symbols, of the Wain-riders. East of Khand.”

The changeling said, “I cannot say I know of it.” Civilized maps were blank in that direction.

Caoulish said softly, “Few do. Not even Those Named go there.”

The Elf followed the thread, “Are these associated with Sauron?”

The Minister thought about that but seemed to relax a little, “I do not think so, perhaps his servants. The orcs did not show this. Warriors of that region sometimes had this one …” pointing to one of the four, “on their shields. Traders brought them back from burials to sell in the bazaar.”

Caoulish took a sip of tea and continued in the same reasonable tone, “Such magiks, if there are any, would be from the south.”

The Elf said with quiet assurance, “I do not exist. You have but to nod and I am a word in the right ears.”

The men of Rhûn did not have to look at each other. Caoulish said softly, Let it be so, Mr. Kath.”

The all rose and shook hands, not an Easterling custom. As he made for the door Prince Voranush said, “Thank you again, Mr. Kath. We are in your debt.”

A bell rang and Nag Kath asked, “Oh, speaking of debts, was the old fellow I stayed with in Kugavod sent home?”

This time they did look at each other but when neither had an answer the Elf added, “This was in settling the Khan of Mistrand’s obligations.”

Caoulish shook his head before saying, “The Khan of Mistrand died two years ago. His position was filled by an administrator from the capital. Should I enquire, Mr. Kath?”

“I probably misunderstood him, Minister. Enjoy your stay.”

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath bowed at the door. Before him were the Kings and Queens of Gondor and Rohan with Prince Faramir and Lady Éowyn of Ithilien. King Elessar said, “Thank you for coming, Nag Kath. Please have a seat.” They were sitting in no real order around a dining table that could seat as many as sixteen. It would see hard use this week. The Elf sat next to Faramir and the two shook hands.

Aragorn said, “Hard fight on the Celduin. You brought honor to many houses.”

Nag Kath replied, “Thank you, My Lords and Ladies. Captain Talfurmir showed fine colors, as did your Fenuldorn, Lord Éomer.”

The King of the Reunited Kingdom continued, “Before the conference, we would like your assessment of the incursion.”

The Elf started slowly, “It might have worked. I traveled with a dozen of the late King’s best to investigate reports of orc troops along the Iron Hills Road and Easterlings along the Redwater.”

King Éomer could not resist, “See any wargs?”

“Just one, sir.”

Arwen asked “I, for one, would be very interested in hearing that tale, Nag Kath.” It was the first time she had used his name in his presence.

“Yes, ma’am. I spotted a brigade of about one hundred thirty soldier orcs with swords and bucklers traipsing behind the Iron Hills and confronted them. The Anglachor, that’s a Colonel, had a warg with him.”

The Master of the Mark had started this so he asked, “You faced a brigade with a squad?”

“It was just me, Lord Éomer. Stealing sheep and making footprints made no sense. I told the Anglachor not to treat with the Easterlings. He said there was famine in their land and they had been promised spoils from the Redwater campaign. I convinced him that the crops would fail this year and offered to take food to them if they went home. Their Lugnash took the deal and that was the last anyone has heard from them.”

Éowyn, who had slain her share of orcs, said, “A hundred to one? They weren’t that hungry.”

Nag Kath gave the grin that proved to Arwen that he was not really an Elf saying, “I puffed up like Gandalf and spoke in echos. The orc chief was a reasonable sort. We sat for a few minutes before he sought shelter from the sun. I think they already suspected the Usurper of deception since they had marched the northern fields themselves. Easterling cavalry was making the same ruckus along the river, not fighting but riding to and fro to make it seem there were many. The idea was to keep Dalish allies on their own borders before hurrying south to attack Dorwinion in strength.”

Faramir said in his soft voice, “And then you went to the Bror?”

“Yes sir. I went south to skirt the rebel holdings and there I learned the Usurper had stolen most of his brother’s horses, not something the Bror wanted widely known. With cavalry, the winelands would be easier to take than fighting at home. I rode to Kugavad for an audience and told the Bror we were preparing for the rebels on our side and he could put paid to the threat by cleaning up on his. He got the infantry but not the cavalry since they were making noise up the Redwater.

“My Lords and Ladies, I apologize for representing your authority without leave.” No one took exception, “I spoke with the Rhûnic Prince and his Minister two days ago and told them that their ruler’s decision to stop the attack on their soil would be appreciated in high councils. 

Even among this august group, King Aragorn might have secrets. Before going any further Nag Kath asked him, “My Lord, did you receive my letter?”

The King said to all, “Nag Kath sent me a tracing of a stone from the battlefield between the Bror and his brother. It had markings not known to our scholars.”

Taking that as ascent, the Elf continued, “The rebel Prince was in league with a sect of Sayers who yearn for the days of Dark Lords. They call themselves the Visitors. I interrogated one at the infantry battlefield in Rhûn. He did not understand the Black Speech. I convinced him to tell me how to praise his men to the Darkness and he told me where he had hidden a small stone with ancient runes. The Bror’s man said they were quite old

Lady Lothíriel, daughter of Prince Imrahil, was no stranger to armies of the east. She delicately folded her hands on the table and said to Nag Kath, “He did not tell you that willingly.”

The slightest smile formed on the corners of the Elf’s mouth, “I borrowed the confusion spell I learned healing your esteemed brother.”

Lady Arwen knew more about dark powers than all combined. “Where does this leave us?”

Everyone looked at Nag Kath. He spoke matter-of-factly, “I see three unknowns: One is that they are using symbols of past glory that hold no power. Two is that these are runes of when Sauron held Mordor many years ago. If he is destroyed, again, there is no power. Three is that they hope to summon or nurture the next dark lord and return to favor. The Witch-King still has many he condemned to living death waiting his call. I killed one a week after we parted, Sire.

“Someone knows. Against the wrath of the Bror, he is either on the run or well disguised. I suggested to the young Prince that commerce is the way to make friends in the west and would let us converse about our common enemy. Whether he likes it or not, we are on the same side.”

Faramir laughed and lightly hit the ball of his fist on the table. “Was there anything else to help with our councils, Nag Kath of the Water?”

The Elf leaned on the table with his elbows and again flashed his obscene grin, “The Easterlings are cheap. We bribed the orcs to betray them with something under two Florin in wheat and whisker-fish. If the would-be Bror of Dorwinion had bought the same fish first, I would have never crossed the Celduin.”

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath had no official part in the conference but old friends and people who wanted specific information sought his input. By all accounts, the Easterlings surprised everyone by being reasonable and polite. Nag Kath expected Aragorn spoke with Thorin Stonehelm and perhaps a few others about orcs. A deputation of merchants planned to visit Kugavad at the Bror’s convenience.

Thain Peregrin Took and his wife Diamond were among the Hobbits visiting. He enquired after Nag Kath and was invited to dinner at the Elf’s home with the Brightens brothers, their wives and Mr. and Mrs. Barleycroth, a very respectable couple. It being past the five-bell, ale and wine were served. Nag Kath told them about the Barrow-wight that had changed into a fish-monster and the Bombadils. 

One must not think Lordly councils are limited to Lordly councils. Reliable sources said that there was only one real fight among the outriders when the troopers from Arnor insulted horses of Rohan. You can say anything you want about the riders but not their horses. The instigators spent the rest of the week shoveling.

Of greater import, this was the best chance of its kind where eligible ladies of high birth might meet future husbands. King Bain was nearly thirty so lovelies tried getting invited to any number of soirees, dinners, entertainments and hunts that week. A few of them floated near the dashing Prince of Rhûn until someone at his compound loaned him a Northman wedding ring to show he was not available, at least, not for a first wife. 

This was never more intense than when the Lordly conference was ending and the Thains finished trickling in for their moot. A celebration at the Great Hall was scheduled for the last night with the Thains invited. Old Zandro of Celduin Village brought his daughter along. She was a plump, pleasant young lady with a good sense of humor. 

Everyone wanted to come but planners kept plenty of elbow room. High Lords didn’t need everyone getting too close. Reyald and Ardatha arrived with Nag Kath fashionably late. 

Aragorn and his Lady were often apart for duty or conversation at such events. The King saw Nag Kath above the crowd and walked over to say hello. “King Elessar, may I present my daughter and son-in-law Ardatha and Reyald Conath.”

The King shook their hands. Nag Kath had told him of his family here but it was another thing to actually see it. As if one King wasn’t enough, Bain fled a flock of admirers and kissed his favorite aunt on the cheek. To Aragorn he said, “You may be seeing a lot of them. Major Conath will be our next ambassador to the White City.”

Aragorn shook his hand again and said he would look forward to receiving his credentials before walking over for a word with Thorin. Reyald asked King Bain, “My Lord, how fares your mother?”

“She is well, but begged off tonight to dine with her brother. I will give her your best.” Turning to Ardatha, “I am sure she would like to see you.” The man excused himself to another corner of the room but called an attendant over to have an invitation issued on behalf of the dowager Queen. 

By themselves again, Reyald looked at his wife and said with a smile, “The interview went well. I suppose I’d better learn what to do.”

Nag Kath said, “You won’t leave until late summer. I know a few people who can help.” They left early. 

Among the young ladies at the reception was Tilli of Nauthauja. She was dressed to perfection and exquisite, but not pleased. Was she to be paraded like a prize filly at the fair? Her handsome father guided her through the throng, managing introductions to many who mattered, including her liege. No magic flew when their eyes met. While Durnaldar was talking with two gentlemen of Dorwinion, Tilli walked over to the high windows and looked at possible storm clouds covering the stars.

“I hope those can hold off for a few days.” It was offered by a tall, good-looking young man gazing at the same horizon. He had long, ginger hair in the fashion of Rohan but unlike everyone else from that land, he was dressed in city clothes rather than a uniform. 

She thought he must be one of the scribes or clerks these kings keep about. The man was fair and gracious so she smiled back saying, “We just got here. I hope they can wait two weeks. You are leaving my lands soon, good sir. I hope your stay was enjoyable.”

“It was. I hadn’t been here since I was fourteen.”

“She held her hand out in the way of modern women and said, “I am Tilli.”

“Pleased to meet you, Tilli. I am called Elfwine.” 

_____________------_____________

It rained when the Thains went home. Those who hadn’t already pledged their fealty to the new King did so. Mugs were raised, deals were done and one young lady was invited to the Riddermark. 

Reyald and his family just stayed at Nag Kath’s with plans to make for Gondor in August. They could leave anytime but Reyald did not want to push the current ambassador whose brief ended that fall. Shurran liked visiting Brenen’s son’s jewelry shop and learned useful craft. 

Eniecia was a quiet girl. She was friendly with a cheerful outlook but did not put herself forward. Eniecia also favored Eniece, a good thing for girls. She certainly had a future in Minas Tirith or anywhere else she landed. The lass devoured the few books Nag Kath had here and helped the servants with the large dinners now needed. Reyald already knew Rosscranith and they got on well. He could not get better advice than from the lordly Northman. Edelbras now ran the guardi. He knew the secrets.

One of the nicest parts of their stay was that Ardatha often visited Queen Delatha. Now that her son wore the crown, the dowager thought she might travel back home next summer. Delatha had only been there twice in her long marriage and a spot of country life might put her at ease. Ardatha and her family also spent considerable time with her grandmother Mrs. Borenne on the lake. That was bittersweet.

In late July, the family gathered around the table to look at Nag Kath’s picture archive. He seldom looked himself but the teenagers wanted to see all of the impossible places and people he had drawn. People believed his tall tales … but they didn’t. Suddenly, there was the Wild Huntsman glowering for all time. There was the water project they would see themselves shortly. Kings, Queens, Hobbits, Gandalf fussing with his pipe. 

Two later pictures he pulled after the youngsters wandered off seemed unfinished. They were of Orlo at his hut and another sketch of his hut from behind the cucumber patch. They were not up to his standards but part of the archive so he didn’t throw them away.

There wasn’t much keeping him here so he decided to guide the family to Gondor in three weeks. He knew the road. Nag Kath asked for one delay along the river while he explored Lorien. There was no guarantee he could find it or get in, or that he would be able to leave, but if they could amuse themselves for a week along the road, Nag Kath might add one more answer.

Merchant trains still kept to the Great River across the Old Forest Road. Bold souls could stay to the eastern edge of Mirkwood and cut the distance but the road was indifferently maintained and not everyone was friendly. Loral was in her forties and not an experienced rider so the smooth road was better. For reasons Nag Kath didn’t share, they camped by the western forest’s edge at noon and stayed the rest of the day.

The weather held fair except for a two hard summer hailstorms. The first they watched from one of the inns now dotting the road. The other caught them by surprise and they dried their clothes at the next inn. Five days later, they reached the Celebrant coming from the Misty Mountains. There was an inn there too! A generation after the war; folk were traveling in safety.

Nag Kath promised to be back within a week and took Charlo into the forest of Lorien. There was a clear path but as sure as he was of anything, the way to get to Caras Galadhon would seem impossible to the untrained eye. The Elf had directions from friends in the Woodland Realm but he needed instincts as well.

A day up the path he felt he had gone too far. Turning Charlo back, he saw a pair of rocks to his left that looked like one rock going west. Nag Kath dismounted and let the horse on the faintest of tracks towards them. Beyond the rocks it became a path.

Another hour and he saw the magnificent Mallorns reach the sky. Unlike Rivendell, this place was alive. There was still deterioration of the handmade things but the trees might live another age. The Elf, hopefully among Elves, dismounted and slowly walked Charlo to keep someone from sending an arrow his way before asking. 

A central grouping of trees, perhaps a half mile across was cleared from the rest of the forest. It was surrounded by a moat that had seen hard fighting in the war. Caras Galadhon was attacked three times before Dol Guldur was finally crushed.

They crept to a stone bridge directly on the road with a gate left open. Two steps more he heard in Westron, “That is far enough.” Nag Kath scratched Charlo’s muzzle to let him know things were fine, though, that remained to be seen.

Two Silvan Elves came down from the gate and approached, one with an arrow nocked. Nag Kath remained motionless save rubbing his horse. When they saw he was an Elf, with hair purposefully past his ears, the one slipped the arrow back in his quiver and they both came to within ten feet. Nag Kath bowed in their fashion and they returned the courtesy.

The Elf who had not had an arrow ready said, “We have not seen you before, friend. Who visits us this day?”

“I am known as Nag Kath and only come in passing.” When that did not sway, he added, “I was told the way here by Lord Fearnold this spring.”

The first responded, “He is known to us. Come this way.”

They crossed the bridge. Nag Kath was in awe of the grandeur. It was Minas Tirith made of trees. Little flets were tucked in the rising branches, some natural, some sculpted in the living wood like lily pads. 

Even in high summer it was cool below the canopy. His escorts said nothing. Other Elves stopped what they were doing to watch him lead the handsome horse across the grass.

Winding their way up the path, they reached a handful of ohtars who had been observing. His guards spoke in Silvan to the others and one of them said in Sindarin, “You are still here. The Undying Lands have not drawn you away?”

“An invitation has not been extended.”

They had to consider that a few moments. It was time to seek a higher opinion. One of them climbed a spiral staircase up a tree to the right with astonishing speed. He came back about five minutes later but no one said a thing. Charlo started grazing. Nag Kath hoped this was not sacred grass.

Not long after, an Elf in the mold of Fearnold walked down and approached. Nag Kath bowed and the Elf did the same. His host crossed his arms and said slowly, “You are known to me, Nag Kath. What brings you here?”

“Curiosity mostly, but also whispers of troubles, Lord Elf.”

The leader nodded and his men disbursed. “Walk with me, Nag Kath. You can leave your horse here.”

Nag Kath dropped the reins and they climbed the staired-Mallorn two levels to a large flat area that reminded him of a frog pad. Except for the extraordinary care, it also reminded him of the little forts children make in the branches of oak trees. The leader sat on a stool and gestured for his guest to do the same before saying, “You have a good reputation in the northern Halls. Their views are similar to ours.”

The changeling replied, “That was generous of them, Lord …”

“Gilfandros. And not Lord.”

“Lord Fearnold came to the King of Dale’s investiture this spring and we spoke briefly.”

“What do you hope to do while you are here, Nag Kath?”

“Not much, Gilfandros. If you have a library I should like a look. I have healing skills and always want to improve those, or can lend aid if needed. With your permission, I should also like to draw your city. Mostly I wanted to come. It might not be long before these places are closed to such as me.”

The leader said nothing so Nag Kath continued, “I told your ohtar of small troubles too. A sect of Easterlings wishes for the dark days. They have been destroyed by arms but that never gets the root. I may be in these lands for long years. It is probably nothing, but if you catch the scent of unclean sorcery, please know you have friends among men of good will.”

The fellow held his chin in hand and said, “I have not heard. Those were born of Maiar, or even Valar in their time. We are ever mindful, Nag Kath. As to books, there is nothing here. It was all taken by Celeborn when he left. My people are returning to the forests that nurture us. We hold in memory that which we cherish.”

“I respect your choice, Gilfandros. Are there any of the Ñoldor left?”

“No. Thranduil’s son was here a few seasons ago but I have lost track. He, like you, is much among men, Dwarves also.”

“Then I will take no more of your time. Thank you for your courtesy and for the chance to visit this lovely place.”

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath climbed down the stairs and collected Charlo. Gilfandros said he could sleep in a small hollow that was unclaimed. No one else spoke to him though many peered. Dinner was Lembas and so was breakfast. He spent the next day sketching. Late in the afternoon he heard a rasping voice say, “Orc Six.”

Logass was standing not five feet away. “Good day, Master Logass. I wondered if your people were here.”

“Just me and my wife. These Elves remain so we are not really needed.”

“It is good to see you just the same. These folk sing well but I have not heard stories. I was sorry to hear there are no secret volumes.”

“Hugghm. No. All gone. Do you still pursue healing ways?”

“I do, but just for men. I have been disappointed by how little I can do for ailments that linger.”

Logass held his own pointed chin, “Ask the mirror. You are of water.”

“Galadriel’s Mirror?”

“The same.”

Nag Kath shook his head, “I thought she would have taken that first among all possessions.”

Logass shook his head too, “Can’t. It is set in rock. It might only work here. I will show you.” The chief keeper led Nag Kath along a twisted path somewhat downwards among the massive Mallorn roots. Elves along the way noticed him but few looked at Logass.

Light did not penetrate far. Logass climbed on a step and looked down on a silver dish set in an altar of stone. “Hugghm. These Elves never wash anything. Give me a cloth.”

Nag Kath rummaged in his satchel for a rag that was not very clean and handed it to the keeper who then rubbed the dull plating of a shallow bowl anchored to the pedestal. The Elf poured some of his canteen water in to help with the shining and then refilled it at a rivulet not twenty feet away.

“Hugghm. The Elves here now do not have your powers so they do not bother. Pour your water in and then several more. Nag Kath did so as Logass stood down and away from the mirror. 

Frodo’s account was more about his emotions than specifics but this was a seeing tool for the most powerful sorceress of Elfkind. After the third canteen-full, Nag Kath peeped in the bowl and then back over to the keeper. “What am I looking for?”

“How would I know?”

Nag Kath leaned over the basin again and saw nothing. After a few minutes he touched the side of the bowl and his hand glowed silver. Pulling it away he began to see outlines.

There were faces. Some were Elves. He wondered if they were spirits of those who lived here. The last face was a handsome man with raven hair and white skin. He might be attractive to women but there was no living warmth at all. Like the other images, the face was not in focus. If that was a true face, he was looking over Nag Kath’s shoulder. The image became a fist driving into water. Then all was clear.

It seemed only a few seconds but when he looked about, Logass was sitting on a rock near the rivulet. “Logass, how long was I gazing?”

“Not long, two or three minutes.”

“I saw faces, frozen in time. It felt as if they were all long past, but not my past.”

“Hugghm. I expect you are tired of Lembas, Orc Six.”

Back at the small keeper’s quarters, the Elf quickly sketched the last face in the mirror. He seemed more important than the rest. He thanked his hosts and left at dawn, making the inn before dark.

_____________------_____________

“Oh, Mr. Kath! You’re back! Come in, come in!” Turnlie curtsied to the five people behind him and grinned as they trooped in. There would be even more room for them here than in Dale, probably as much as the ambassador’s residence on the sixth. The Daleans were thunderstruck turning the bend and seeing the White Towers spiking to the clouds. Nag Kath’s drawings could not compete with the scale.

It would be dinner soon. Loral saw to her Ladyship’s things and everyone else saw to theirs. Once arranged, Loral returned downstairs to help Turnlie with the evening meal. They still had time to market so both women chatted as they left with their baskets. Touching all the people he wanted to see could wait until tomorrow at least.

The servants returned with a man-cart. There was not only dinner but many other things to feed a pair of teenagers for merely two days. Turnlie arranged deliveries of known needs while she was in the stalls. After placing her baskets in the kitchen, she gazed at Nag Kath with a look that said they might have a word.

“Tum sent a letter that he saw Mrs. Florice, Mr. Kath. He said she was in a terrible way. That was about three months after you left. He told Mrs. Talereth but I haven’t heard since. That doesn’t mean there isn’t more, but I don’t know and I haven’t seen her.” Turnlie started to cry but soldiered on, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kath.” Tumlen must have said she did not have Helien with her.

“There, there, Turnlie. Don’t you worry. Let us just take care of this family and all’s well, eh?

The stout cook wiped her eyes with her sleeve and said, “I got chickens for the family and trout for you.”

The Conaths took the tour with the Elf guide the next day. They walked the switchbacks, visited parks, had an ‘Elvish’ lunch on the fourth and started shopping for all of the things they would need for diplomatic life in the world’s capital. A little time was spent boarding their horses. The neighborhood stable couldn’t take six new ones so three stayed there and the other three were placed at the main stables on the first.

That evening Nag Kath dashed off quick notes to everyone saying he was back, resulting in a rash of appointments here and there. He had better throw a party soon to see everyone!

_____________------_____________

Since it was business too, the Elf visited Broughtur and Sylveth Mülto. She had just turned seventy and he was only a couple years behind. The hundred Florin had been almost all invested in business or family rentals on the third level, where they lived. Other than a roof falling in after the purchase, the places were rented and cash was coming in. Nag Kath got a list with no plans to inspect them. 

From there he walked to the home of Amiedes Tallazh. If he was still with us, the man would eighty eight in a month. A grown grandchild answered the door and recognized him immediately. Tea was on its way before he sat. The woman disappeared down the hall and came back holding the arm of his beloved mentor. They shook hands and he was helped into his favorite chair.

“I did not expect to see you so soon, Nag Kath.” The man chortled and coughed a little. “A cold from the spring has been slow to leave.”

“I can probably do something for that.”

“Oh, would you?” Tallazh offered a frail arm. The Elf gently took it in one hand and placed his other hand on his counselor’s chest. Both hands offered the barest silver pulling the faintest yellow. Most men of Middle-earth, to say nothing of their wives, would have blanched at the healing, but the old scholar knew almost everything there was to know about his physician. He coughed a couple more times into a handkerchief produced from a sleeve and said, “Yes, I think that will help.”

With mock gravity, Nag Kath pronounced, “That means I will have to visit frequently to finish the work.”

Tallazh offered a wan grin, “I will make sure to be here. Now that we have finished …” Both of them gratefully accepted a mug of tea. “… finished with hello, I am sure you are hip-deep in new intrigues. I heard of the battle at the Rhûn.”

“That could have gone worse.” Nag Kath pulled two papers from his satchel and handed them to Tallazh. 

The former scholar took his spectacles from a blouse pocket and muttered, “Yes, I have seen some of these, this one in particular.” Amiedes pointed at the same rune the Easterling Minister recalled. “Sometimes they are embroidered in clothing. I saw them in Transagri. That close, they may be of Harad too.”

The old man stared off into the room for a moment. “But you are not buying clothes, are you?”

“I traced that off a rock used by one of the Usurper’s acolytes. He seemed to think it could summon powers.”

Tallazh put on his spectacles back on and studied the sheet more closely. The runes were rough and the tracing rougher. He handed the sheet back saying, “That was Sauron’s ground, off and on, for thousands of years. But even dark Lords have to speak in terms folk can understand.”

He looked softly into Nag Kath’s eyes and said, “I know you must know, but please, Nag Kath, turn aside if you feel drawn to such things. These are probably just symbols reminding men of when they were important.”

“I am ever mindful of that, old friend. As it happens, the Usurper’s lads are hoping to bring dark sorcery on their side. For now they are floating in the Celduin but I killed a few of their da’s back when. I would like to know if there is anything to this.”

Tallazh was at peace, “I trust you, dear boy. Remember Mendies?”

“No.”

“He was the scholar who brought me to your interrogation.”

“Red hat?”

“Yes, he dropped dead twenty years ago, but he had a pupil who dabbled in arcane arts and then earned a lot of money in higher counting, dividing large numbers and such. I do not recall his name but they keep records of who studied under whom. You have influence. Just ask.

The intelligence showed through in the next sheet, “You have been saving the best for last.”

Nag Kath handed him the drawing of the dark man in the mirror. Tallazh pulled his spectacles off his forehead and studied it closely. “This does not look like your work. I hope you aren’t slipping.”

For the first and, he thought, last time, he had to name the source. It needed impact, “I saw him through the mirror of Galadriel. The image was unclear.”

Tallazh looked up at the Elf’s face with genuine surprise, or awe, or even a touch of foreboding. Then he absorbed the face again. “He is a bad man, well, not man, a bad Elf I should think. He wears no regalia. Is this someone living?”

Nag Kath shook his head slightly, “I have no idea. There were other faces, all frozen in time. This one stayed with me and I tried to draw him afterwards. You are right. He is not someone to mind the children.” Tallazh was tiring. His protégé said, “I will come back in three days and see to that malady. Until then, old friend.”

_____________------_____________

Reyald was visiting the current ambassador so Nag Kath took Ardatha with him to meet Tal for tea that afternoon. He would be lucky to get a word in edgewise. Talereth was nearing sixty and finally losing the battle with her prodigious appetite. She had always said someday she would have to choose between her face and her bottom. Ardatha was no slip of a girl either. He was sure they would get on famously. And there was nothing either of them couldn’t know about him.

Tal kissed both his cheeks and did the same for Ardatha. His step-daughter was not priggish but this told her she would have to adapt to big city customs! Elvish dining was already out of fashion on the fifth level. This place featured small game birds grown like chickens for thrice the price. He had tea. And he was right, the women talked about things to do for the children, places to go, where to get the right clothes and all else. 

Ardatha’s mother was his second love. Talereth was his first. Ardatha saw his tastes. They were good tastes. Risking a raw subject, Tal asked, “What news of old friends, Nag?” It was the look after that gave it context.

“I heard Tumlen saw some in Osgiliath, maybe a year ago. I’ll be over there shortly.”

“Say hello to the dear man for me. Say hello to the bootmaker on the second too. I never seem to get down there anymore.” That would be Florice’s sister. Did he really want to know? Tumlen first. 

Talereth and Ardatha were dear friends for as long as they lived.

___________---------__________

Timalen and Marie got his letter but Tim almost never wrote back. There were probably notes from Nag Kath first return to Minas Tirith in the middle of stacks piled about the man’s studio. Marie kept the third floor as clean as a whistle and poured tea before sitting down. Tim said, “I hope you gave Tal my best. Her daughter is a real artist now, parlayed her water acquaintances and now does family pictures like you used to. I didn’t say it but there’s a handsome, unsuitable man interested.”

Marie said, “Oh Tim, you’re terrible. Nag, he’s a dear fellow.”

“Finished at the river?”

“Oh yeah. Lords over here decided they want busts. Paintings are for commoners. I’m six months behind with a former student roughing the stones. Too messy for here so I hired a shop on the first. You know, Nag, there are some people who oughtn’t to be remembered forever. Oh, that reminds me, your going to love your statue.”

“What?”

Tim said, “My lips are sealed. You’ll know when you see it.”

That night dinner was lively. Ardatha had a full-quiver of ideas thanks to Tal’s inside knowledge of things to do in upper Minas Tirith. Tal already knew better than half of the ambassador’s wives. Ectelliad was fully-retired now but still active managing his shares. The son’s attitude was better.

Reyald reported that Ambassador Miranad would be quietly relieved to give up his post a little early. He had been a stop-gap appointment when Bard’s health began to fail and had business back in Dale. If Reyald could give him two weeks to pack his bags, they could discuss pending matters and wave farewell. 

Shurran decided he would be a Scholar! It seemed such an august position. His mother reminded him that his reading and writing needed work so they decided to hire a tutor, hoping to bring him up to city standards. Eniecia was still overawed. The country lass was wide-eyed at teeming Dale. Here was that much more again! Talereth came to the rescue. There was a girls’ reading class on the fifth she would have no trouble joining. 

Their new home on the sixth seemed awfully grand to barkers on the first but to do anything interesting, one had to walk downstairs. Most of the sixth level housed government offices. The residence was slightly to the north of the prow so at least it wasn’t far from the switchback.

Shurran’s scholarship reminded Nag Kath of an errand. He appeared early. This would have seemed an august hall as well but its few windows were jealously guarded by seniority and sharp elbows. More than a few fires had started when candles in the interior fired ancient pages shuffled in haste. 

In Gondor he was still Kath of the Water. The desk clerk greeted him by name and Nag Kath explained his search. Remaldagar had been there thirty years and remembered old Mendies. That helped as he pored over ledgers retrieved from an even darker archive. Only knowing about when the student was engaged meant beetling through half a dozen of the books. Of three possibles, one stood out.

It was a nice home in a middling neighborhood on the second, the sort of place successful merchants lived when they wanted to stay close to their business. Nag Kath knocked three times. Elf ears heard movement inside but it took a few minutes for someone to slide the peep-hatch open and look up at his face. An aged female voice asked, “Yes?”

“Esteemed Scholars thought Mr. Vientis could consult.”

That took a few moments to digest. The face in the port said, “I will ask.” The hatch slipped shut and he waited another five minutes until the door swung wide open revealing a middle-aged man with spectacles and the five-inch hair-part favored by academics. He said nothing.

“Good day, Mr. Vientis. I am Nag Kath and wanted some of your time to consult on matters of antiquity.”

Making no invitation, the fellow said, “I am long past such lore. Are you sure you have the right man?”

“I assist Mr. Grown.” That was a polite way of saying this was official business.

Vientis moved aside and said, “Please come in. I hope Mr. Grown is recovered from his ailments. Mother, I am sure this gentleman would love some of your delicious tea.” It was delicious. And it would take a long time to make. The former Scholar led Nag Kath to a very nice studio catching good light most of the day. He motioned for the Elf to be comfortable and sat across the low table.

It was Nag Kath’s turn to talk. How much dare he reveal? “One of my oldest friends is Amiedes Tallazh. He remembered one of Mendies’ adepts studied lore of the far east.”

“Kath … Kath of the Celduin?”

So much for the element of surprise. “Among other places.”

Vientis sat back in the cushion. He took a closer look at his visitor’s face and said, “I am now a private Scholar of counting, some of it for your water chute, thank you.”

The Elf pulled the tracing from his satchel and handed it to the Counter. “Do any of those bring back old times, Mr. Vientis?”

The man set the tracing on the table and excused himself to fetch a large round glass circled in silver with a handle. It was a huge version of Nag Kath’s fire starting crystal. The finest Mordor glass; it would have cost a stack. He looked closely at all eight markings before laying the sheet and glass on the table and having a sip of tea.

The Elf asked, “Do you know the meaning of any, Mr. Vientis?”

“Three. Pointing to the one everyone recognized he said, “This is Fûl, the rune of strength. A much altered version of it is used in Harad even still. This one is Granzth, hard for our tongues to say. It means patience. This last one I’m not so certain. I think it is Fïlsh, symbol of lasting or endurance.”

“What are these, sir?”

The Counter said, “Now there you get differing opinions. I was taught these are the symbols for eastern godlings, their version of Maiar. Each has a strength or weakness so they are combined for the blessing or curse. There are more than these.”

Nag Kath leveled with him, “It could be of great moment that the intention does not come to pass, part of the bother on the river.”

“Mr. Kath, may I ask how this concerns Mr. Grown?”

Nag Kath needed this man’s help. An obsessed scholar searching for eternal darkness would abandon the quest for mere money. Vienties began, “Mr. Gro …” Mother bustled in with a two steaming mugs and nodded before placing them on the table. Both men smiled and thanked her. Nudging; “Mr. Grown’s concerns?”

“The unsuccessful Easterling had adherents in his army exhorting men to battle believing this had power. They were carved on a stone that may itself have held power. That stone was crushed. So was the army. Mr. Grown and others want them to stay crushed.”

The Elf handed Vientis his card if he thought of anything else. 

_____________------_____________

Now three days here, the Conath’s had more places to visit than time. The man of the house was hardened Thain-kin and his wife was a Princess of Dale so Nag Kath wasn’t needed. He saddled Charlo and made for Osgiliath. Men were fiddling with the water spout across the bridge again. They probably always would.

He tied Charlo to the post outside of Tumlen’s home and knocked. A short, cheerful young woman opened the door and was about to ask his business when she recognized what must be her new husband’s partner. There were not a lot like him. In barely more than a whisper she said, “Tum’s at your old headquarters.”

He courteously asked, “And who might you be, miss?”

“Missus. Tum is my man. I’m Antille.”

“Then I’m sure I will see you again soon. Thank you.” 

“Nag Kath, you old rascal! Thought you were off for years.”

The Elf shook his head, “I even surprise myself.”

“Heard about the fight.”

“Has anyone not heard about that?”

Tumlen was philosophical, “No. But the more who know it now, the more will forget in six months. 

“I am still trying to shake ‘Kath of the Water’.”

Tumlen stifled a laugh and snorted out his nose. He recovered quickly and added, “Or Kath of the Wargs!” The young businessman was following Brenen’s example of getting broad abeam. What was it about estate agency? 

“I met the little woman. Good for you Tum.”

“We’ve been sweet since we were ten. It was time. Business is good. I used the money to buy the Fierven wharf, a couple warehouses and a place across the river. It collapsed in the right spot so we’ll put something in its place.” 

Tumlen lost a little of his buoyancy, “Turnlie tell you I saw her?”

Nag Kath sat down in his usual chair. “She did, a year ago?”

“A year ago August. Almost walked into her by the Great River Inn, of all places. Flor did not recognize me. I am not sure what she recognizes. I’m sorry, Nag. You come back here and all you get is misery. She was filthy and wandering around like she was lost. I tried to keep an eye on her but she went into a tea shop and never came out. I had to get back here so I went in and she was gone.”

Tum said the next part slowly, “She didn’t have the girl.”

“Girl’s dead, Tum. So is the fancy man.”

Tumlen favored Nag Kath’s habit of not making a bad thing worse.

Nag Kath kept on, “I set up a bank draft for her if she ever claims it.”

“Want I should talk to her, Nag?”

“You can, but you don’t have to. Give her some money if she needs it.”

There wasn’t much more to say about Florice Kath. To break the pall, Nag Kath asked, “What tidings of the water?”

“It still works well. Dirt under the south sluice caved-in. They shut the gate and rebuilt it. Not much fever, but it was a dry winter so that doesn’t signify.”

“Tim said I should see something but didn’t say what.”

Tumlen gave his same snort/laugh. “Let’s go.”

According to ancient Gondoran protocol, the master builder of a project was entitled to a statue or relief carving respectfully away from the high Lords. Someone in the government sent him a letter that seemed to say he could put whatever he wanted in the space so he had Tim craft a sculpture of a worker in remembrance of the men killed in the landslide. It was completed after he left.

Administrations being what they are, Osgiliath insisted one of their sculptors complete the dedications on the base of his statue. After they walked past grand Aragorn and Faramir, Tumlen made a theatrical arm wave to show the name ‘Nag Kath’ carved in huge common letters on the pedestal of a life-sized Dunlending holding a shovel.

A man of breeding and stature would have been appalled. The Elf started laughing until his sides hurt. He had to sit down. Tum howled through his own tears, “I think he captured you perfect.”

Neither of them stopped laughing all the way back to the office.

_____________------_____________

Seeing everyone in Osgiliath and taking a ride to the Cascade got the Elf home three days later. No one missed him. He did get a reply from the King the day before asking him to come to the palace two day’s hence. 

His waking rest was unsettled. He might have to be an Elf another thousand years before things like this got easy. If he had to do something, he could without fear or hesitation. If he didn’t, he thought too much. The decision was whether to visit Flor’s sister Ernielle. He liked the woman and would have no problems wishing her well. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what happened to Florice. In the end he decided he was immortal and would get over it.

Ernielle’s husband Waldor was a cobbler with two journeymen and an apprentice, so they did well. His shop was on the second, north of the prow. Nag Kath walked down and knocked on the door of the home above the leather works. Waldor came out from the shop and looked at the visitor. On this level, he watched that sort of thing. When Nag Kath came over to the rail the cobbler shouted, “Hello Nag Kath. Ernielle should be back any minute.” He climbed the stairs slowly and unlocked the door. 

Nag Kath had not been here before. It was a comfortable home and showed the signs of two well-loved children bumping and chasing through the furniture. Waldor hung his stout apron on a peg by the door and said, “Always got cold tea.”

“Thank you, Waldor. I need moisture for this.”

It was hard to tell the man’s expressions through a moustache that seemed to cover his whole face but it seemed thoughtful. Waldor brought two mugs and sat in one of the four chairs around a small eating table. Nag Kath sat next to him. Neither said anything. This was Ernielle’s conversation. It was more like ten minutes but she opened the door and closed it without noticing either of the men. When she turned with her basket she stopped a moment before silently setting it by the basin and getting a mug of her own.

“Hullo, Nag. Been a while.”

“I went north.”

“We heard. You’re famous again.”

“I never get used to that.”

Ernielle drank about half of her mug. “What have you heard?”

“My man in Osgiliath said he saw her last summer. I wanted to see both of you too. You always treated me fair.”

Waldor said, “Thank you.”

Ernielle wrung her hands like she was shuffling a deck of cards and said, “She came here in May. The baby died. I suppose you know that. This time she was in clean clothes. She said she might stay a while and I wanted to believe her but she got on the ferry two weeks later and I haven’t heard since.”

Nag Kath said, “How is she getting on?”

“She don’t say so I don’t ask. Figure she has a man. She always has the wrong man.” Ernielle realized what she said and started to cry, “I didn’t mean you, Nag. Not you. You were so good to her.”

“I divorced her before I went to Dale. She is free to do what she wants. There is a small monthly income for her at the Royal Bank if she goes in and signs for it. That’s whether I am here or not. Would you tell her if you see her?” That was impossible largess for working folk on the second. She left behind his back and he still would give her money? They knew the child wasn’t his but didn’t care. Both of them wanted a baby and she did what she had to. 

Waldor said, “We’ll tell her if she ever comes back. She was in Pelargir. Don’t know now.”

Nag Kath said, “This doesn’t change things with us. You are friends and welcome in my home. I’ve got my first family with me now so there’s always tea, maybe something stronger after work.”

As he rose Ernielle asked, “If she shows, should she come see you?”

The Elf stood stock still and finally said, “Yes. Yes, I’d like to know she is all right.” 

_____________------_____________

“The King will see you now, Lord Kath.”

He rose and was ushered into Aragorn’s office. The King had not arrived so the attendant had him take a seat and posted a guard by the door. Not everything in this room was for public viewing. Aragorn came in half a bell later and accepted the Elf’s bow before shaking hands and sitting next to him. His Lordship said, “We have been much on the road. Maybe next year we can take our ease.”

“True, My Lord, but the road is so safe with fluffy beds, it is almost like taking home with us.”

Aragorn grinned, “I still take the shortcuts. Now, I received your request, what news?”

"I found a former Scholar with his own business able to make sense of the runes. He will quietly rummage the files and let me know what he finds. I apologize Sire. My main purpose is more for your Lady Wife.” Nag Kath took the mirror’s image from his coat and handed it to Aragorn, saying nothing but watching the man’s eyes closely.

The King earnestly said, “This is more of her people than mine. Not a merry fellow; this. Should I know him?”

“I doubt it, Sire. He may belong to the ages.”

Aragorn got the sense that he should see if Arwen was available. He took the picture with him. It was another bell before the royal couple returned. Nag Kath rose and bowed again and was seated as they took their places.

Arwen started, “I did not recognize this figure either, Nag Kath. It seems less defined than your other work.”

“My Lady, it is an image taken from your grandmother’s mirror in Lorien.”

He had the couple’s full attention. Arwen’s initial reaction was to ask him how he entered Caras Galadhon and left alive. She knew better. Elves who had not seen him emerge from the dungeon would see him as he is now.

“Tell me of your visit.”

“It took me some time to find the entrance off the Celebrant. When I entered, I was challenged and escorted by two Silvan ohtars to their leader, a fellow named Gilfandros. I told him I was only there briefly, thinking I might never get another chance. Once they knew my purpose, I was completely ignored. I made some sketches with plans not to leave my family waiting long at the inn.”

The Rulers of Gondor were stone silent. The Elf continued, “Logass the keeper approached me. He and his wife are the only of their kind there and wondering why since the place bustles with Elves. He is a gruff creature but inoffensive. He asked me of my healing and I said I had not made the progress I had hoped. Since he knew me to be of water, he took me to the mirror. We had to clean and fill it. It took some time to respond but then I saw a series of faces. They were lifeless, as if I had painted them. Four or five came and went before this one who lingered. I saw a fist splash in water and the mirror surrendered no more secrets.”

She asked gently, “Do the other Elves use it?”

“Logass said they could not, My Queen.”

Arwen knew it took power to drive the mirror. Nag Kath had gained in strength. His experience was more like her own than her grandmother’s who saw images in motion. How skilled was this creature? How powerful would he become? He had matured.

Arwen wondered, “Did you learn of healing?”

“No, My Lady, just the faces. Some I thought I recognized at first but never did put names to them. This man, if man he is, seemed to be looking behind me. He chills the blood. My question for you, Lady Arwen, is if Elvish peoples kept portraits or paintings.” I earned a living drawing them for weddings and such. If such art exists, it may offer clues.”

She said, “For a time yes, but most were destroyed long ago in the calamity of Elvish wars or fire drakes.”

Aragorn asked, “What will you do next? I have no great quests for you.”

“I will stay the winter, Your Highnesses. Reyald and Ardatha are settling-in and it will be nice to spend time with my grandchildren. I do not know them very well. Come spring, I may return to the Rhûn. Something tells me we have allies there, long hidden allies who have taken the measure of darkness.”

_____________------_____________

Reyald presented himself as the representative of the Court of Dale in early October and the family moved to the sixth. They tried to eat together once a week. The children were adapting, even shy Eniecia was making friends in her reading circle. 

It seemed very quiet in the home now. Turnlie still sang and hummed to herself and he was glad of her. She had friends who had permission to visit when he was in Dale and he still allowed that, though while the Conaths were here there wasn’t much time. There was still the unfinished first floor with its buried secrets. 

Nag Kath had not heard, nor did he expect to hear, from Enielle. His offer of friendship was earnest but they had nothing in common now and there would always be pain. He saw Tal and Ecc. He laughed with Tim asking of the Dunnish inspiration for the statue. The sculptor still had the inscription, ‘in honor of those lost’ in the warehouse. Nag Kath could complain but Tum was right, it caught him perfectly. He did not want to be famous. 

Mr. Tallazh was feeling much better after three healings and even watered some of the herbs in his little garden. Nag Kath continued to see him twice a week whenever he was in Minas Tirith. 

_____________-------_____________

Two weeks after he arrived, he got a note from Scholar Vientis asking him to visit his home the next day at the five-bell. Nag Kath presented himself but was still inspected from the peep-door before admittance. There seemed no other people around even though the old woman could not have kept the home up by herself. He was shown to the airy office where the Scholar offered him the same seat.

“I was not expecting to enjoy the work as much as I did, Mr. Kath. It took longer because there was more there than I thought and because the archives were near a popular section on Elvish languages. Now that the Elves are gone, men’s hearts grow fonder.”

Nag Kath might not be considered an Elf so he took no offense. “Thank you. Was there any other interest in ancient runes?”

The Scholar said, “Everything had been restacked and cleaned perhaps ten years ago but these had as much new dust as the rest. I didn’t feel any eyes looking over my shoulder.”

When Nag Kath waited patiently, Vientis opened a small folio sitting on the table and turned it right-side-up for his guest. Then he pulled away the top sheet of paper. “This a list of every symbol I could find of the same time as the ones you brought. Five of your eight are included along with six that were not. 

“Now, all this assumes that I was taught right and these represent immortals known by those qualities or defects, sometimes both. Now, and this is material, the sequence of the symbols matters. Ancient men of this far land ordered them to stress some qualities and mitigate others. Think if it as a recipe. 

Nag Kath said, “With three missing it will be hard to learn the desired effect.”

The Scholar said, “It is worse than that. I do not know how to interpret how each counteracts the others or even which direction to read them. What I have are the symbols, the immortal they represent and what little is known of their character. With the five of yours and six more I have six males and five females. If they are based on our teachings, you should have the same of each.”

This was interesting but did not get Nag Kath much closer to purpose. “Mr. Vientis, did you uncover anything to suggest Sauron had a part in this?”

“No, but remember he could, or it was claimed he could, change at need. If he insinuated himself into these beliefs, it would accomplish the same goal. Also consider the servants. It was they who actually tyrannized the land."

Nag Kath prepared to leave. “Thank you. Every piece helps. Have you considered your compensation?”

“Tell me where this leads you.”

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath wasn’t sure he wanted to host a Syndolan Eve party this year. At the end of October he had a banquet in Osgiliath with friends from the water crew. Most were found and largely landed on their feet either with positions maintaining the line or, like Mr. Sepulvath, helping others bring water into businesses and homes. He especially enjoyed seeing Fanos Talfurmir and recalling stories of his brave brother on the river. They closed the tavern with many tales left for the next time.

Now, what about the holiday? It bothered him was he had no Neurae or Lady Hostess. That still hurt. Ardatha would be a perfect replacement but this being Reyald’s first season; the Conath’s needed to attend the King’s competing party. And he was scandalously short of Hobbits and Dwarves. In the end, he decided that organizing was better than moping so he hired Mr. Gerandis to organize things and made his guest list.

In an experimental and mildly dangerous side-project, Nag Kath contacted the man who did the King’s fireworks. Aragorn would have brought a trove of the best fire-powders from Orthanc in time for last year’s festivities but no one seemed to remember them. 

Rubend Doroust was what Nag Kath would have drawn if someone hired him to imagine a Scholar/bricklayer. Doroust heard of the rockets fired over charging Lings at the river along with everyone else so he gladly agreed to meet. His workshop was on the second level, less than a hundred paces from the cobbler. The man made all sorts of mechanical devices and tools by special order. Failed projects were three-deep on wall pegs waiting for something else that could use the parts. Nag Kath was glad the little portion of the large shop reserved for fireworks had no weed-pipes or stoves.

“Pleasure to meet you Lord Kath.”

“Just Nag Kath.”

“Still a pleasure. You simply must tell me about those river rockets.”

“Those were fairly easy. You just have to pack the tube tightly enough so it can only burn on one end. Too loose and it all goes at once. Shape the tip like an arrowhead to fly true and don’t stand too close.”

“That’s how I do it! Try mixing a shot of strong barley spirits with the powder so it sticks together when you stuff the tube.” When they got to ingredients the man admitted, “To be honest, Mister … Nag Kath, I just hate making the powder. Composting chicken dougsh and cow pee together aren’t how I like to spend my day.” Nag Kath pressed him slightly on the process. Considering the filthy pod pits in Orthanc, it was no wonder that Saruman had enough waste to blow a hole in the Deeping Wall. 

Doroust had not mentioned receiving Gandalf’s powders. If the King had other plans for them, it wasn’t Nag Kath’s place to mention it. He gave the inventor a supply of his own and showed him how to wrap spoonfuls in paper like dear Belfalas’ meat pies and put them in the sharp end of the rocket to explode in different colors.

Now, where would he shoot his? Doroust could fire them off the prow with little risk. If Nag Kath shot his off the fourth, they might land on the fifth. Perhaps the Osgiliath bridge? Nearly incinerating the Dale wharf was a concern until the soldier shooting them from the jetty admitted he hadn’t secured the rocket and it fell over as he lit the fuse.

_____________------_____________

The big day came. Nag Kath needn’t have worried. The house was packed. There were five musicians this time including a young woman with a beautiful voice. Everyone sang Syndolan songs until they sang tavern songs. To the Elf’s surprise, there were a few Catanales too. 

Tall and Ecc came just in time to see Nag Kath’s fireworks fired from the Anduin on the eight-bell with Shurran and Eniecia in tow. Tumlen arranged for a boatman to shoot them while floating through the city. They wouldn’t compare to the show in an hour from the prow but locals in Osgiliath lined the banks in their hundreds to watch. Nothing burned down.

Ectilliad was still a distinguished man. With Tal on his arm they were a fine couple. Her hair was now almost completely white. Having just looked at the picture he drew of her thirty-some years ago, he thought she had aged very well. Teldamir came with his wife. He hadn’t made the Osgiliath banquet so it was good to know he was well. 

At the ten-bell people started trickling out for the walk or cart ride home. It was a pleasant night so after seeing Mr. Xhandar and his daughter out the door, Nag Kath sat on the porch bench and watched the stars. A minute later Tal sat next to him while Ecc talked to the Youndors and collected the kids. “Good party, Nag. They always are.”

“Thanks, Tal. I almost didn’t have one this year. A lot of water has flowed down that river since the last.”

She said softly, “I know. Do you miss her?”

“And the baby.”

Tal murmured, “And the baby.” In a stronger voice, “I have just the girl for you. Almost brought her.”

“Oh no you don’t.”

“You have no choice, Elf. Old ladies need hobbies and that is one of my favorites.”

“It is likely I will be doing something dangerous come spring, might be gone a long time.”

“Can you tell me?”

“No. I can’t tell anyone, let alone a lady love.”

Tal stated unconvincingly, “I’ll try. It won’t be long before Ardatha has to chase the boys away from Eniecia.”

“I noticed. Is she making friends?”

“Yes. She is still quiet, like you. She doesn’t say something just to fill the silence.”

“She got Eniece’s looks, even more of Eniece’s mother. Granna Borenne is eighty one and still striking. I do not know how those delicate features survive hulking Northmen. Going by the statue in Dale, Ardatha looks more like her da with enough of Eniece to not have a Dwarf nose.”

Ecc appeared at the door with their charges. Tal kissed Nag Kath’s cheek as she rose and said softly, “You must take better care of yourself, here and in the wild. We cannot follow you, but we can love you in our time.” She winked and took her husband’s arm up the path.


	23. An Invitation

** _Chapter 23_ **

** _An Invitation _ **

**The next section relies largely on the map called; Khand Topo. <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8>  
**

This belonged to him. For his first life of men, Nag Kath either followed paths laid before him or reacted to what he found. 

There were sorceries in the east. There might be answers there too. The stone of the Easterlings had less to do with it that he originally thought. It might be a talisman of an ancient. It could have been carved last year. It might mean absolutely nothing. But there was that feeling. Then there was the old man in Kugavod. He was of those lands, closer even than the current Bror, and yet had a much different view of life. Orlo sought the light. And his dead brother-in-law didn’t owe money. The miserly Bror saw the chance to fleece a blonde greenbottom and took it.

There was curiosity also. Why had an area under relentless pressure from Sauron for millennia been so hapless in the last war? The closer allies were to Mordor, the better their soldiery except northeastern Khand and the former Balchoth Khanates which were thinly represented on the Pelennor. That did not apply to northern Easterlings who are near cousins to Northmen and fight because they always fight.

Nag Kath put the rest of the winter to use. He had Charlo’s saddle and tack fitted to hide an assortment of Florins and nippers. He would keep money in his clothes too so horse or apparel could be lost. In late March he hiked to the seventh to tell King Aragorn his intentions. If the King wondered at his purpose, he kept it to himself. Aragorn had been to the deep south as a ranger but not far east. The Lord wondered if he had done enough for the changeling, given all the Elf had done for free peoples. Nag Kath felt the other way; that the King had given him his freedom, something that could never be repaid.

Mr. Tallazh consulted on more practical matters. He among everyone Nag Kath knew knew something of the language. For many hours they drank tea of that land and discussed what people did and wore and thought and feared. Tallazh taught him a few words and phrases along with explaining many different ways not to offend them. One never really said what they meant. You asked questions they could avoid. Direct praise should be deflected with self-deprecation. They had a tearful goodbye two years ago so that had all been said.

Goodbyes were said to everyone else in good time. The day before he left in early April he had lunch at a restaurant on the fifth with Tal and Ardatha. They had become great friends with similar outlooks. Neither woman questioned his need to go. They dearly wished he wouldn’t. 

Nag Kath made for the Brown Lands, following his own waterway to the original crossroads where he met the Prince and King a decade before. From there he turned due north along the northern Ephel Düath towards Morannon.

Other than scouting water sources along the range, he had not traveled further north than crossing the Entwash on his first trip years ago. The forest was rich and healthy but showed pockets where it still struggled. Trees were yellow or stunted. Nag Kath climbed off Charlo several times to test the water. Most streams ran clean but one gave him the slightest sense of taint. He wrote a note in Sindarin to the aqueduct office and asked the next trader he saw to deliver it. 

He would see the Dead Marshes. No man would willingly walk into this swamp even if it wasn’t filled with corpses. This was sorcery too, sorcery that had not relented even with the destruction of Sauron and the exodus of wizards and Elves. Thousands of orcs and men and Elves were killed or driven here to die early in the Third Age. 

The first casualty he found seemed a Hillman or orc. The next was an Elf lying face up. Nag Kath was not sure how long he stood looking into the blank expression that still conveyed anger and loss. Before he left he sampled the water. His talent was measuring living forces. This was a gray cloud of living death, unable to dissolve and feed more wholesome plants than the rank water weeds choking the banks. He hoped the Elf had found his way to the Halls of Mandos even if the corpse might never decay.

The huge Black Gate loomed to his right but he pressed into Dagorlad. If the marshes were dead water, this was dead land. There were even more bones barely under the surface. Charlo had matured over the time they had been together but he showed some of his old anxiety tramping over this terrible place. Running usually calmed the horse and leaving fast was fine with his master.

Dagorlad gave way to the Brown Lands which seemed lush in comparison. Traveling in a straight line, Nag Kath saw why it was so hard for Gondor to stay in touch with Dorwinion. Trade had to take the long way around this miserable patch. The water was drinkable. Nag Kath had to let Charlo graze a long time for enough greens to go with his oats.

It seemed to take forever but the Wilderland eventually gave way to a small mountain range to the east just on the coast of the Sea of Rhûn. The peaks were high enough that rain on this side of them drained west and turned north to the Celduin. Streams were clean and broad enough for edible fish. After Lembas and grit in his teeth for two weeks, they tasted sublime. Mountains became hills and within another day he was in the wine country.

Nag Kath drew a few pictures after breakfast. Dorwinion grew many crops so vineyards were interspersed with wheat, barley, vegetables and the gureeq grain that needed less water. They took a leisurely pace due east along the Brilthen creek to the town of Minas Falath. This was the main Gondoran outpost until last year when people realized they were more likely to be invaded by Easterlings than grapes. Even with the command moved to Riavod, Nag Kath was instantly recognized by soldiers who arrived from here just in time to back the line at the ford. They insisted on toasting their victory!

Who could refuse? Nag Kath stayed a week enjoying the hospitality and swimming further than anyone on shore was comfortable watching. He was here for information and this was the last stretch of the trip where people had been on his side. Here and for twenty miles north were where successful farmers and merchants had coastal homes. Their holdings were beautiful too, but isolated, so they gathered here between harvest and planting to rub elbows with their own kind. 

___________-------___________

After the long rest, they made their way up the coast on a good road and reached Riavod three days later. This town had not fared as well. Bodies in the Celduin had fouled the river-mouth and sickened many townsmen. The large sturn-fish eventually cleaned the bones. Sturn were normally prized delicacies but no one who could afford different would eat them until this spring. Whisker-fish ate whatever was on the bottom of the lake too.

Nag Kath found the Marshal’s office and tied Charlo outside. Lieutenant Fendülas was now a full Captain and just returning from lunch with the mayor when the Elf arrived. They shook hands as brothers-in-war. New toasts were arranged. He would rather have kept riding but these people risked and saved their lives with their courage. They deserved to remember and be remembered.

Nag Kath’s main reason for coming was to talk with Vegad Druhamel. It stood to reason the young man would reap the benefits of choosing the right side plus his nipper’s worth of capital. Vegad was much up in the world and it took the Elf most of the day to find his new home. A girl of about thirteen opened the door when he knocked. Hillilea was the official greeter since their home was also where Vegad assisted traders on the blossoming route to the Kingdom of Rhûn. The changeling had not met her before and leaned down to say, “I am Nag Kath and I would like a word with your esteemed brother.”

In a pleasing east/west accent she said, “Please come in, best sir. I will inquire if he is available.” She did not recognize his name and forgot it when she told her brother of the guest. Vegad told her he was busy and she asked if the sir could come back tomorrow. Nag Kath leaned over again and asked her to remind the businessman of burning sand. She had been back in the office only a moment when he heard the ‘screeep’ of chair legs across the wooden floor followed by hurrying feet. Vegad rounded the hall and bowed. The Elf returned the bow and the two men shook hands in the western style.

“You have returned to your glory, Kath of the Kelduash!”

How long would that linger? “Thank you Vegad. It seems you are doing well.”

“Yes, thank you. Dorwinens trust me to represent their cases fairly to those bringing or buying goods from the east. Other agents do not enjoy the same references. Please, come, sit. A one-eyed woman brought a tray of tea that also seemed a blend of near and far. Vegad thanked her so either he was becoming more western or the woman was more than a servant.

Vegad leaned back in his chair and asked, “Are you visiting your family in the Buhrs?”

“No, they moved to Minas Tirith.” Less conversationally, “I purpose to revisit his Excellency.”

That was not the horror it was the first time but it was still curious since Nag Kath was not trading grain or sheep. Vegad was a sharp young man and should suspect that this was diplomatic, or something deeper. “The road is improved. Returning soldiers of the Usurper volunteered to help smooth it for travelers.”

“Is the ford easier?”

“There is no need. Take the ferry. Is his Excellency expecting you?”

Vegad had no position with the government of the Easterlings. They had their own people, none of whom were dock-rats from Riavod. His bread was buttered by Dorwinen and traders from further north. Nag Kath said, “It will be a surprise. I usually am.”

Vegad agreed. The sorcerer was full of surprises. Nag Kath continued, “After paying my respects, I plan to visit Kelepar and then Mistrand before turning east.”

That was a surprise. “You will need to ask your host for leave. Between Kugavod and Kelepar lies the best land in Rhûn. The horses you shared with your peoples were raised there. Unless sanctioned, and probably escorted, you will not be allowed. Forgive me my friend, why Mistrand? It is a sizeable town as they go in the Bror’s lands but no great place. Kelepar is at the south end of desirable.”

The Elf said in his long-story voice, “You told me that your family had no love of the Visitors. Others feel the same. I would like to find if they are in league with those who once made them supreme or simply clinging to memories. Mistrand may inform.”

Vegad grinned an eastern grin and said, “You are strange, but you are strong, so I will tell you. My father owned a vegetable stall in Rhûbar, just this side of the capital. Visitors threatened merchants and farmers with violence if they did not acknowledge their primacy. Father paid the squeeze but a neighbor reported my family for burning candles on Gelansor. Two days later, Visitors caned him. For years after, his back would crack and bleed from the scars. The Visitors were scourged by the old Bror for worse than that, but then there was drought so we moved here to sell vegetables until father died.”

Nag Kath knew he was right to come here. “Tell me of the Visitors.”

Vegad held his chin, the mark of a wise man, before saying, “The ones in the streets are rogue militias, coarse and unlettered. Some believe in coming darkness. Some do it for the food. They are humorless men in either event.

“Since those are the only ones I know, I must tell you what I have been told. Visitors believe that their suffering in the wastes gives them the purity to demand service from those of us who work for our supper. Against their lofty claims, at no time have the sands of Mordor truly mattered. Visitors yearn for the best of those days, such as they were. Elsewhere, folk who have gotten used to eating every day quickly forget the dignity of hardship.”

The Elf got to the heart, “Who are their leaders?”

“I cannot say. They do not show themselves. Bror’s and wars come and go but they survive.”

It was time for a question he thought he knew but needed scope, “Vegad, do you know if there are those organized against the Visitors?”

“Calling them organized would be charitable, but those who follow the ways of Gelansor do not support the Visitors’ views. That comes in summer. Watch for lights at night.”

The young girl politely interrupted. She did not know that the tall white man was the father of their bounty and her job was to make guests welcome. Another had just arrived. Nag Kath had just one last question, “How might I recognize one, either to be safe or for more information?”

I am not sure, but it is said they disdain the flesh of fish that swim on the sea bottom, the ones with faces like cats. Visitors claim those creatures eat foul things and so, are themselves, foul. I do not care for them either.” 

_____________------_____________

After three days as the toast of Riavod, Nag Kath booked passage across the harbor on a flat-bottomed vessel with both sail and oars that could travel both directions. Now that there was some trade between the empires, Nag Kath did not get the astonished stares he did before the battle. People still gawked but with his hair covering his ears, folk had finally stopped wondering if he was an Elf, because everyone knew the Elves had left.

There was only one road and the returning prisoners had not repaired it. It was safer to run Charlo alongside rather than in the dried wagon ruts. They still made good time riding southeast along the coast to skirt a range of steep hills almost reaching the sea. They got as far as the tip jutting into the water when night closed-in. More of the same got them to Kugavod four days later. 

Along the way, local militias stared but largely kept to themselves. Within a day of the capital, the mounted troops were the Bror’s best. Easterling soldiers wore much the same clothing as the rest of the people. Very few soldiers, even in Gondor, had uniforms like palace guards. Garments were often newer, but only the badges or armor gave them away. 

Three hours from Kugavod, he was stopped and questioned by twelve riders who looked a bit bored. And like bored, ill-tempered soldiers everywhere, they pretended not to understand his common-speech. Nag Kath had none of their language but was tolerant letting the sergeant try to be intimidating. Questions from these men would have scared locals witless. When he had had enough, Nag Kath said, “I am riding to speak with your Bror. Perhaps you can give me your name, esteemed sergeant, so I can tell him why he had to wait.”

That squeezed the Sarge’s tender parts. If the blonde pretty-boy was bluffing, the soldier could be ridiculed high and low for his deference. If he wasn’t, the Bror was not known for forgiveness. The sergeant had been given an assignment in the other direction so he detached two troopers to escort the pale one back to the palace with orders to see what happened.

The two men spoke no Westron at all so they all galloped wordlessly to the closed city gates after fording a fair river. The corporal on the wall was in a bad mood too and he questioned the soldiers about returning alone. It took another five minutes until they convinced the gate guards they had been ordered to deliver the strange one and to open the dougsh door. Once in, they rode to the smaller gate of the royal compound. 

It seemed to Nag Kath that citizens of Rhûn did not assume responsibility. You knew your place, commanding those beneath you with impunity and toadying to those above. At the smaller gate, a functionary in robes was finally found and brought to assess the uninvited petitioner for his Excellency. This one did speak tolerable Westron and said he would inform the chamberlain shortly. 

Duty done, the two troopers reported to their barracks since the company they left would be a day’s ride away. No one was responsible for the Elf so when the functionary did not return in two hours, he led Charlo towards what looked like the market area of town hoping to find an inn. 

His luck was in. Civilians spoke more of the common-tongue than soldiers who were largely from the hill-country behind the capital. There was an inn that catered to merchants. It was not clean but not infested either and was probably as nice a place as he would find. After paying for his room and hay for Charlo, he had the innkeeper send a runner to the palace door notifying the chamberlain where he was. It was past dinner time but market stalls sold spiced lentils wrapped in cholla flatbread that weren’t half bad.

Nag Kath nibbled Lembas for breakfast and waited for his summons. By eleven, he guessed because there were no bells, he wandered up to the roof of the two-story building and surveyed the city. Gazing east along the river, plains and forests looked quite fertile. Vegad said this was the best land in the area. Hills climbed gradually producing enough drainage to feed crops. In a land of brown, the Agasha Dag fed the nation and produced its gentry. By noon he decided to take a stroll through the business district of the capital. His innkeeper assigned the youngest of several sons to stay with him. The lad looked no more than ten but in this place, childhood was not wasted on youth.

The Elf figured the city might hold four thousand souls, perhaps five hundred of those were soldiers. What had happened to the population of Middle-earth? Lore spoke of great hosts in battles from here to Linden. What did they eat? There might be more people staring up in the Dead Marshes than living between here and there. 

The capital was a mix of people but on balance, they looked more southern than Northman. Most men did not have the bushy beards of colder climes. Their skin was tan, perhaps with a hint of olive. That certainly favored the women here with the added appeal of not being wrapped from head-to-toe in coarse woolens like simple folk of the west. They stared. He smiled. 

The high-street ran from west to east and was intersected with lanes wide enough to run a cart through comfortably. There were balconies on most of the second-stories with lines to dry clothes. Most residential doors were open trying to circulate air. It was not hot yet but it would be in a month.

The lad was not there as a guide. Nag Kath wasn’t sure what he was doing since if the palace called, they would both be out and about. Maybe if he turned down the wrong street the boy would tell him. There was also the issue of the Bror. He might not even be here. Everyone involved in getting the changeling here and announcing him had done their job but it wouldn’t be anyone’s responsibility to tell him if His Excellency was three hundred miles away. No matter. He would loiter around the place for a few days and then slip south. 

When in doubt; bribe. The Elf was not hungry but when he saw a stall selling treats made from sweet beets, he walked over and bought a small sack. A bench near a fountain was the perfect place to sit. Nag Kath slowly unwrapped one of the morsels and tantalizingly put the snack on his tongue, savoring it in ecstasy. The second took even longer. His little shadow was nearly drooling when Nag Kath gestured for him to sit on the bench and gave him one of the pink-colored treats.

“Do you speak the common-tongue?”

“Small amount, yes, best of possible sirs.”

“Good lad. Which do you like, the pink or the tan ones?” The little boy shrugged with a smile. These were decisions he had never made. Nag Kath gave him a tan treat. “Now, I like fish. Do you know what fish is?”

“Yes. They swim and are eat.”

The Elf nodded in approval, “Very good. I like the big red fish. Do you know which ones those are?” The boy shook his head. Nat Kath started to unwrap another of the sweets and made a fuss of not being able to extract it from the paper. That took nearly a minute. He dropped it in his mouth and gave the boy a pink treat. Pulling his pad from the satchel he drew one of the red fish that swam together near the surface. Then he drew a whisker-fish. He showed the two pictures to the boy and said he like the first one but not the second. Did the young man know places where the cat-faced fish were not served?

He would get nothing from the youngster, who had probably never eaten a meal not made in his mother’s kitchen. It was worth a try. He gave the kid another treat and made his way further east. There was a small, walled area that looked a lot like where he had been kept waiting for the Bror on his first trip. Just for something to do, they made their way there and began walking around it. One end had collapsed many years before. Stepping over the rocks they entered the very courtyard he had been detained. There were four sheds equally spaced around the oval perimeter, long disused with no doors. There was no garden. There had never been a garden. Nag Kath wondered that he never saw the gardener and Orlo at the same time.

None of this was apparent to the little boy fixed on the shrinking sack of sweets. Nag Kath tossed him another as he gazed in wonder at what was probably a horse-drilling arena for long dead Brors. The remains of the wall above the break was almost like a flight of stairs. The Elf carefully climbed to the top of the wall and looked around. This was the only structure of its type. A year ago this seemed to be much closer to the palace walls. It obviously wasn’t. Anyone from town could walk in here either through the door-less gate or the collapsed east side. In one last confirmation of being fooled, Nag Kath went to Orlo's hut. It was empty but for large hungry spiders. 

Nag Kath started through a hole in the wall at a meandering path towards the city when the boy said, “No, best sir. We go to there.” He pointed the way they had come. It earned him the last treat.

_____________------_____________

There was still no word from the palace. It could wait. The Elf thought he might slip out in the night after decent folk were tucked away. Approaching the dinner hour, two soldiers in livery came to the inn and asked for him. Nag Kath left everything where it was under a heavy confusion spell and bowed to the palace men. One said in tolerable Westron, “His Excellency will see you now.”

He was led down the same series of corridors except at the end when the guards brought him to a large room adjacent to a smaller room divided by iron bars. Bror Dulgov stood ten feet to his side of the bars in the other room and accepted a deep bow from the Elf. 

The rightful ruler of the land would not be within striking distance of this creature. Men of the west knew that Nag Kath had slain Easterling mercenaries trespassing in the Buhrs. The Easterlings themselves knew how he did it. In their absolute and remorseless world, Khalki, Lord who punishes the impure, was a savage wind who destroyed the unrighteous in fire and blood. One of the troopers from Dale told him what these men feared. And that’s what they got. 

The Dwarf-road slaughter would have reached the young Bror’s ears. Dulgov was then and now the enemy of that rogue element. But that didn’t mean the baby-faced boy behind the barrier would discriminate. The man said, “Welcome back, Nag Kath. Your coming was unannounced.”

“Your pardon, Excellency. This is nothing so dire as my last visit. I hope I have not inconvenienced you.”

“Thank you for you kindness to my son. He could have left Dale with seven wives.”

Nag Kath was gracious, “You are welcome. He is a fine young man and represented your Excellency with distinction.”

“I am glad to hear your visit is not perilous. What can I do for you?”

The Elf thought the Bror might be willing to dispense with the usual flowery preambles. “It pertains to the conversation I had with Prince Voranush. With your permission, I was hoping to turn south and thence towards Khand in search of our common enemies, Lord Bror.”

That was a cleft stick for the man and both knew it. It would mean giving the creature a look at the breadbasket of the empire. But this one had talents that might root-out the Visitors, Visitors who for countless generations had made life miserable for the rightful rulers of Rhûn. His grandfather, Tespish, continued the alliance with Sauron and accepted orcs and spies in the bargain. Even then, the Visitors had schemed for the dark lord and their own purposes. His father Telantish had enjoyed personally flaying Visitors in salt when the survivors straggled back from Erebor, leaving Tespish’s and his brother Boramn’s heads moldering on pikes outside the gates. 

He would allow the quest, but he had conditions, “I will arrange an escort of honor to accompany you as far as Kelepar. Is tomorrow convenient?”

“I am grateful, Your Excellency. I may be some time, but I will either return to tell you of my inquiries or send a letter. May I ask if there is a symbol or token of your exalted position that I may use so that the letter will reach you?”

The Bror commanded, “Approach.”

As Nag Kath was walking to the grate, a robed man nodded twice and scurried off towards a large table in front of the only window in the room. Returning, he placed something small in the Bror’s large hand.

The man considered it and said gravely, “This is a signet of my emissary. A letter sealed in wax and delivered to any soldier in my realm will find its way to me. I warn you though; you use this at my sufferance. Misuse has consequences.” The Bror handed the ring back to the robed man who reached between the bars to give it to Nag Kath.

The Elf said, “Thank you, Excellency. It will only be used at the end of need.”

Dulgov considered that, “A small thing. You helped me remove a thorn in my toe.” The Lord of Rhûn turned and walked into the shadows.

_____________------_____________

Since the Bror blessed his trip, Nag Kath decided against investigating who wasn’t eating whisker-fish that night. The next morning he ate a quick breakfast and rode Charlo to the palace entrance where four riders were waiting. He nodded to the one who looked most senior. The man barked something in their tongue and they climbed in the saddle. 

They were on the shaggy horses of the Agasha Dag. The beasts were bigger than ponies but not the size of western heavy cavalry. The riders themselves were on the lean side and lightly armored with lances. Helmets with local symbols covered their dark, braided hair. Two had Easterling short-arc bows over their backs and capped-quivers lashed behind the saddles. All four had short, curved swords. Other than arms they traveled light. Nag Kath assumed they would commandeer anything else they wanted along the way.

No one said a word until they were well past the main gate heading east towards the turn to the southern coast. The Elf thought he had better take the measure of the men. Most likely they were there to keep him from exploring. But it was also possible they might see trouble along the road. If so, he wanted to find out how they would deploy before it happened. Of course, they might be there to feed him to the Stoor fish.

Nag Kath looked over to the leader and said, “Nice horse, Sergeant. He is well trained.” 

The man was trapped. He could refuse to answer anything about their route, himself or Rhûn, but horsemen have to talk about their horses. “He is of Agasha Dag, a noble breed.” The speech was hard to understand through the accent but he did speak some Westron.

“Oh, we’ll be riding by there. I have heard your farms are superb.”

The rider seethed. This silly blonde man had tricked him into revealing their breeding grounds. On the other hand, he had paid his Bror and the horse under him a compliment. A response was required. “Thank you. We are proud of them.”

That was as much as Nag Kath needed to know just now. The other men were trying to see if the arrows in his quiver were the same kind pulled from the Usurper. They weren’t. These were Gondor arrows. The Elvish scabbard got some attention too. They would all know this man had a hand in quashing the invasion. They probably did not know that he was the silver wind thirty years before.

Vegad wasn’t able to supply much information about the terrain east and south of the capital. The road was fair. Only soldiers rode. A party returning to Kugavod stopped to chat in their language with no special deference given to his escort. These would be some of the Bror’s best, outfitted to seem ordinary. Occasional wagons were pulled by ponies or donkey’s but almost everyone they saw was on foot.

After a few hours they stopped to water the horses at clear brook running into the sea. The Rhûn itself was slightly salty. You could drink it but it did not satisfy. Nag Kath climbed off his horse to get a drink himself. The men didn’t seem to mind but stayed in their saddles. Had they seen his hand they might have noticed a hint of silver. 

There were no inns. Rough villages along the road were either single homes or larger group dwellings with the occasional blacksmith or barn. The few people out stared at him but never at the soldiers. Shortly after lunchtime, not that they ate, they saw the first organized horse farms. Fields were divided into paddocks and grazing areas based on the age, sex and use of the animals. Further inland he could see them being trained, youngsters individually and older horses in formation. 

Nag Kath glanced but seemed uninterested. Easterlings did not understand that horse training in his lands was no secret at all. What he wanted to know was how Frûnzar stole four hundred of them under the noses of anyone watching and got them to the other side of the sea. He would have had a lot of help, help that was probably staring at the blonde rider right now.

Occasionally the Elf would ask a safe question and get a safe reply from the one man. The others did not speak in his or any other tongue. Nearing dusk they reached an outpost with a corral and low, wooden building. There was another like-sized party heading north that had already arrived and claimed their bunks. No one relinquished their cots when Nag Kath’s group came and the men conversed as equals. They all stared at the Elf but kept busy starting a fire for an evening meal.

Stew! Always stew! In this case, horse stew. Nag Kath ate some of the carrots in the pot but relied on Lembas for sustenance. With enough time he probably could have pulled in a few fish from the bank. 

The second day was a repeat of the first. A spit of land into the Rhûn had a small fishing village with both row and sailing boats. Nag Kath signaled the escort to hold as he inspected the catch. They all pulled up without comment. The man in the boat was both gratified and frightened. Why would soldiers with a stranger wonder about his catch? It wasn’t a very good day, either. The man and his son beamed in pride as the blonde fellow chose a red jouchar and a bottom-feeder with whiskers. The price for such fine fish, just caught, was but a single groat, certainly worth more! 

It had been a long time since Nag Kath had carried individual coppers. He handed the man a fiver as his son gutted the fish. There was no possibility the fisherman could make change. Easterlings usually traded for goods. The fisherman was still trying to decide what to do when the blonde man told the son to wrap the two fish in a wet cloth and seemed to ignore getting his four groats back. Was this possible? Did the soldiers see the fiver and plan to return for their cut? The deal was done and the five riders left the dazed fisherman squeezing the coin until his knuckles were white. 

From there they passed more horse farms and more mounted patrols. A party of twelve looked green. Both cavalry and mounts learned at the same speed. Their boots might have been worn at the siege of Erebor. Another dozen men approached from the south. This lot was more experienced. Their leader had the swagger of an officer and demanded to know their business. His Sergeant must have calmly told the Lieutenant who he worked for. Rank still mattered but this officer was out here in the hinterland. The Sergeant had the power, and they both knew it.

The half-troop made another way-station before dark. Like the other, troopers were already here. There were no cots at this one. You laid your bedroll inside. Now for the experiment; one of the troopers from another unit was starting a fire for horse stew. Nag Kath wandered over and handed him the two fish. The fellow unrolled the cloth and looked at them. Gazing up at the tall stranger he smiled with surprisingly good teeth and skinned them for the pot. 

Two men, both from troops heading north, either weren’t hungry or picked at their dinner the way Nag Kath usually did. They weren’t pleased either and stole glances at each other or the blonde man (a prisoner?) on the sly. Everyone else cleaned their bowls and afterwards played a dice game that seemed to have no rules. No one approached him after lights-out.

With luck, day three would take them to Kelepar. This was the best grain-land on the trip. Nearing the city, there were more pastures with mares nursing foals. One of his trooper’s stallions was romantic but Charlo did not react. 

The Bror was as good as his word. Nag Kath never got the sense his escort meant him harm. Making the city meant fording the fair-sized Fela Dotomok River. There was a ferry for people and goods but it could not handle horses. The men knew right where to cross for the best footing and only had to swim about fifty feet. It was a warm day and they would be dry soon. The Sergeant told Nag Kath that he was now on his own and bowed a soldier’s bow before whistling-up his men for an evening of more horse-stew.

___________-------___________

The Elf looked around and thought this was a nice little place. There wasn’t much to do but he had better get used to that. The inn was a single-story affair that had a crowd of merchants on the porch. Nag Kath walked Charlo to the post. Everyone stared but they didn’t scowl. He nodded with a smile and hoped someone inside spoke the common-speech. Nag Kath couldn’t have been the first man not from here because the woman at what he took to be the desk smiled and said, “Good afternoon, best of sirs. What can our humble inn offer such a distinguished gentleman?”

He said slowly, “Thank you. I would like lodging and stabling for a night, perhaps longer.”

“Excellent. I have a room towards the back, very quiet.”

Nag Kath decided if it was full of bugs he would rent it anyway and rest on his bedroll. The room was actually nice. Again, not scrupulously clean, but un-infested with an oiled-paper window that let in light. As in Kugavod, a full complement of sons saw to Charlo after Nag Kath got his bags. They had never seen a horse that had already shed his winter coat this early, and so tall!

After placing a strong confusion ward on his bags, he walked back out to the small main room and for the first time saw that wine, not ale, was the drink of choice. This wasn’t Dorwinion, but vines on this side of the sea produced as good a wine as most places other than Dorwinion. The Elf thought they could sell this if they could get it to market. It made him think of Orlo the boatwright. The right winds could push the right vessel across this little sea. 

One of the attractions of Kelepar was large trout, nearly as big as on the Dusenorn, that lived and died on the Agasha and its tributaries. The flesh was bright pink. He found a tavern that baked them with gureeq loaves and roots like a potato but sweeter. With such fare, there were no whisker-fish offered. And it was cheap. The room was three groats and dinner added another. They could make change.

Nag Kath was in no hurry. In the morning he wandered around the city which might have two thousand people. It was not walled so the population spilled onto the main road and one following the south bank of the river. There was a road on the north bank too but they had to ford because there was only the beginnings of a settlement when it reached the mouth. The Elf mused that Gondorans would have built a bridge by now. Here, it was someone else’s problem.

The market was bustling. Men and women both carried large bales on their backs with another band around their forehead for balance. Well before harvest, most goods were cloth or leatherworks. There were horses too. Farms on this side of the river sold to the military but they were not run by the military. People always stopped to look at the out-of-place stranger but quickly returned to haggling. Nearer the sea were fish mongers waiting for the afternoon catch. They still had a few from yesterday lifelessly staring at those who didn’t mind a little extra flavor to save money. 

A bit further downriver Nag Kath reached a place where boats were being built or repaired. Lumber from a pit saw upstream was floated down to be shaped or bent into twelve-foot fishing boats that could either be sailed or rowed. It was much like the shipyards on the Anduin mouth. Workmen carefully laminated thinner boards around a curved form and then pegged them with wooden dowels. For some reason, Nag Kath always worried about them springing back like a wheel rim but they used a wood that would retain its new shape when boiled. 

He spent several hours sitting near the docks and sketching the craft. That drew an assortment of interested folk, mostly children, who giggled and chatted in their own tongue. As usual, he drew sketches for them to take home to overall amazement. One shoeless little girl was sure her picture was worth gold and ran home before anyone could take it away. 

Nag Kath spent several days wandering and drawing. Adults were suspicious but no one followed him, and he made a point of being obvious. No one seemed dazed near his room either. The only trouble came as he was saddling to leave. Another troop of soldiers, coming from the south, wanted to know his business here.

The Elf respectfully said he was on his way to Mistrand which did not serve the squad leader’s purpose of finding if the blonde man should be questioned or detained. He could have produced the Bror’s signet ring whenever he wanted but being invited to the local headquarters was probably a better way to learn than drawing sailboats. Through hand-signs the westerling was to come with him and they all rode back a block from his inn to a squat, brown building with troopers loitering on the porch.

The man’s soldiers waited while he took the Elf inside to the duty officer. They spoke in their tongue and occasional looks at the placid stranger and then the desk man said, “Why are you doing in Kelepar?”

“I am traveling to Mistrand, officer. Is there trouble on the route?”

The man’s eyebrows furrowed deciphering that and he said, “These are not your lands.”

Pretending not to understand he said, “Yes, I am leaving here to go to Mistrand.”

“Mistrand, Kelepar, they are not your lands.”

“Then I should be on my way.”

The man stood to not an imposing height and shouted something in their tongue. Two soldiers appeared on either side of the Elf. “You will answer to the Furjar!” The four of them walked down the hall to what they were surprised to find was an empty office. Easterlings don’t generally have offices so this must be the high fellow of Kelepar, a Khan, perhaps? The desk man would not be put-off. He said gruffly, “You wait here!” and stamped out of the room to enquire about the boss. Nag Kath and the two guards stood there for almost half a bell until the desk man returned with a well-dressed civilian who sat down at his own desk and apprised the tall detainee before saying, “I was told you are here without leave.”

While they were waiting, Nag Kath slipped the ring on his little finger, the only one it would fit. He put his knuckles on the desk and said softly, “I am sure there is some mistake.”

The man was about to utter something officious when he saw the ring. He turned to the desk officer and said in their language what could only be; ‘I’ll take it from here.’ The desk man waved the guards out self-importantly leaving only Nag Kath and the Furgar who sat patiently. Whoever this strange man was, he had an emissary ring.

Nag Kath said, “Thank you, good sir. I was just leaving for Mistrand. I hope this has not inconvenienced you.”

“Not at all. I am sorry for the misunderstanding.”

The Elf could be magnanimous, “They were just doing their duty.”

The official asked, “May I be of assistance?”

Nag Kath was of two minds and decided not to discuss his search. Vegad said there was no telling where high Visitors hid. And even though this man represented his Excellency, patriotic Easterlings would have been proud if the Usurper had created a new dynasty in the hated Gondoran province across the sea. The Elf bowed graciously and said, “No thank you, good sir. I am just passing through.”

_____________------_____________

A light day’s ride hugging the coast took Nag Kath to the fishing village of Rhunea. Most of the rivers flowing into the inland sea had sizeable bays. This town was the last point on open water before the road followed the long inlet to the Súrûbeki River. The terrain below the Agasha was getting dryer. Farms here used a clever system of ditches coming from streams in the foothills to the east as tributaries grew fewer. As usual, people stared but no one bothered him. Troops were less plentiful too. 

There was one tavern with a fish stew. He slept outside. From there it took another four days of comfortable riding to reach the regional capital of Mistrand. The land became increasingly tan. There were no horse farms and the only row crops were gureeq grain or hardy strains of peas and lentils. The people who lived here were all within half a mile of the sea.

Orlo described the Súrûbeki River as; ‘an unlovely brown ditch’. It wasn’t that bad as that but it was not the crisp, refreshing water of the north. Near town it flowed through a flood plain that was also equipped with ditches to water fields or short, stunted trees bearing olives or nuts. The city had the remnants of a wall that must have fallen well before the last age. From a distance, Nag Kath put it at two thousand souls including both sides of the river. Most of that was on the western bank so they forded a mile upstream at obvious shallows with only one deep channel to swim.

In his entire experience, from hamlets to cities, there was a certain feel to the industry of northern men that revolved around cold, fallow winters. Here there was warm and hot. Crops still had their seasons, but there wasn’t a time when people bundled in every rag they owned sat around their stove. Most stoves were outside so the home wouldn’t be unbearable while cooking.

Nag Kath walked Charlo along the entire length of the coastline and then back up the river after learning it was the most prosperous part of town. There were three inns. He started with the one that had horse posts in front. The innkeeper reminded him of Tanlath in Edoras with thin, oiled hair carefully placed across a pink scalp. He was short and round with a bushy moustache and shaved the rest intermittently. The Elf would find that most men here went to barbers for that service rather than doing it themselves. 

Mistrand must see occasional travelers from common-tongue lands because the man said understandably, “Welcome to the Kellesh Thand! How can we assist such a lordly sir?”

“Thank you. I seek accommodation for myself and my horse. I expect to be here a week, perhaps more.”

“Then you have come to the very place! My family has our own stable for horses where we feed to them true grass hay. Does sir have other requirements?”

“No, just a clean room, on the north side if you have one.” That would get the least afternoon sun.

The man rubbed his hands, “I may just have one available. Please follow me.”

It took him about twice as many steps as Nag Kath but down a hall were four rooms with stout doors. The innkeeper pushed the second one inwards and gestured for the guest to inspect. It was clean with a bed that was almost long enough and a lattice window of oiled paper that could be opened from the inside. It would serve.

After seeing the blonde guest had no questions or objections, the little man said, “I am embarrassed to say the room and boarding for your animal will be five Gondor groats per night but am pleased to say that for a week it is only four.” That was probably double what someone who knew this road paid but Nag Kath was not one to quibble for real grass hay. He counted out coppers rather than show silver and followed the innkeeper to the front.

Somewhat unusually, the runner/helper at the Kellesh Thand was a girl of about fifteen. Fortunate in many things, Mr. Cuaranger’s wife had borne him four baby girls and they did what lads did at most places. This girl must take after her mother because she was already taller than her beaming da. She took Charlo to the stall while a girl about two years younger dragged his satchel.

Another thing that was different than most of northern Middle-earth was that guests registered and their presence was reported to the city authorities. Taxes were partially based on business and it also kept the guardi appraised of strangers in case anything went missing during their stay. There was a book of the cheapest paper to state one’s name and home. Most were filled-in by a single hand, probably the innkeeper’s, for guests who were unlettered. Nag Solvanth wrote he was from Isengard.

Mr. Cuaranger, adapted from Churangdir, also owned the restaurant next door where honored patrons had their choice of fish or pork tonight! His brother was the cook. Dinner was only an hour away, judging by the sun, so Nag Kath took a stroll and returned to join the first seating. He had his choice of fish too. One was the red school-fish and the other was a bottom-fish at half the price. There were trout in the Súrûbeki but easier to catch fish in the bay.

It was still good and he was learning to appreciate the rough-grain loaves served in most of Rhûn. The restaurant was not a pub and closed when the food ran out so Nag Kath walked back into town and explored in plain sight. There were no bells. He figured it would be light until the niner in Minas Tirith. 

Men did not seem to drink much here. There were wine bars, some served ale too, but many folk had their limit early and then switched to tea with pipes of the local leaf. Places where drinks were served later generally had gambling of some sort like the dice game the troopers played with a variety of side bets. Every so often, the keeper of the pit would roll the dice eight times to show folk that they had not been weighted to favor one symbol. Nag Kath had never won playing Dukks for toothpicks so he stayed away from games of chance.

_____________------_____________

The next day he strolled to the boat-works after gureeq porridge. Logs of harder trees from this river and softer timbers barged from Kelepar kept dozens of half-naked men and lads shouting and dashing about. Some sang in unison even though they worked on different boats. 

Nag Kath was here because of the empty compound in Kugavod. Orlo said he worked here. There must have been powerful sorcery to trick him into seeing walls and silent gardeners tending plants that were never there. Nag Kath had also discovered what bothered him about his sketches. One time he remembered Orlo grasping a porch roof support to help him rise. Another time he pushed off the boards. He had drawn them both ways without noticing the discrepancy. That was what he saw at the time. The abandoned feed shack had no porch at all. 

The Elf sat on a rock and started sketching men attaching a mast on a fifteen-foot boat. It took a few of them to place it in the slot and step it to the right pitch. It was a good picture. He was also there to draw attention. Sooner or later, someone would come by and start a conversation. It was later but finally a man who seemed a supervisor of some sort walked towards town and wasn’t too bashful to look over Nag Kath’s shoulder. The artist asked him, “What kind of boat is that?”

The man held up a finger and shouted to a fellow on deck in their own tongue. The nut-brown man spoke to a lad for a moment and then strode towards the Elf and supervisor. The two men spoke again for a moment and the new fellow said cheerfully, “Yes, I am speak you.” The first man continued towards town.

To make it easy, Nag Kath changed his question to, “Are these boats to catch fish.” Then he pantomimed a swimming red jouchar.”

“Yes. Jouchar, hakûn, Stoor, yes.”

The Elf did a little fishing of his own, “Did Orlo make boats?”

The Boatwright grinned again and said, “Orlo much here, yes, for all.” One of the laborers at the dock whistled and the man nodded before walking back to his mast. 

There seemed to be five different crews making or maintaining boats. The next day he found another rock at the other end of the yard and started drawing. At lunch time, a stout woman and two youngsters brought a basket that got the immediate attention of three men and two lads working on the largest vessel. The woman was not happy that her place had been appropriated by this pale, lanky stranger and started to protest when one of the children saw the picture of their da pegging and called everyone to see.

They gathered round as the men arrived for lunch and in their tongue decided this was a fine thing indeed. A man who might well be the father of the other two was last to arrive. Nag Kath smiled and asked, “The hull is near done, yes?”

The older fellow looked back the boat and replied, “We must chink the seams first.”

“Ahhh, I know little about making boats.”

The man accepted something wrapped in flatbread from the frowning woman and took a bite before saying, “We always learn something new. Water wants to find its way in. It is patient.”

The two younger men chatted with the lads and children leaving the woman waiting with her basket until the stranger relinquished her picnic rock. The older man talked with Nag Kath in tolerable Westron. When the food was almost gone Nag Kath tried again, “Did Orlo make boats.”

“Orlo informs all things.”

The Elf thought he had better be more direct, “I am seeking Orlo.”

“All men of good heart seek Orlo.”

“I am sorry. I thought he was a man.”

The builder chuckled before saying, “Someone’s parents thought highly of their babe. Or a man thinks highly of himself. Orlo is the spirit of ‘right living’, one of the Tschurans of Those Named.”

This was not where the Elf thought the conversation would go but he really shouldn’t have expectations given how he had been fooled the first time. As if embarrassed for butchering their language he said sheepishly, “I must have misunderstood. He was a short fellow, about so high, with no hair. He said he was from here but that might have been some time ago.”

It was time to work. The man gave a thin smile and wished him well. Nag Kath gave the children the sketch of their menfolk, tipped his brow to the woman who was still scowling and meandered towards the city offices. If the guardi had questions, they knew where to find him. There were no door guards since there was nothing to steal. Stealing in Mistrand mostly happened from inside this building.

He walked in the door and asked the first man he saw if anyone spoke his language. That took a conference of everyone in the room but a man next door was produced and walked over. The Elf told him, “I am visiting and wanted to pay my respects to the Khan.”

“No Khan now. He dead three years.”

“I am sorry to hear that. Who sees to your proud home now?”

“Fuhrvad is Deloth now.”

Nag Kath used his most ingratiating smile, “I can pay my respects to the Deloth.”

The man shook his head and said, “He go to Dilgul. Two week, sorry, two weeks to come back.”

The Elf thanked the man for his courtesy and took the long way back to the inn. There was an unclaimed chair on the porch so he put his hat on his knee and retrieved his notebook from the satchel. The rune descriptions from Scholar Vientis were folded inside. One of the symbols not carved in the Visitor’s stone was Chôlar; being of balance and choice. Was that what the old man meant? He wasn’t there to convert stray Elves from Gondor. Someone knew Nag Kath was more than he seemed. And someone else in the palace helped.

Tonight’s stew was mutton. Nag Kath walked half a block down and found another restaurant with men, only ever men, smoking and eating fish. He took a table and ordered. This place sold whisker-fish. That was not his favorite any more than Rosscranith’s, but anything was better than sheep.

He was followed back to the inn. The man either wasn’t very good or the real shadow was already ahead knowing his route. Nag Kath did not have his sword. Most men did not carry them. Turning a corner he slipped into “The Fast” and crossed the street into darkness. Moments later, a man dressed in everyday clothes stopped on the corner and realized his quarry was gone. Not seeming very concerned, he walked back the way he came. The tail became the tailed.

The fellow went to a tavern that had wine and dice. There would be no blending-in, he being the only six and a half foot Elf in Mistrand that season. Nag Kath stood in another dark place among the many and watched the door. His follower emerged an hour later not appearing any the worse for wine and turned towards a residential district four blocks from the river. A door opened as he walked on the porch. The home was modest but cheerful and had a small flower garden, many of which with blossoms that only open at night. 

It was reasonable to think the man would try to regain the scent at Nag Kath’s inn the next morning. Nag Kath would meet him on the way. The shortcut was an alley between two small buildings. 

“Huhhh?!” A white hand pulled the man by the collar into shadow.

The Elf asked, “Can I help you with something?”

“Do not squeeze. I am no enemy.” Nag Kath put him down but said nothing. The fellow caught his breath and said, “You seek Orlo?”

“I do.”

“Have fish again tonight at Harlubra. Leave by turning right and walk slowly.”

“Harlubra?”

“Upriver from your inn.”

They left in different directions.

_____________------_____________

Harlubra was more a grocery than restaurant. Nag Kath went in at what he thought was the local dinnertime and ordered the only thing they served. The other diners looked at him before resuming their conversations. The fish was probably tasty but he wasn’t there for the meal. After a decent interval, he handed the server two groats and stretched before making the door and casually turning east. Shops here did not have windows so there was no pretending to examine merchandise. Most vendors worked from their porches into the street except during rare rainstorms. Shops were where they stored their goods. 

It was still light. A small girl had gotten too far ahead of her parents and the woman rushed forward to collect her before she ran into the tall man coming the other way. The mother held her in her arms and said barely loud enough to be heard, “We must be careful, dearest. Not all can come where we go.”

Her husband caught up a few moments later and they continued the way Nag Kath had come. The Elf kept going and looped around the block behind the couple. The woman and child went into a home and the man kept walking towards the market, to every eye ready for an evening of wine and pipe-weed. He entered a building and walked out the back to meet the waiting Nag Kath. Wordlessly they criss-crossed a few blocks and entered an unlit home. 

Inside there were oil lamps unable to penetrate reed coverings over the oiled-paper windows. There were two other men sitting at the other end of the room. After the door shut, one said, “So, you seek Orlo?”

“Orlo seems to be many things.”

The same man; “Your seeking is far from your home.”

“And has been life-long.”

The voice, he couldn’t tell whose, asked, “This Orlo of many things, what part brought you here?”

“I am prepared to tell you much. May I sit?” The figure nodded from inside his hooded robe. Nag Kath’s guide showed him a chair and sat in the one next to it. Comfortable, the Elf told of meeting the elderly man in the Bror’s hospitality and some of their conversations. Then he added, “There was strong sorcery, gentle and not malign. My coming here cannot be a complete surprise.”

The man who had not spoken said, “Claiming knowledge of powers is for men who have lost their reason, or who seek to further their own ends.”

“I have met both. If this was an invitation, I am here. If not, I journey south two days hence. I am no danger to those I have met and I will not go anywhere I have already been.”

The first hooded man mulled that for a moment and said, “We will consider your words. This gentleman will see you out.”

Nag Kath and his guide stood and left the house. At the first intersection towards the inn, the man turned and walked into the night.

Nothing happened for two days. The innkeeper’s smallest girl had a low fever. Nag Kath removed it when no one was looking. There was not much of interest in the market. Women in a wide range of sizes called from balconies offering to slake his every desire. He doubted that.

_____________------_____________

Two days later, Nag Kath saddled Charlo and trotted south along the river. He was a bell out of town when a rider approached from his right. The man was not visibly armed and did not close at attack speed. Nag Kath left his weapons in plain sight. It was the father, or the man posing as the father, of the little girl. He said with no trace of malice, “Good morning sir. A pleasant day for a ride.”

“I hope so.”

“If you will follow me.” He turned his shaggy horse around and Nag Kath nosed Charlo the same way. The fellow said, “Thank you for your patience. I am Verdracht. Cities are not the right place for new friendships, yes?”

Nag Kath agreed, “I see the wisdom of that, too many ears. I am called Nag Kath.”

“Well, Nag Kath, we have a half-day’s ride ahead of us. I can be charming or quiet, your choice.”

“Let us start with charming.” Verdracht? It seemed a harsh northern name despite the man’s pleasing olive complexion. His Westron was heavily accented but easily understood. What else he or his friends understood about Nag Kath was uncertain. Northern Easterlings knew quite a bit. He had probably gotten more of them killed than any man in thirty years. Down here, the greased palms of the empire had a shorter reach. In their time, they warred more with northern clans than anyone outside their own disputed borders.

There was the issue of sorcery. Whoever had created the illusion in the compound was more powerful than him. Nag Kath had to fight the temptation to impress with childish tricks. What mattered was that he had been invited to a council. How that went depended on whose side they thought he was on. 

Verdracht talked about the land, the crops, the beauty and virtue of the women (presumably excluding those calling from the balconies) and everything else a visitor could want to know about the “Nose of Gathod” reaching into the Rhûn. He was less sanguine about troops, political alliances and Orlo. Nag Kath liked him. Optimism has a way of showing itself on a long, dull ride. Two hours west they reached a ridge of low hills emerging from the grasslands. Dry creeks, and occasionally wet ones, cut the soil up the grade. There were no other hoof prints.

In the same inoffensive tone as he used describing dicing dens, Verdracht told Nag Kath he could go no further without wearing a hood over his eyes. The Easterling tossed him a tightly woven sack and Nag Kath put it on. They rose for an hour and descended for another, crossing a creek with enough water for the horses to drink. In the late afternoon they stopped and men came forward. Verdracht called, “You can take the mask off.”

__________------_________

They had reached a village about a quarter of the way down the western side of the ridge. Twelve buildings surrounded a large common hall in the center. There was water from a stream and the hills were noticeably greener than on the way here. Both of them dismounted and led their horses to the second largest building.

Inside, Verdracht nodded to several men on his way to a room with the door wide open. He said, “Wait here.” and stepped inside. Nag Kath stayed about five minutes until his guide looked around the door jam and said, “Come in.”

Three men sat around a table that would hold eight. None were younger than their forties, one, who might be of Khand, older yet. Verdracht showed him to the furthest chair from any of them and shut the door behind him as he left.

All three men were wearing flowing tan robes over normal dress with hoods that could be drawn over their heads at need. The man at the center said slowly in heavily accented Westron, “We understand you are interested in right living.”

Nag Kath replied, “I am, sir.”

“And why would a northerner want to learn about quaint southern superstitions?”

“Right living is appropriate for all men.”

The fellow folded his fingers together on the table and continued, “I could not agree more. But we would know the reason for your coming.”

“I am concerned about less quaint superstitions, and I believe you are as well.”

The man to the right said, “Northerners cannot be bothered with pleasantries.” There was no trace of humor in his grim face.

The questioner grimaced and said, “I beg your pardon young man. You have ridden long and we have not even offered you tea. I hope you understand this is irregular.”

The Elf earnestly said, “I do, sir, though, perhaps, an opportunity.”

A plainly dressed woman entered through a back door with a large pot of tea and mugs on a tray. She came to Nag Kath first to give him his choice of mugs and poured for him. Then she took the tray around the table, a custom to show guests the drink was untainted. After she left, all four of them took a sip. Nag Kath did not sense any false sweetness. The Elf supposed these people had not heard anything accurate about him, if anything at all, so he offered the opening exchange, “Sirs, my name is Nag Kath. My purpose is to discover if those who call themselves Visitors have sorceries at their call of if they simply claim it to exhort their servants.”

The man who seemed from Khand was from Khand and spoke for the first time, “That would seem daunting for a single warrior.”

“My work is known. I am advisor to high kings, most recently your own. It is one of many stories.”

The men’s faces showed years of discipline, but attracting the Bror’s attention was never a good idea. The man in the middle said cautiously, “I would hear that story first.”

“Two years ago I rode to him with counsel to destroy his brother’s infantry on the soil of Rhûn rather than let Frûnzar open old wounds across the river. If the Bror wasn’t already despised by the Visitors, he is now. I assisted with his Excellency’s diplomatic overtures in Dale. A month ago I called in the favor by asking his leave to inquire about the Visitors.”

The Khandian still thought this a young man’s self-absorption, “Counselor to kings on subjects of sorcery, you say. Great claims require great proofs.”

Undaunted, Nag Kath responded, “I am known in Gondor and Dale.” He smiled, “Most accounts are embellished. Riders to either, or even to Riavod, can confirm my claims. I will remain in the safety of your aerie while you judge my veracity.”

That seemed fair. The men knew they did not have to go that far.

Verdracht took Nag Kath to one of the smaller buildings and said he would collect him shortly for dinner. His room was not a cell but it was spare. He had stayed in worse. Nothing had been confiscated so he hung his bow and scabbard on a peg and found his cleanest clothes.

The reason for not taking the blonde stranger directly to the dining hall was so Verdracht could inform a merchant already there that the Ghurate (council) wanted a word. The fellow walked outside to the large building and presented himself without ceremony. The man on the right smiled and said, “Prestigir, you are much in Gondor, yes?”

“I have long traded along the Anduin, sometimes in Osgiliath, occasionally in Minas Tirith, sir.”

“What do you know of a man called Nag Kath?”

Prestigir thought a moment. The right-living trader was not given to exaggeration. “He is the man who built the water pipe from the mountains to Osgiliath, a great work against plagues. Tell is; he is an Elvish sorcerer from Orthanc. My brother worked on the pipe and said he was kindly and healed sickness among the distressed. His statue is a short, bearded workman.”

The middle man said grimly, “That is not our usual impression of Elves.” 

Prestigir grinned, “I think the artist made a mistake. Ünorigir said he seemed a tall, beardless youth until you read his eyes. I have never seen him, sirs.”

The Khandian asked quietly, “Does his reputation suggest he might favor our cause?”

“I should think so, Ghur Distral, though he has enemies. Tales told; he put the arrow through Frûnzal himself. I do not put much stock in campfire stories.”

They talked for a few more minutes. The three looked at each other and the man on the right said, “Thank you. Go enjoy your supper.”

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath did not enjoy his. A large bite of something he hadn’t tried before proved to be pepper sauce. He scurried out the door and put his head in the stream. When he could feel his tongue again, he went back to the mess room and saw that diners put tiny dabs of the substance on other foods. Appetite gone, he looked around the hall. There were eighteen men and women eating, some with children. An earlier wave had come and gone.

When he returned to his chair there was a man enjoying stew across from his abandoned plate. The fellow smiled. Nag Kath wasn’t sure he could still smile but he moved his face enough to manage ‘hello’. His neighbor nodded and said a blessing in the Rhûnic tongue before putting spoon to bowl. The Elf tried the un-peppered greens and found he could still chew.

That evening the tables were moved to the side and there was a service that reminded Nag Kath of wedding vows in the west with a little Elf-keeper story-telling to boot. Men rose to declaim, some reading, some reciting from memory. A few told new stories. They were all in Rhûnic or further languages he did not understand. The faces were interesting. Were they like the Valarans? Nag Kath stayed for the whole program since there would be no waking rest while his mouth throbbed. When they broke, a man in the garb of an Ithilien trader gave him a long, thoughtful look before finding his bed.

The next morning his mouth was recovered. He still wasn’t hungry so he saw to Charlo’s accommodations. The horse was among a dozen. There were no individual stalls. Animals could come into a barn or stay in the paddock. During the day, two lads led them out to graze in the first grass Nag Kath had seen in weeks. Their windward side of this ridge stole every drop of water Manwë brought east. Two small dogs kept sheep from straying.

His minders did not seem to mind him wandering so he had a closer look at the buildings without going in. Most were apartments, like the ones he owned in Dale. Families were given space according to their size. They had central tables but meals were almost always held in the dining hall just like Gandalf’s Orthanc. Nag Kath chuckled thinking all such kitchens must have a Rosas rapping the knuckles of untimely diners.

The view was from the ridge of the ‘Nose’, a peninsula jutting into the sea between the harbors of Mistrand and Lest to the west. From an eagle’s eye, the formation was more like a fist with the thumb raised. Of course, only low company would use that comparison. He had gone better than half way around the Rhûn and was fairly close to Gondor again, albeit a very unclaimed area of Aragorn’s domain. Peoples of those lands spoke only Rhûnish and looked east for kinship. This was close to Mordor too. Nag Kath wondered when his quest would bring him to the deepest dark.

_____________------_____________

Verdracht found the Elf washing in a stream out of common view and sat along the bank. The man put a stalk of long-grass in his teeth and waited. After Nag Kath put his shirt on he was told, “The Ghurs would like a word.”

The three were arrayed in the same chairs and same clothes, probably the same mugs. Without far-speaking they could not have vetted his contentions so Nag Kath thought this might be another probe. That was of no moment. Being immortal, he had more time than they did. The middle man opened with, “We may have underestimated you, young man. Are you Kath of the Water?”

Ohhh. Kath of the Wargs too. “I have been called that in the tongues of men.”

“Very well. We will dispense with idle chat. What do you know of Orlo?”

“Precious little. I met a man who called himself Orlo on my first trip to Kugavod. We were both in the Bror’s custody, he as a hostage against a family debt and me while his Excellency confirmed his brother’s forces were massing on the Celduin. We had three pleasurable days together in a walled garden speaking much of his Gelansor observances.”

Without changing his conversational tone he added, “It was all in a haze of sorcery. The pretty garden was really a dirt field. Walls in my mind had fallen centuries before. It took me a year to pull the threads of that spell. But the conversations were real. He set the hook and I followed the line to this place.”

The man in the center took in every word. “Nag Kath, my name is Vrenstides. To my left is Grandol Zoldan and this is Amedies Distral. You are among those who seek right living. Only small groups are known to each other. I am sure you can appreciate that. Would you mind telling me more of your new friend?”

Nag Kath held up a finger to beg their indulgence while he rummaged through his satchel, producing the picture of Orlo sitting on the stoop drinking tea. Distral was close enough to slide the paper across the polished table. The Khandian’s face was completely still, registering neither concern nor recognition. But there was something. He passed it to Vrenstides. Zoldan got it last. None of the men spoke. 

While they considered the drawing, Nag Kath said, “He said he tried to remember his verses rather than writing new ones so Those Named could find him. He also said he was there while the Bror settled accounts with his brother-in-law, the Khan of Mistrand. I later found the Khan died and there was no debt. 

Still holding the sketch, Zoldan asked, “Did this person say where he was from, Mr. Kath?”

“He said he built fishing boats in Mistrand for long years before retiring. That was where I looked and where you found me. He also said his wife was dead and a married daughter lived elsewhere.”

When the three men were silent, Nag Kath said, “Then, there is this.” He pulled the rock tracing and passed that to the Khandian. “I interrogated a Visitor on the battlefield. Before he died, he told me it was how I could praise his men to the dark lord.”

Zoldan had not gotten the sheet but he knew what it was. “A Visitor willingly told you this?!”

“Not willingly.”

Vrenstides preemptively said, “We will have to consider this, Nag Kath.”

It was time for them to share. In his Elf-Lord voice he spoke, “Then consider this also. I have come to learn if these Visitors, or anyone else, can summon dark powers. They are out there. I slew a minion of the Witch-King seeking to escape his living death. If right living opposes the return of darkness, you have my sword. In exchange, I must learn everything about them … and a good deal about you, though I will not ask who others are or how to find them. Take as long as you need.”

Two riders left the next morning on a long journey.

_____________------_____________

It did not take long. Late that afternoon he was called to a smaller room with just Vrenstides and Zoldan standing by the door. Both bowed for the first time. Zoldan said, “Your offer is accepted. We have much to learn.”

There was a pattern to his outrageous statements to high councils. They always needed to ruminate and despite the answer, they generally had no idea what to do with him. The Ghurate moved more quickly. 

Nag Kath’s first order of business was asking about archives. He needed someone to explain those runes and the history of such symbols. The archives were a pair of men, one about fifty and the other nearing seventy. There was no written tradition among these people, damning proof if caught by any of a dozen enemies. The younger man was nearly blind from birth and had been taught the skill of long, precise storytelling. He had earned his meals traveling the vast distances between what passed for towns but was now here and welcome for as long as he liked. Most of his stories had been for entertainment and he would localize them to please the crowd. Now he concentrated on the right-living tracks that had been so dangerous to even speak.

The older man was their version of a Scholar. He had read archives in undisclosed locations but spoke very little of the common tongue. Ghur Distral took Nag Kath to meet them and told them the blonde’s emersion was of the first moment. It would take both men, one to read the marks and say them, the other to translate into Westron. As far as they knew, no one here spoke any Elvish tongues.

No one anyplace these men had been knew the runes origins, Pultic possibly? Easterlings were an ancient people who had warred with and on both Morgoth and Sauron since the First Age. Without written lore, your history was what the ruling warlord said it was. Loresayers of the past thought the runes no older than first time Sauron seized Mordor in the early second age.

The runes were read from top to bottom starting with the right-hand column. And they were not letters in the Elvish form. There was no writing here at the time. These were the symbols for their version of the Valar and Maiar. In the entire pantheon, some were missing and others added. Orlo said as much since the original imaginings of Eru had not contemplated dry lands or enhanced servants of darkness.

The runes themselves were not known but the inscription was a homily adopted by the first Wainriders as a battle prayer. The riders were a scourge to Gondor generations after the Great Plague, some two thousand years after the runes first appeared. The symbols on the rock were probably recently chiseled for junior Visitors in the field. The army would have had several operatives and certainly one with the cavalry as advisor to Frûnzal, not known as a life-long adept. In essence, the inscription said;

** _The strong and patient embrace the darkness _ **

** _in taking their due from the weak_ **

That did not sound motivational to Nag Kath but something was probably lost in translation. He was also no great believer in the invincibility of the Maiar, having met a few.

To his real purpose, Nag Kath asked if these Visitors actually did use sorcery. The younger man, Cirszal, saw well enough to look at Brestegir. Getting the confirmation he needed, Cirszal began reciting a poem that had been told through generations of people like him for an age. It was a tale of darkness and power, a frightening, bleak story of savage lords near the back of Mordor. The Sayer stopped a few times to regain his cadence. This was not a poem he told for groats in taverns. 

The man translated that into pidgin Westron after every verse. Not used to stopping, Cirszal regained his footing and continued in voice more grim than his own. There were wells of power for those strong enough and ruthless enough to draw. They lead their peoples to victory against the soft, womanish men of the west, men who disdained them and said they deserved the barren lands left to them by their failure. These were powers conferred by Sauron and even older and more terrible humors. At any time, men were called to darkness in payment for this gift.

Cirszal finished half an hour later. He repeated key phrases many times to keep the meter and pacing of the poem. Nag Kath had heard that before. Precise story-telling held to exact forms so the Sayer could remember all of the verses and keep the audience attentive. Brestegir had heard it many times. Cirszal was a master and the best in his long experience. Cirszal smiled knowing he had done it justice and nearly drained his own cold tea after not drinking through his performance.

Brestegir then began another more hopeful, melodic poem of their folk. It started with loss, constant loss. When times were bleak, no dark Lord or summoning gave surcease. There was only taking. But men and women stayed home more than they raided and were left empty inside. It could be many lives of men before they were called to fight or leave or survive through famine and plague. They had only that moment at any time in life.

Cirszal took the next verse of the same poem in a higher voice. He sang that no greatness could be made of any but small things. And that in waiting for greatness, whether it ever came, men and women should hold true to their families and friends, for in them was greatness also.

Brestegir sang the last verse in a pleasing baritone. In Catanard, the hero had the higher pitch and the villain the low. These were both hopeful. The man sang of care but also of vigilance. Darkness feared them because they disdained it. They must remember that which was said and done because it was their strength through time immeasurable. But even the longest time was made of moments and each of those must be lived correctly.

When they finished they both looked pleased. This was lore that was appreciated among them. Nag Kath understood none of it but asked if he could come again because there was so much he hoped to learn. They would be glad of his company. As he left, several of the people Nag Kath recognized from dinner arrived. Brestegir and Cirszal were teachers and it was time for a lesson. The Elf thanked them and walked into the sun.

Nag Kath went back every morning for a week. They seemed to know nothing practical about sorcery but he was fascinated by the teachings and history of the eastern world. It was a big place. Folk here had little to do with peoples south of Mordor and only occasionally from lower Khand or places western men did not even name. In return, he told them of Gondor and Dale, leaving out the personal parts. On the third meeting he brought the pictures or Orlo and the dark Elf. Brestegir was like the three elders in that he looked very closely as if there was something familiar about Orlo but finally shook his head. 

Nag Kath was learning quickly but needed more practical information about the lay of the land. A partial answer came when the merchant from the Anduin was whittling a tent peg near an outdoor fire pit. The Elf wandered by and greeted him. He greeted everyone, having never been introduced to the group as a whole. This one answered back in what was called Westron-of-the-road. “Good afternoon, sir. I see you are an adept of lore.”

The Elf said, “I am, though I fear new to it and unready. I am Nag Kath, at your service.” 

“Prestigir, at your service, sir. I cannot help but think I have seen you in my travels.”

Nag Kath said, “It is possible, I have been much in Gondor and Dale.”

As if suddenly remembering, “Ah, were you associated with the aqueduct?”

“Yes, I did design work.”

The man knew he did considerably more than that. “I fear your likeness at the fountain does not do you justice.”

That brought a huge grin, “He represents the men we lost. The city carved my name instead. I do not mind. Plain folk should be honored as well.”

The merchant finished sharpening the peg and tossed it with two others for his next trip. He may have brought things here but there was nothing to take back. That he stayed meant he was more than a peddler.

This village was a place of learning and rest. About half of the residents lived here year-round and maintained it. The others were those who shared lore of right-living in their travels and came here for replenishment. The merchant said, “Forgive me, Nag Kath, but you are not the usual man come for guidance.”

“No, I do not blend in a crowd. I come to discover if the claims of those known as the Visitors can be made manifest. There are those among us who hope that is not so.”

That was more direct than eastern men usually spoke. And Prestigir had heard more camp gossip about this creature than he shared with the Ghurate, that he was capable of magic and great killing, possibly a former dark servant himself. He found it hard to assign such things to this beardless one. As inconspicuously as possible, he looked into the blonde’s eyes and saw nothing sinister. Prestigir had plenty of topics he could innocently drop. “My brother worked on the aqueduct. In the second and third years.”

Nag Kath smiled again. “Yes, that was when we were trying to discover what could be done by men of our age. Such a thing had not been attempted since the early Stewards. When the waters of the Morgul Vale were finally safe, it was right to replace the bog water of fever season. It seems to work. Folk still get sick but not like they did.”

Prestigir paid a compliment, “In keeping with our humble retreat, you said there was rightness in the work.”

The Elf thought just a moment and said, “Yes, it was a right thing, for the people who live or live better, for children to come, for doing something better than we have done, yes. And do not forget bringing all manner of peoples together for common purpose.” Again, the grin, “I think the Dwarves are my favorite.”

In what was becoming genuine interest, Prestigir asked, “What brings you to Yhammâs Fruhir? This cannot be your steady road?”

The tall Elf gathered his arms around his knees and simply said, “I was invited. Alas, I cannot say who offered. And you, sir? You seem prepared to leave.”

“That is uncertain. I look forward to speaking with you until then.”

_____________------_____________

Prestigir’s leaving was uncertain depending on his next conversation with the three Ghurs. This might be more important than spreading right-living along the river.

“Hello, Prestigir. This can only be about the pale one.”

“It is indeed, Master Distral. I think will continue my lessons here for a while.”

“I see. Yes, further learning is honored among the wise. Are there things to discuss with the council?”

“If that is convenient.”

The Khandian fingered his thin beard and said, “The others are right here. Let us ask their thoughts.” The two walked into Vrenstides’s office where the two men were having tea. Prestigir’s presence meant information.

The merchant began; “Sirs, I just had an off-hand conversation with your guest. He is exactly who I thought. There is considerable more that I cannot confirm, but it is mostly from men who do not stretch their yarns overmuch.” Prestigir took the men’s silence as assent. “A story that no one gave much heed was that the creature was one of the Uruk-orcs of the White Hand. He was transformed to Elvish form in the reckoning. I am not sure I believe it either.

“What I have on good authority is that he was the silver wind who slew Taneûl’s troop on the Dwarf Road all those years ago. That would make him a very dangerous man, despite his youthful appearance. He shot Taneûl himself as the officer proclaimed Visitor wardings over the slain from a hundred and twenty paces. He spitted Frûnzar riding at a gallop from eighty.”

The Ghurate, and every other man in Rhûn had heard the story of a specter sweeping through rogue Balchoth mercenaries, the first of those seeking to preserve dark ways against the parochial rule of Telantish. In an instant, half of them were dismembered to the moan of Festram and the swoosh of a hundred swords. One survivor repented his wickedness and was a friend to their order. He told them many times as the telling eased his horror.

Distral repeated, “Prestigir thought to extend his studies before returning to the world.”

Zoldan said, “Please do so, but nothing too obvious.”

__________------_________

The three Ghurs remained seated after Prestigir left. Zoldan considered options; “If he will not stay until the messengers return, our options are thin. By all accounts, we cannot stop him. We are a place of rest and learning. This is properly a matter for the central council.

Vrenstides interjected, “I agree, but we may need to act. This seems to be very good for us but there is always the chance he is not what he seems. If he must leave, perhaps we send him to Gûshand and they can inform the council.”

Distral gathered his robes in the chair and smiled before saying, “We flatter ourselves, old friends. We succeed in the absence of dark lords. Were one to rise, his minions would squash us like gureeq grubs. Let the Kath stay as long as he likes and then we send him closer.”

Vrenstides interjected, "Do you suppose he is the one ... the one said coming when the ending is near?" The others didn't answer.

Prestigir had much the same conversation with himself. The merchant was, among other things, a merchant. That meant earning more than his costs by convincing people how much they needed his wares. Nag Kath seemed to be enjoying himself with the Lorists. He was not anxious. He had not even leered at the widow Nienzal, whose husband was called to his ancestors much too soon. The merchant decided he would attend children’s tutoring, returning to fundamentals, he said.

Neither the Ghurate nor Prestigir had any problems with the outlander guest. The merchant told Nag Kath that messengers had been sent to friends further south and would be at least a month in returning. The Elf should stay here until then. The Elf understood their reasoning and readily agreed

Ghur Distral persuaded Teüchir (Scholar) Harmolu to privately tutor their unusual guest in Plainstongue. It was an amalgam of northern Pultic and southern Apysaic speech with a good measure of Westron nouns, because they had more things to name. It had evolved to half Variag (Khandian). Sauron’s Black Speech was impenetrable for any of his peoples. Even the orcs had to truncate it. Southrons and northern Easterlings had little in common but when they had to work together, they needed a language to make themselves understood, if not appreciated.

Prestigir had more practical experience with the pidgin tongue so he attended most lessons. The Elf brought his satchel and pad, writing notes based on sounds in Sindarin which had more harsh and guttural tones than Westron. As in everything he tried to learn, he made progress. Even so, after the second day he said, “I was told that all languages came from old Elvish. I confess I cannot see the resemblance. Is it that without writing, every generation makes small changes until the way is lost?”

Harmolu agreed, “And each village. In times without strife, they stay to themselves. It is only in war or trade that outsiders must converse.”

After four days, Nag Kath asked a question of the merchant, “Please tell me of the Visitors. Until I came to Dorwinion, I had never heard the name.”

Prestigir was sure that was a safe subject so he started as if for a long tale, “They believe in power. Those who have power take what they want, until someone with more takes it for himself. We think first of armies but it is the same when a man takes another’s woman against her will or abuses his neighbors. Children raised thusly know no better.

“They are usually the remnants of favored troops of Sauron, Easterlings to the north, among my people of southern Rhûn and fierce warriors below Mordor. They got better food, weapons, even horses. But it put them in the front line to their destruction. Now they think they should still be chosen and the rest of us think not. They try to summon another dark leader for their cruelty.”

Nag Kath shook his head slowly, “I said I did not know of them, but I know all. That was how I was spawned and raised.”

So, he was an Uruk-hai! What invisible hand made him this?!

The Elf continued, “It was not until I learned caring and love that I could understand cruelty. In their absence, life is merely enduring. A man must be miserable indeed to think those days are better.”

“Why did you go to the Bror, Nag Kath?”

“It was not planned.” The Elf grinned, “There were reports of orc incursions along the northern border of Dale. I offered to scout on my way to visit my family along the Redwater. It seems agents of Frûnzar offered them spoils along the river to keep Dalish and Dwarvish militias looking north.

“The crop was failing so I bribed the orcs with food to stay home. Small groups of Easterling cavalry were noticed along the river as well. It was not until I reached Dorwinion that I knew it was a feint and that the thrust was coming for the vinelands. The pretender’s forces had not crossed so I went to the Bror, told him of his brother’s perfidy and explained western lords would hold him accountable if Easterling troops attacked.

“Dulgov dealt with the infantry on his soil. The cavalry made it to Gondor but rode into a trap.” Nag Kath thought a moment before saying, “I convinced a dying Visitor to tell me how to praise his men to the dark ones. He told me where he hid the stone.”

The Elf said it as if describing the weather. Right-living men were among his Excellency’s troops attacking Frûnzal’s infantry. They all heard of the tormented Gvordling. Prestigir strained to keep his feelings even. He must jolly this strange creature for the good of all, but his stomach turned at what was done to even a bitter foe. He only nodded.

_____________------_____________

The next three weeks passed pleasantly. The Elf-creature learned enough Plainstongue to order in a tavern. The two Lorists enjoyed telling him stories and songs of their travels. He practiced archery, leaving no doubt he shot the Usurper. 

After a month there was no word from the messengers and yet the Elf was not chafing to leave. Some mornings he would go watch the dogs nip the heels of wayward sheep to the whistles of two teenagers. He visited Charlo often and rode him bareback to assure his hosts he would not leave without his belongings and weapons. He did press on matters of sorcery, eventually getting an admission that there was some in their order. The messengers had been sent to inform those folk. There was also knowledge in the most unlikely place. Nag Kath asked Harmolu, “Honored teacher, I was told that Visitors do not eat fish that live on the bottom of the lake. Is that so?”

“The learned man smiled and said, “They will if they must, but they disdain it when thin fish or meat can be had. The bearded fish thrive on decayed things. Some men would not have the fish’s dinner pass to themselves.”

“But this does not bother your people?”

“I do not care for those fish either, but some men have no choice. There are many fish in the sea. Most waters have all kinds. But in Mistrand, mud from the river discourages the red and blue fish, leaving mostly the bearded-fish. To catch the others, a man must afford a boat.”

Dim light dawned, “And those born to favor should reap the harvest of boats as is their due?”

With a wink, “You understand these things quickly, young man. Here and in other lands as well.”

“Honored teacher, is there special praise or lore about men who build these boats or catch deep fish?”

“The maker of boats is considered a rare craftsman. They must curve something straight to keep fishermen and traders both afloat. The man who does that poorly does not do it long.”

Nag Kath walked back to his room. Had he noticed, his hand was stroking his chin. Was the break between those who were glad Sauron was gone and those who wanted him back as simple as what kind of fish they thought they deserved? Probably not. The Haradrim had likely never even seen a fish. Now, what fish were found in the Nûrnen?

After six weeks the messengers had not returned. That concerned all who knew because of both the towering guest and the two men were beloved of their company. Nag Kath asked to speak to the Ghurate.

“We can imagine why you have come. Must you leave now?”

“I should. If you can direct me to a place where those more like me can decide my coming, I would be in your debt.”

“Travel to the steppes and from there to Lhûg. Prestigir has a map but there are roads the whole way. You must go alone. The men who would take you have not returned. Pray for them. There is an inn called the Khruevesta on the river. You will attract attention. The day after you arrive, pay for your meal with this coin.” Verdracht walked around the table and handed Nag Kath what seemed like an ordinary groat. He dropped it in an empty vest pocket.

That afternoon he said his goodbyes. Prestigir would return to the Great River. The Elf would remember this place fondly.


	24. Khand

** **

** _Chapter 24_ **

** _Khand_ **

His first two days took him southeast. The Sûrûbeki was clearer upstream of the Mistrand delta. He followed that for another day and then forded into what were called the horseplains of southern Rhûn. The eastern bank was a little greener than the east side of the ‘Nose.’ Folk were tending sheep and fields of gureeq. He expected the stares but in these lands, soldiers were the ones to avoid so farmers kept farming. The Ghurs had said as much.

The road would have been hard in a cart but it was fine for a horseman. It was hot in the afternoons. Charlo did well at a comfortable pace with just enough streams along the way. Nag Kath was given a leather bag that was cleverly sewn to hold water as long as you kept the seams upright. It held enough for three days which Prestigir said was plenty to refill at streams. 

They reached the Temple of Lôkuthor on the second day. There were no such structures in the west. Grand buildings were often built in honor of those past but always intended to be used by those living. This was a building dedicated to a spirit where people came for blessings or interventions, said to somehow bring those spirits closer than their own homes. There was a village surrounding it and no one had claimed it for their own, so the old protections still warded against trespassing. Nag Kath did not have enough Plainstongue to ask who Lôkuthor was but he did manage to order a dinner of grain and a new green.

In the morning he walked through the temple with the feeling powers had stayed here before. Powers always leave a trace. For good or bad he could not say. Just east of town was a crossroads leading either south or continuing east. As the crow flies south would be faster but the terrain was rougher and water less common. There weren’t a lot of horses on the horseplains. It was much like eastern Rohan with enough grass and weeds to feed flocks of hardy sheep. The only horses he saw were pulling carts or under troopers. One troop did ask his business but waved him on with no threat. 

Water was getting more plentiful with rivulets snaking from rising ground on the steppe. Three days after the temple they crossed a creek that was stirrup high and fully forty feet across. It was colder than further west. It had a few fish that had not learned the difference between real bugs and hooks tied with string. That made for a welcome break after Lembas and gureeq porridge. He caught enough to last two days. Water here generally flowed north to the Rhûn drainage. Prestigir had recommended he follow the eastern fork of this river rather than take the road. It was not difficult ground and the grazing was better.

The land was neither pretty nor dull and except for a few areas of loose rock, they made good time. Five days of that landed them in an actual town of perhaps four hundred souls. It had an inn to serve travelers from the intersection of the road back towards Mordor, one north to eastern Rhûn and his path almost due south. This was about the ill-defined border between Rhûn and Khand. Most people spoke Variag, the Khandian tongue.

And there were travelers, mostly men walking loaded mounts. Wares were made rather than grown since anywhere you went had the same crops. There were tinkers, smiths, men selling weavings from his intended destination. One old man and his grandson sold fine threads in different colors for embroidery. There was also a healer with a stock of herbs and ointments for pains. With her remedies she also kneaded muscles with her powerful hands to remove soreness. Nag Kath tried that for a groat. His muscles seldom hurt very long but it seemed a new sort of healing to him. Skeptics might think the woman was hawking other physical comforts but given her build and face, it would be the pleasure of later resort.

He stayed here a couple days, mainly to rest a split in one of Charlo’s hooves. It wasn’t necessary but neither was making it worse wandering the back of beyond. The inn had beds stuffed with some sort of straw that was quite soft so Nag Kath even slept a little after being pummeled by the stout healer. He was refreshed the next day. To pass the time, Nag Kath drew children’s pictures for them to keep. Usually their mothers or grandmothers watched with a mixture of uncertainty and enjoyment. The blonde man seemed safe enough and this was the most exciting thing their little ones had seen in some time. 

As luck would have it, they had enjoyment two days running. The next night featured entertainment that attracted townsmen and many from surrounding hamlets to watch players sing, dance and reenact historical events. It was a third-cousin to Catanard. Well into the presentation, Nag Kath realized the players represented local gods, demons and creatures in-between. Some were grim and solemn. Others were mischievous sprites or comical people caught in the great-ones’ wiles. Music was played on pipes and drums or little brass plates that rang at different pitches. Like low Catanard, the audience cheered or hissed the characters which only made their antics funnier. 

The show was done in something else he hadn’t seen. A piece of hill had collapsed years before creating about two-thirds of a bowl at a good angle for people to sit. Most brought blankets. The bottom of the bowl had been flattened to serve as the stage. Men in gray carried brightly painted screens representing nature or indoor backdrops. There was quite an array of colors for a place that seemed so tan. 

Nag Kath was starting to notice men and women looked more like each other the further he got from the Anduin. Most had smooth, olive or light brown skin. Men were not heavily bearded. That favored the women whose eyes were always dark brown with carefully plucked eyebrows. Both men and women of stature wore bracelets of what looked like silver, sometimes with garish colored stones. Many wore hats of long cloth that could serve as masks if high winds blew stinging sand. Two women gave him long looks but they did so firmly gripped by their husbands. That was fine. He had work to do.

The southern route from here would stay on the river the whole way. It had a fish that wasn’t quite a trout but tasted close enough. He enjoyed those, cooked in his Trum Dreng skillet, until they made the regional capital of Tuarcmindon. Charlo’s hoof was still a concern so they stopped with plans for another two days at an inn near a farrier. Nag Kath had learned some horse-words and the blacksmith knew a little Westron. The man knew horseshoes too and pulled a nail he thought was too close to the break. 

It was lucky that the Elf had made it this far through formerly enemy territory without incident. Nag Kath helped by not staying out after men had time to drink much and he left the women alone. Sometimes even that is not enough. He ate at a place that served nothing more potent than tea with dinner. Walking out the door, three young bucks in ordinary clothes but wearing the lapel gorgets of Broric cavalry started jeering at the oversized blond foreigner. He smiled and played ignorant before walking the other direction.

The catcalls grew uglier. If he ran, he would be chased. If he used ‘The Fast’, a lot of people would see it, the same for a confusion spell. Reasoning would not help in a different tongue. These lads were spoiling for a fight. He turned as the three approached. Either they were not expecting him to stand or they were deciding how to throw the first punch. All three carried swords and he had his. If they touched theirs, they would die.

The shortest of three short men came a step closer and proclaimed something that probably insulted his mother and his complexion. Nag Kath did not even blink. The fellow thought he would try again a step closer and was instantly on his backside with blood pouring from his nose. The other two didn’t see the punch but threw themselves at the stranger catching the same right fist across both jaws. They would be out for hours. The Elf smiled and pulled the lead assailant to his feet. The move included a very small confusion spell. Nag Kath put his arm around the man, maybe still a boy, and walked towards his inn like they were best friends. Butchering an already butchered tongue he asked, “What’s your troop?”

Doubly confused, the fellow took a few moments to speak but then spilled, “Actum’s Third Horse.”

“Fine unit. Brave men all.”

“Umhummm.”

“How many of you are there?” His Plainstongue was not that good. He tried again, “Many men?”

“Two and twenty.”

“Proud men. Go help friends. Not remember.”

The trooper meandered back towards a small crowd gathered around two of Actum’s Third. Between the drink, the punch and the spell, he would have a sore head tomorrow. The innkeeper, like most innkeepers, had better language skills than the soldiers. He said the company was billeted east of the large paddock. Nag Kath spent his time near the river. 

From here it was a nine or ten day ride to Lhûg. He did see other militia troopers. This might be their training season if they worked like Dale or Gondor. Farmers pulled grain in earlier than in the west. The river valley kept him from seeing very far to either direction but this was quite fertile. Along with the grain were plots of cucumbers and marrow-roots. There were gourds that people baked or stuffed with other foods. There was ko-ton too. That was prized in the west because it made such fine, soft clothing. He bought a bolt hoping someone might replace the garments that months of travel were thinning. And the women kept getting better looking. They had not yet followed the Gondoran fashion of exposing their forearms but what he could see was appealing. 

It had been a while.

_____________------_____________

On the 3rd of July he reached the city of Lhûg. It was the confluence of two rivers from east and west forming the stretch he had traveled. Officially in Khand, there might be as many as five-thousand citizens of the local Khan whose residence was away from the river to the east. There was a strong Rhûnic influence too. At the purer ends of their scales, the difference in appearance was striking, but quite a few folk showed both bloods and spoke either tongue interchangeably. Now aware of the quality of fish, he wandered on foot through a busy market looking at dead eyes staring back. There were whisker-fish and others as well. He asked the price, the first phrase he learned, and found them all about the same. 

Having him pay with a special coin at a known place was more obvious than Nag Kath liked. They couldn’t get him, but anyone else burned with hot irons would divulge. Maybe it was a man who washed the plates or delivered vegetables. The innkeeper would certainly handle the money though. He acted distracted and asked about a shop he ambled by. He wasn't to pass the groat until tomorrow so he explored. Three soldiers like the ones further north sauntered towards him. They looked at the oddity and returned to their conversation. 

Dinner tonight was a fish stew with something resembling ale made from gureeq and millet. It could not possibly be good until it was. The brew was lighter than those of the west with less alcohol but it tasted fine and went well with dinner. Since there were no Dwarves to drink with, he just had one.

The next day he saw another healer who kneaded muscles as her primary labor. This one was poured in the same mold as the first. When she was done abusing Nag Kath’s back he felt a little dizzy but it passed. She spoke a bit of Westron and told him that this was a time-honored service passed from mistress to adept over ten years of apprenticeship further south. They needed to be strong and they also needed to learn the points causing pain or where blood was not running true. She assured him his blood was fine. That was worth two groats.

It was time to spend the coin. The inn was serving lamb stew tonight. There was no getting out of it. Carrots and greens were identifiable. They served the same ale as the other place. He laid the groat on the edge of the table but the server never claimed it. After the lamb chunks were long cold, he caught the maid’s attention and pointed at the groat. She smiled and said, “No, he pay.” When she turned to point at his benefactor, the table was empty. 

Nag Kath smiled back and said, “You keep.” That was for her, not her employer. The coin was gone faster than “The Fast.”

Outside there was a breeze, not enough to need the cloth face mask but some folk had their robe-hoods up. He did not wear a robe but he did pull his hat down to stay on. His room was upstairs so if no one approached him shortly, he would see if they had invited themselves in. The confusion spell on his bags might help them answer questions.

Nobody came. Nobody was upstairs. The next move was theirs. He went into a soft rest and thought about the play two weeks ago. 

Up with the sun, Nag Kath had a look at Charlo’s hoof. It was fine. There was a small cane cylinder tied in his mane. Soothing his horse he combed it into his fingers. Other than a sleeping stableboy no one was here so he opened the note and was instructed to ride west after settling his affairs at the inn. He paid in advance so that was no more than collecting his bags. 

This was the unused road, there not being much commerce with eastern Mordor. Nag Kath wondered if this was where fine spectacle glass was melted. There seemed no place to hide if you wanted to surprise a rider here. That meant there was. He kept Charlo at barely more than a walk along the stream. After half an hour, he checked the stream for humors and let the horse drink. 

The man was quiet. Nag Kath heard him before a man would but this was no Northman trampling his way through briars. A short, slight fellow of local complexion walked up to the road above the bank and said, “A lovely day. Do you have coin for me?”

“I don’t give money to every rough lad who asks.”

“I only need one groat.”

Sorry, I gave it to the maid.”

“A coin like many others. I am sure it was well spent.”

Nag Kath walked Charlo up the bank and bowed to the man whose own horse was tied fifty paces away. The fellow looked up at the Elf and said, “Come, we have no small distance ahead.”

Unlike the chatty ride with Verdracht, his guide did not say another word for an hour. The scenery was much the same, horselands with no horses, patches of green were here and there but they were not farmed. Nag Kath wondered if the rain in these streams was new since Mordor changed hands. There was game; small deer that kept their distance. 

The guide finally said, “We will ford here. They crossed to the middle of the same river and walked upstream several hundred feet before picking their way up a spill of shale chips that left no tracks. From there they rounded a hill bearing east into a secluded valley created by one of the streams feeding the river beside their route. It could not be seen from the road. The age of spying crows must be over.

The place looked much like Yhammâs Fruhir but twice the size. There was a large hall, several large but squat buildings and a dozen dormitories or apartments following the contour of the slope. Both horses were tied in front of one of the larger administrative buildings and the men walked in as they removed their gloves.

“Wait here, please.”

Nag Kath did. There was a young woman who looked like she could have wrestled both of his muscle healers with one hand. She gave him a placid look but said nothing.

Another man, taller but still Khandian, came out of a hall and bowed before silently gesturing for the Elf to follow. Four doors down they entered a modest room with a dining table and eight chairs. The walls had hangings and tapestries a bit like those of Minas Tirith but they were hunting or nature scenes rather than battles and Lords. Moments after he arrived, another man dressed in darker brown clothes followed behind them and shut the door.

After they were seated, the man in dark said, “I am sorry you did not hear back, Mr. Kath. The messengers were ill and delayed. You may have passed them on your way here.” This man’s speech had the lilting quality ascribed to Khand but his Westron was good. 

The man who showed him in added, “It was unfortunate you were not here to help. They are fine now.” This man’s accent was unplaceable, much like folks said of the Elf’s until he worked around his orcish inflections. 

In his normal voice Nag Kath soothed, “The Ghurs were concerned. I am glad they are healed.”

Brown said, “The messengers told us you would be staying in Yhammâs Fruhir for at least a month. I hope your visit was profitable.”

Like his interview there, no one introduced himself but they were affable. Nag Kath thought of them as Mr. Tan and Mr. Brown. A man brought tea for all but did not offer mug choosing. This was the true Telandrin. He would get some for Mr. Tallazh! In answer, “I learned a great deal about this part of the world, and of things past.”

“Ahhh,” said Mr. Tan. “We come to that. Would you mind telling us why you are here?”

“No, but perhaps some introductions are in order first. I am Nag Kath. I do not know what you know of me but I am no secret anymore.”

Mr. Brown said, “We know of you, Nag Kath. I am Khilestu. My associate is Choran Zielthir. You might describe us as the soldiers of right-living. 

It would be hard to stop thinking of him as Mr. Tan but Zielthir added, “Rhûn certainly knows of you. Thought I grieve for mothers and wives, our position has improved. We hope you have leisure to stay here and taste different fruit of the same tree.”

“My time is yours.”

Their time did not start now so Nag Kath took Charlo to the stable and followed his guide to deposit his bags in a larger and more comfortable room than his last, housed in one of the dormitory buildings. It had a small glass window facing north. Dinner was much the same as in Rhûn as well with a mess hall serving men, women and even more children in two waves. The red sauce earned his respect. 

Everyday Khandians seldom come in thick sizes. Some in Minas Tirith eventually ate their way to plump but it took work. In the long history of here and five hundred miles in any direction, bodies learned to live with less. No sooner had he thought that than a man favoring northern Rhûn with a Northman’s braided beard and tight vest sat across from him and reached a paw over in western fashion. “Name’s Tolvern, Richas Tolvern. Welcome to Hanvas Tûr.”

In an equally hearty voice was returned, “Nag Kath, good to meet you.”

The fellow broke his fresh loaf and dipped it in some sort of stew. “Are you here for the Recitations?”

“I hope I have not missed them.”

“Nay, don’t start until Wednesday, though you would not know it for all the people practicing. Gelansor is but once a year!”

Nag Kath had forgotten about that. Yes, the time is right. Two years ago he was listening to Orlo fondly remembering his wife’s affections after three days of celibacy. He hadn’t forgotten about why he was here or how to innocently extract information. “I hope to meet some old friends as well. Tomorrow I shall explore.”

“Good! You do that.” Nothing came of the probe but they talked amiably for the rest of the meal about little consequential and looked forward to meeting in due course. There was still good light when the later meal shift filtered in so Nag Kath took his constitutional walk and surveyed the grounds. Both right-living retreats had no military defense. If they were attacked, they would fight on open ground. Those days might be over but raiders would not need dark lords to steal horses. There would be other defenses.

_____________------_____________

His waking rest was more peaceful than usual. There was a calm here that helped thoughts glance away effortlessly. One day he might even discuss this with a real Elf. It lasted longer than usual too, almost four hours if he read the night correctly. Insects were singing in full voice. There must be a pond because frogs were giving them a good run for their money. 

He opened his eyes with the sun and dressed. This time, he did not lay a spell on his bags. Sure enough, there was a pond, two of them actually, one feeding the other. Romantic frogs jumped in the water when he walked around the bank. 

He froze. A duu crow (crebain) in a short tree preened itself waiting for opportunity. Nag Kath watched it motionlessly for five minutes. A woman walking by was about to say good morning but the Elf looked so intent she held her tongue. The bird did not seem interested in larger goings-on. After his feathers were in order, he stared below the branches and eventually floated down for some morsel. Quarry bagged, he flew off to the north.

So, they lived. Perhaps no one had the power to draw them to his will. Or if anyone did, they did not use crows. Mr. Tan approached as the crow was flying away and said, “They are just birds now. Come, it is story-time.”

There were four men and the large woman from the office in the meeting room. Cold tea was already in several pitchers. People helped themselves and sat where they liked. Like in Yhammâs Fruhir, these were not formal, lordly gatherings. They were plain folk who had shown skill and wisdom. Nag Kath took a seat near the end after pouring a mug. 

Khilestu spoke after everyone was settled, “Sirs and ma’am, this is Nag Kath who was sent to us from Rhûn. There he spent six weeks learning of our order and wishes to help. He has also seen service. Who of us knows of him?”

Only one man nodded. The woman had hot tea and it was finally cool enough to take a long, satisfying pull. She asked, “What do you know of us, Nag Kath?”

“I learned some fundamentals from a man in Kugavod two years ago and as Khilestu said, I visited Yhammâs Fruhir, learning your ways for six weeks. I favor them and wish you all success, but I am come to discover if the Visitors are capable of congress with remnants of the Dark Lord. 

“Before I ramble on, may I ask what know you of remaining sorceries in western lands?”

“A handsome younger man in modest dress said, “I, for one, am not conversant with such tales. For long lives, folk in the east were only told what our masters wanted us to believe. Since then, we have had other concerns.” There was general head nodding in agreement.

Nag Kath said, “I will try to be brief but this may take days.” He smiled, “This is not sacred lore. Ask questions, offer opinions and disagree at any time." He gathered himself, “I am probably of Saruman’s blood. It saved me in what you call the reckoning and gave me minor sorcerous powers. I was also schooled, too briefly, by Gandalf ere he departed and Radagast to a smaller degree. I can heal like the women who pull ailments and poisons. 

“There are large burials of Angmar and Dunnish warriors scattered throughout the west, thousands of men. It is said, and I believe, that they are undead and wait for their revenge when called forth. Now, here is where it becomes uncertain. These wraiths and wights were cursed to this state by the Witch-King of Angmar, largely during his service to Sauron. He is dead. His ring was destroyed, but these spirits remain. I killed one two years ago trying to reach us. There are other powers, neither foul nor fair, that await summoning. That must never happen.”

An older man, bald but with long hair around the sides that was woven into his beard said softly, “I know of such things, but my friends do not know of the wizards. I rode with Falmür near the Gap when Dunlending militias joined us against Helm’s Deep before the war. Nothing came of the engagement but they told stories of fell graves in the south of their lands that no man of reason would visit. If Nag Kath believes it, I do as well.”

Nag Kath took advantage of their silence to continue, “I believe I was invited to your service, though I can find no one to confirm that this was not an invention of my confusion. I encouraged the Bror to stop his brother from invading the west. He would not let me leave before he confirmed, and thankfully destroyed, most of the Frûnzal’s infantry. I was sent to a comfortable confinement where I met a man who called himself Orlo.” The Elf paused to gauge reactions. Seeing none he continued, “We were in each other’s company for three of nine days and he told me much of Gelansor and the views of right-living. He was retired from building fishing boats and held hostage against a family debt.

“Again, I can not seem to give you a plain story; the garden in which we stayed did not exist. When I returned I found an abandoned horse ring. The walls were in ruins. I drew sketches of Orlo’s hut with a porch and rails that had never been there. He had a helper who seemed real but was not, or was confused as I was. The man may have also been of your order and I hope you will tell me when I deserve that trust. Here is a drawing I made of Orlo.”

Nag Kath passed the picture around the table. They all had the same reaction, a long look followed by no recognition. The older man was to the Elf’s right and got the picture last. He gave it the same study but something stuck. Nag Kath would remember that. 

“It would have taken power to create that glamour, power greater than mine. I did not sense malice. I returned to service in the west but there were enough things wrong in my mind to draw me back. It was a test as well. I needed the wit and courage to return. Perhaps I flatter myself, but I know enough of confusion spells to know I was taken like a greenbottom in the marketplace. I would dearly like to meet this fellow again.”

Mr. Tan asked, “You are here for more than that, though.”

“Yes Ghur Zielthur Orlo, the man, may help me keep fell spirits from rising again. I am here to discover if the people you call the Visitors have any real power or they are trading on past glory to exhort ordinary armies.”

The last man to speak was the one who had heard of him but had little common-tongue. Nag Kath recognized this as the speech of the Haradrim from experience on the aqueduct. He spoke gently but his voice was resonant and vital. “I heard tell of you from the water. You healed our sick and praised our labor.” The man spoke quietly to the young man briefly for translation and continued, “You have destroyed an army to the north. In my lands there are many young men who tire of farming and toil without notice.” He stopped to speak to his neighbor again. No one filled the pause.

Finally, the younger man spoke for him. “Harad is fertile in sons. A man is judged by his family and sons. There is the next army.” 

Satisfied it had been said the old man finished, “You are counsel to Elessar. Many will seek your death.”

If any expected that to dissuade him, Nag Kath smiled and said, “I fear so. While I am here, I need to know how to confound these Visitors in their nest.”

Mr. Brown wanted to speak with his people and thanked the Elf for coming. Gelansor started in two days so decisions would have to wait. 

Nag Kath left the room wondering just how much they knew about either the apparition of Orlo or the operations of the Visitors. The old boy knew more than the others. This would all have to be done with finesse. These people were on his side. Things always revealed themselves. He was more Elvish than he knew.

That afternoon the powerful woman saw him sitting by the pond and joined him. For such a large figure she sat gracefully and said, “I am a healer also. Perhaps we can discuss that while you stay. I am Nenwûla of the Viersh.”

“I am honored Nenwûla of the Viersh. Anything I can learn to help those in need is welcome. Are you of the school of kneading soreness from the body?”

She said, “I am, though with herbs and the occasional drawing. We were not appreciated here so there are few.”

Nag Kath told her of the good and bad in his experience. “Your talent in body kneading, how does that ease distress?”

She brightened, “We call it Fanzhic. I do not know for immortals such as yourself, but for men and women, tension and waste builds in muscles. This loosens them so they can be expelled. Certain nerves and veins can also be constricted. Learning takes so long because we must not harm them in relief.”

She cocked her head, “You said your service was more of drawing.”

He smiled, “Yes, that is probably the same as women like you. I am not very good. Remedies take me time to recover. Wise healers teased me that I do not know my limits. Alas, I had more practice than I should have liked with the fevers of Osgiliath. I have some skill in birthing.”

She giggled, “Men usually do not offer such care. It makes them nervous.”

“Men fear what they cannot control. They bluster for excuses but the bringing of life belongs to women. Now, what recitals will you share?”

“Recitations are said alone Nag Kath.”

“Oh, for some reason I thought they were aloud.”

“You are thinking of the men practicing. They compete in fellowship to improve. Women practice theirs alone, though, I suspect some may assist each other privately. I have a good memory and the texts are quite short.”

Nag Kath tried to keep the amusement off his face. “My imaginary friend said he tried to remember his but sometimes needed to review. He also said that younger men would write their own.”

Nenwûla paused with concern but regained her humor saying, “He must have been teasing. It would be silly to rewrite that which is known.”

Nag Kath walked back to his room thinking; ‘that old devil!’

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath lay with his hands behind his head trying to remember every word of the old boat-wright. There were nuances layered on others. He had a good memory too but it was getting stale. His education began in earnest when a man stood at the jamb of his open door. People here were soldiers of right-living. This man was a soldier anywhere. He said in rough Westron, “Let us speak.”

The Elf slipped into his boots and followed him to the pond. The fellow looked about thirty, so too young for the ring war. He was taller than most of these short people and had scars on both hands and under his chin that the beard could not hide. He was an officer, no error.

The man said without preamble, “I am Shelturn. I was instructed to explain how the Visitors fight.”

Shelturn veered off the path and walked to a stone table with benches on either side for outdoor eating. They sat across from each other. The Elf got the impression that his instructor was not entirely pleased with his errand. It might be that tough men of the wilds did not like or like being seen with pretty men. Shelturn asked, “What do you know of their soldiery?”

“Nothing. My only experience was with a camp preacher. He was young. Nothing about him said he could swing a sword.”

“That is what we call a Ghorandul. They are sent to existing troops.”

Nag Kath said, “Well let me ask you this; Frûnzar had about fifteen hundred foot soldiers ready to cross and another four hundred cavalry fording above to secure the landing. How many of these Ghoranduls would have been there?”

That was a more soldierly question than Shelturn was expecting from the pale girl/man. He had been told nothing of the blood on those elegant hands. It deserved a considered answer, “Five to ten, plus the Richtren near the general.”

The Elf mulled that and said, “I think that one died, else the other men would have turned on him after the defeat.”

Now that this northern creature had earned some grudging respect, they spoke for an hour about structure, weapons, tactics and quickening. It seems the Visitors had small army units of their own as well as training counselors and spies for distant warlords. 

Nag Kath was completely ignorant about these lands after the One Ring. In the west, stragglers of enemy powers were efficiently killed or brought to terms, like in Dunland. The northern Easterlings were a model of organization since the new Bror brought enough men back to secure the population. 

But inside Mordor and two hundred miles around the open end of the mountains, the slaughter was worse than the war. After thousands of years of abuse and oppression, released slaves, dirt-farmers and survivors fell on each other and returning orcs like wargs for what little was left. It was only in the last five years that the warlords came to grudging accommodation with each other over borders and water. It was a hard life, perfect for an order to cultivate bilious ambitions of men who had always taken what they wanted.

Nag Kath asked Shelturn, “Where is their lair and how do I destroy it?”

The soldier became haughty, “That is not for your pale ears.”

The Elf stared at him for a moment. He was naturally patient. He had been so in Rhûn and here too. But it was time to dispense with his farm-boy charm and state matters in terms they could understand. Shelturn gasped and tried to wrench invisible hands from his throat. An instant later he was flung headlong into the smaller pond. Nag Kath left him submerged for half a minute and then hauled him back at his feet, a combination of Flor’s lover and the fish-wight spells.

In his best Elf Lord voice, “Tell me where or next time I leave you under.” He was not a hairless pleasure boy. And if these people had sorceries of their own, they could explain those at the same time.

All Shelturn got out at first was pond water. Then he managed, “I will speak to the Ghurate.” With such dignity as he could muster, the soldier rose and walked back to the buildings.

Nag Kath skipped dinner. At the end of the day, Mr. Brown poked his head in the open door. “We never had a choice, did we?”

“No.”

“Let us get through Gelansor. Then we will talk.” He started to leave and returned to say, “Thank you.”

_____________------_____________

The three days went smoothly. Nobody looked at him more suspiciously than they had so the dunking must have stayed quiet. Most people kept to their quarters but there were public lectures and small meetings during the off-hours. He saw Shelturn once but neither spoke. He saw Nenwûla of the Viersh twice. That felt staged. She was sweet on him. Others nodded and bowed, often smiling but usually trying to remember their verses. Elf ears heard backsliding on the joining of man and wife. It colored his wakeful rest.

The morning after the observance, the young man of the council found Nag Kath sitting by the small pond. He was sketching the hills to the north. New trees had waited an age to embrace the sky. They were still short but held so much promise. Had Radagast or the Ents come here out of pity?

The Elf rose before he was addressed and followed the Ghur back to the office. The same people were there and two new ones. On the left was a short, wiry fellow with close-cropped gray hair and light-brown skin. He wore robes of Harad, maybe the south part as Nag Kath remembered the Mumikil crews. To the right was a woman nearing forty whose face showed both beauty and sadness. She had fine features in the eastern tradition, wrapped head to foot in a tan robe with hints of color beneath. Nag Kath sat without taking tea.

Mr. Brown said, “Nag Kath, I am sorry we forced your hand. It was probably for the best. Sometimes it is hard to imagine that such as you still exist. We are agreed that if you wish to deal with the Yvsuldor, we will aid.”

The Elf asked tentatively, “Yvsuldor?”

“It is hard to pronounce for your race. Visitors are what we call the emissaries. Their base is at the west end of the Nûrnen Sea, where three rivers empty. That is the best farmland in Mordor and so it is where they command.”

For two hours they talked about how to get there, the approaches, the size of the garrison, their financial support and dozens of other logistical items. In many cases, the Ghurate admitted they did not know or offered their best guess. Nag Kath asked, “Who is in charge?”

The new woman spoke for the first time in a soft, clear voice, “His name is Nulvanash. He has been their leader for twelve years, a soldier who came up through the ranks. He is a ruthless man and does what he wants.” She took a sip of tea. This was hard for her to say. “Nulvanash may show mercy or compassion. If he changes his mind, it is terrible. There are a dozen men near him every hour and two companies of thirty as permanent guards. They cannot be bribed.”

Nag Kath knew she had learned this the hard way. They would speak privately. It was time for the essential question, “What manner of sorcery does this Nulvanash command?”

The woman, as yet unnamed, explained, “He holds a ring. It is plain and gold. He wears it at all times. It is said to have powers of old, of the days when fell lords demanded all.”

The Haradrim asked, “Now that you know of their defenses, what hope have you of taking it?”

Nag Kath said with the faintest touch of whimsy, “I intended to be invited.”

_____________------_____________

Now that he had answers, everyone was surprised at how patient their guest became. He studied, practiced archery, attended some of the smaller lectures and even a few of the larger hall congregations. His Plainstongue improved but the more common tongue here was Variag (Khandian) so he mostly listened to that. And he sought an audience with the mysterious woman of the meeting.

It could not be granted because she did not live there. She had come from Lhûg during Gelansor when answers were needed. He would go to her if someone would arrange the introduction. Four days later, he was told he would be received the next day. Charlo had had enough right-living. After better than a week in a small paddock; he wanted to run. And run they did. 

Her name was Chûran and she lived in a private home on the western edge of the town. A small, dark maid cracked the scrolled peep door and then opened the main door without a word. He was expected. She showed him into the main room and gestured for him to sit in an upholstered chair that sank so low his knees point at the ceiling. Hot tea arrived. A few minutes later she came down the stairs. He had to catch himself thinking she was Eniece. The woman was smaller but proportioned the same, her hair almost black but showing red highlights. She was still covered from neck to feet but with fewer layers. Chûran bowed before sitting in a matching chair to his side.

In the same, lyric accent of the meeting she said, “You seem distracted, Mr. Kash.”

“Forgive me, you reminded me of my wife.”

“She waits for you at home?”

“I am afraid not.”

The woman blew across the rim of her mug and set it down without sipping. “How can I assist my friends?”

“You have experience of Nulvanash.” It was a question.

There was the smallest trace of a smile. It changed her face completely. “I do. I was among the tribute girls taken when I was sixteen. I came from a village on the Sirlish, this side of the Nûrnen. The warlord of Furnar Durosh chose others for his needs and the rest of us were given to junior officers. Mine was Nulvanash. He kept me and used me when he wanted.

“As his power grew, he chose to work quietly. Rather than command armies that fought and often lost, he would advise and bring other tyrants to his thinking. The ruler of the Furnar Durosh had an unfortunate accident and Nulvanash was elevated to his position. His men invested two neighboring districts including the capital city at the three river delta. I was taken to oversee new girls coming as tax from those with nothing else.”

Her tea was cool enough to sip. She delicately touched her lips with an embroidered cloth and seemed lost in her thoughts. Nag Kath spoke gently, “And now it is you who are distracted, my Lady.”

Her eyes cleared and she offered the same tiny smile, “I am sorry. I fear your memories are more pleasant than mine. After a few years, he grew tired of me. I expected to be passed among his captains for their own pleasure so I went away one night with a few mementos of our time to help soften my new life. I hope you are not shamed to be in my company, Mr. Kash.” 

“Not at all. The lady of whom I spoke had much the same befall her. Lords on both sides of the river have their way.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kash. That was kind. Now, what plans for my old keeper?”

They spoke for an hour. She told him of the spy who lived only a few blocks away. The man certainly knew of her but not her past. Before they parted, Nag Kath took his sketch pad and had her describe both Nulvanash’s face and his ring. The face took quite a while but the ring was a simple gold band like the description of the One Ring in the Red Book. He asked her, “Do you know of a jeweler who can fashion a ring like his?”

“I do.”

Nag Kath placed a gold Florin in her hand and said, “It is better that you place the commission. I will take lodgings in the town and return as my plans develop. Will you help me set a trap for the spy?”

That netted a better smile, “Oh yes.”

_____________------_____________

Chûran visited the jeweler the next morning. He was not the most prestigious but he was discreet. That mattered in a land where a woman’s jewelry was her dowry. A plain ring like this should pose no trouble. She even brought a ring her master wore on the same finger of his other hand for sizing. It would not take that much gold so the craftsman’s payment would be what was left of the coin. It should be ready to inspect in two days.

Nag Kath took a room in a different inn nearer to the spy. He was not a Visitor. His sympathies were for hire. Ureano was a merchant. Part of his inventory was secrets. He plied the road from Eastern Khand to Eastern Mordor. In that luckless land, the power, army and orcs had always been concentrated on the Gondor side. Out here, they grew the food and made the weapons. By some astonishing piece of luck, the Nurnen had edible fish, though the water was foul tasting. Sauron allowed rain to fall and sun to shine for grain to feed his troops.

Here in Khand, rulers had their own plans. Having avoided sending every soldier to the fiasco on the Pelennor, Khanate borders were largely as drawn centuries before. Men like Ureano knew what people liked in both places.

Nag Kath was slightly surprised that the Khagan of Upper Khand had no political connections in Mordor. Traders like Ureano were a good way to send discreet messages and it was understood that the man would share any hostile intentions towards Khagan Yigresh, that or large soldiers would see how long his innards stretched. Both sides played to win.

The Elf kept an eye on the merchant’s home but he was not there. A servant left to market with a shadow as he visited the different stalls. The man got very little food suggesting he did not have to prepare anything for a returning master that day. When he stopped for tea and a pipe, Nag Kath had a look around Ureano’s house. It never hurts to know what kind of spices someone likes. A woman came in with her own key so it was a short visit.

Nag Kath took the long way to see Chûran the next day. He was not followed. The maid received him and he was shown a taller chair with hot tea coming. The woman herself was in the food preparation area. Like all better homes, the cook stove was outside and everything else for meals was done just inside. 

She seemed more relaxed, though her movements were still deliberate and exact. Were those the motions of a slave who must never disappoint? “I have ordered the ring. It should be ready to view tomorrow, Mr. Kash.”

“Just Nag Kath.”

“Just Nag Kash.” Her common tongue was fair but there are some sounds not all Khandian speakers master. Chûran’s accent was a mix of western Khand and the Plainstongue of the unfortunate men who lived in Eastern Mordor.

He was gentle, “I need to ask some very specific questions. If you feel they are too personal, let me know.”

She touched her lips with the delicate cloth and said, “Nag Kash, I have nothing personal. I find solace, that is the word, solace, in right-living. I am not always worthy. You ask what you must know and I will tell, yes?”

The Elf was touched. He started slowly, “Tell me what powers the ring gives him, oh, and what is his title?”

“He is called many things but Assured is shortest. He uses the ring for cruelty and to make examples. I left only two years after it came to him so there may be other uses now. I think not. He is a simple man." Again she touched the napkin to her inviting lips, “He can give pain. He can make himself seem larger, except where, well, that is not important to you. His voice can be made low and loud and shake men’s ears. I have heard from someone in a position to know that he also ages slowly, looks like he did when I left, like your, uhmm …” She pantomimed sketching. “That is not the way of Herduiq men. The person also said he has grown heavier. That is also not their way.”

Nag Kath asked, “May I call you Chûran? I do not know how to address women in your land.”

She said demurely, “That is fine.” Brightening, “It is a pretty name. My sister was not so fortunate.”

“Yes, pretty. How does the ring affect the people around him?”

“They fear it. No, they fear him. The ring is of the man. There is also something strange. Chûran knitted her delicate brows slightly, “Nulvanash was never wanting of possessions, power always, but not things. Since he wears the ring, he wants only gold.”

Nag Kath’s face slowly broke into his notorious grin. That became a belly-laugh. Chûran was shocked at first but then realized it was not something she had done wrong. She folded her hands in her lap and waited until her guest was composed. “This is good, yes?”

“I think so.”

__________------_________

He rode back to the retreat that afternoon. Several times along the way, he broke into gales of laughter that had even Charlo concerned. Gandalf told him the nine rings of power were all in Sauron’s possession after the Nazgul were enslaved. Either they were destroyed with him or lay under ten thousand tons of rubble at Barad Dûr. 

The three Elf rings were safe. Gandalf let him wear Narya in Orthanc once. The old wizard said it was slowly losing its power. He would return it to Lord Cirdan when he left.

But there were seven Dwarf rings. The legend goes that four were incinerated by fire-drakes in their wars on the mining kingdoms. Another probably fell into Sauron’s hands through Thorin Oakenshield’s father during his imprisonment. Two were unaccounted for, maybe more if the dragon yarn was spun drinking ale. 

Love of gold and getting fat? The Assured had a Dwarf ring! Nag Kath never asked what those did. The rings of men gave them great powers an addiction that brought them to the dark lord like lambs to the slaughter. Dwarves were said to be unaffected by Sauron’s call because they are so contrary and hard to instruct. They did get greedier which led their bearers to ruin none the less. All of the rings were made for specific peoples. A man with a Dwarf ring would have limited sorcery and might still become a wraith like the Smeagol creature. Perhaps he would just live a long time as Sauron’s remaining rings slowly cooled.

Nag Kath was in a good mood when he took Charlo to the stable. The next morning he asked to speak to Mr. Sûhl of the braided hair and beard privately and to Misters Tan and Brown together. Then he wanted a word with Nenwûla of the Viersh.

Sûhl, no Mister needed, was feeding birds near the larger pond. Nag Kath sat next to him. One of his flock was a duu crow, called crebains among the Elves. Those were the birds Saruman used. It might be several lives of men before he believed they were not listening. Nag Kath said, “You, among all who have seen the picture of Orlo, remembered something.”

“I thought so, but it was not there.”

“All people see something familiar at first but then it fades. I think it is because everyone sees him in their own way, as he wants to appear or as we imagine him.”

The man looked at the Elf and then back to the birds waiting for stale loaves. He crushed a handful and tossed it. “That is possible. You are the first sorcerer I have known as such.”

Nag Kath continued, “In your learning and travels, has there ever been a friend to your order, or people like you going back to olden times, someone who appeared at need or at just the right time?”

“Many times, I should think. Most were known then or stayed to become known. Right thinking has come and gone for hundreds of years at a time. Something brings it back. You are thinking more of a person who came and went?”

“Yes, like a rainstorm in fire. He may have led men against a foe when hope was lost.”

“Let me think about that, young man. I will ask the others. May I see your picture again?” Nag Kath took it from a front pouch. “Hmmm, it is a wise face that seems to be hiding a jest. I will also consider those I have met only once but deserve remembrance.”

Sûhl had another stale loaf to crumble so the Elf left him to it and visited the Misters. 

“How were your conversations with the Lady, Nag Kath?”

“Productive, Choran, and humbling. I see in her and in all of you just how spoiled I am. Men should be humble. Did you have a chance to make inquiries?”

Khilestrû answered, “We did. Answers will take longer. There is word that Hurm Rydovosh to the Visitors’ south has been making trouble for them. Nulvanash will have spies stirring foment among his men and among Aômul’s men above the Nurnen. It may keep him busy.”

Nag Kath said, “I will often have questions that no sane person would ask but I have my reasons. Has there ever been a legend of a gold hoard inside Mordor? If not, somewhere nearby?”

The men looked at each other and decided the Elf was not a treasure hunter. Zielthir answered, “Now that you mention it, Sauron was said to have a trove well away from his tower, absurd when you think about it because Barad Dûr was where he kept everything else. Most of that burned to ash in the reckoning. No gold was found.”

Nenwûla had just finished pummeling a poor man to jelly when Nag Kath rounded the corner. Hanvas Tûr was ostensibly a place of healing. There were physical healers like Nenwûla and those who dealt in herbs and diet. Others were counselors for men and women who could not forget the horrors of this sorry land. Those were fading now that Khand was stabilizing but people still woke in the night. Since most folk would not travel for such remedies, the retreat was known but ignored. Not all who came sought right-living. 

She put a towel over her shoulder and walked to him as he said, “Tell me of your training in herbs.”

The pummeled man was her last patient so they wandered to where they had sat before. The woman told him of the local herbs and weeds and roots and what they did.

He was looking for something worse. “Have you any skill with spells and herbs combined?”

Repeating her catechism, “Those are not used for healing.”

“I know.”

Oh! This was distressing! The woman had shown inductive healing skills in her youth. Mother kept those buried. With her brawn and sensitivity, she might be accepted at the Sisters of Viersh. Those skills paid with copper, not with swords! Mother was gone and she had completed her training. Occasionally she would heal by induction now. 

What this creature suggested was witchcraft! What possible right-living comes of that? But he was a witch, if the story of him soaking Shelturn was half true. Would she be drawn into fell sorcery and lose all? Oh dear! He was here at the invitation of the Ghurate so she would listen first.

The Elf saw her consternation. No good had ever come from what he contemplated. How was this different? “I see your trouble. I want to know if you have ever used a binding spell on common foods or spices?”

That was a relative simple answer; she hadn’t and didn’t know how. Nag Kath spoke a list of foods found in Dale. None came to mind but it may be because of the name rather than the plant. She would look. Nenwûla was still upset. Nag Kath had some right-living of his own to do, “I am sorry for disturbing you. And I know that such things are very hard for dreams of a family.”

The big woman was even more distraught. “I do not have such troubles, Nag Kash. I was sent to the Sisters because I am large. Men of these lands like their women small and slender. What man would look at me with tender eyes?”

The Elf sincerely said, “I should think any man would be proud to be your husband, that you would comfort him and ease the pain of his honest labors with love.”

No one had ever said such things to Nenwûla of the Viersh. 

When her face stopped looking like she would cry he added, “Do not think so meanly of yourself. Not all men are shallow and vain. Probably some here today can see the truth of that. Do not be troubled by my questions, but if you discover any of the things I seek are the same by the names you call them, you can help.”

Nenwûla fought through to smile and said she would try. On his way back to the room he wondered if the smiling Northman Richas Tolvern had a sore neck. He was getting as bad as Tal!

__________------_________

After another day of plotting, Nag Kath rode back to Lhûg. Chûran’s maid had found him rooms by the month from a man who owned several apartments. Inns were public with obvious doors and people noticing at all hours. His place had two rooms, neither big, and the lock could be picked with a piece of wire. It did have a vacant apartment across the hall. Nag Kath slipped in and unlocked the window in case he needed another way in or out.

Chûran opened the door herself as the maid was marketing at this time of day. She had new colors draped around her and for the first time, he saw her feet in slippers with a clever cord separating her big toe from the others. 

She opened a clean white cloth to reveal a gold ring. Chûran had the jeweler add more mass to the piece. That cut into his profit but it needed to be a specific size. The new casting had not been ready until this morning. Nag Kath could not know if the Visitor’s ring had visible runes inside the band.

It was hard to tell if the mysterious woman was enjoying this. She seemed more alive than in the dour meeting. She smiled. Her face was no longer the mask of perfection it must have been but she was still beautiful. The Elf did wonder if she was helping in righteousness or if she wanted to see her former master suffer. The first was admirable. The second could only lead to bitterness. She did not say. He did not ask.

Ureano was back. He spent the afternoon unloading two donkeys at a tinsmith and counting his groats. Ureano worked for cash or barter. He returned home for dinner and then left in good light to a tavern and smoking hall in the better district. It was hard for a tall, pale blonde to lurk unobserved but he did see the man greet an assortment of acquaintances before sitting with another businessman. The Elf burned both men’s faces into his mind to draw later. 

The idea quickening in his mind would take a while to develop so he needed to find an excuse for being here.

Until yesterday, he thought of the Visitors as a wandering sect with a central hive. If so, the beating they took on both sides of the Celduin would lose the ears of practical villains seeking an advantage. The council explained this Nulvanash fellow was a warlord with a standing army to protect some of the best grain-land in Mordor. He was already the leader of his district when he came by the ring and used it to consolidate the lands between the lower two rivers of the delta. Friends of friends put it at fifteen hundred foot and two hundred fifty cavalry terrorizing about five thousand inhabitants. 

It was not perfect, though. Aômul was Hurm (Ruler) of the Nûrn lands between the middle and upper rivers and most of the north coast of the huge lake. That meant he also controlled the east/west road. Scant trade was allowed after the Hurm sent back the heads of three Visitors in a crate of whisker-fish.

Then there was Nargil. They were between the next two drinkable rivers on the southern bank with the southern road into Khand. There was also a low pass to the lower desert for trade and an escape route if Hurm Ryduvosh was squeezed hard enough. Nulvanash had hostile neighbors north and south.

Nag Kath asked about hereditary and blood relations between the tyrants. Mr. Tan smiled before saying, “No, and that is the problem. Men of that land were slaves, some higher than others but all borne of cruelty and fear. One day, all the orc masters dropped dead leaving the food for those willing to take it. Having never known better, the most vicious rose to the top. Here in Khand, we were allies and paid our tribute to Sauron but were too far away with too few places for orcs to hide. The families who ran things still do, for the most part. In Mordor, rulers come and go in blood and fire, as they always have. 

“And that, Nag Kath, is the difference. Those between here and the Rhûn would make our land enough for us because we have always wanted that, in spite of the foulest sorceries. In Mordor, they know no better. And now Nulvanash has gained an ancient power and seeks to wield it. You see our concern.”

The Elf understood all too well. He asked, “Tell me, wise council, does the Assured have any friends?”

“The man of Harad said, “Certainly not, but Brulthed of the east sea seeks primacy over his neighbors just as Nulvanash succeeded in the west.” He spoke to the young man to test his wording, which seemed fairly good to the Nag Kath’s ears. “His district has Visitors openly in their midst. If Nulvanash takes all of the Nûrnen, he can only look our way.” The man took a long pull of cool tea and continued, “In my lands, several of the Chelkar satrapies have his poison in their ears. The Hûk is old and his son is not clever, so men look to themselves. Visitors get there over the pass at Kupshe.”

Now he had to ask the opposite question, “Who are our friends and what kind of army can be raised?”

Khilestu said grimly, “There is where we fail you, Nag Kath. No ruler here, there or below lives right. We have men among soldiers and merchants and farmers but cannot raise a force. Tribal rulers will fight against their like but no one cares about the Yvsuldor spies unless it threatens them. Even when men fear that ring, they are not scared enough to join together and risk their own skins.”

The Elf held his chin in his hand until the silence was almost crushing. Then he slowly said, “I apologize to you all. I have thought only of myself. Somehow I thought myself right above all others. My coming was to deal with those trying to harness dark powers again and I did not consider you. Through arrogance I have your ear but I have not bent mine to hear what you see for yourselves. That has cost me dear before. Would each of you tell me the world you want?”

Nenwûla went first, “I want children not to cringe when they hear hooves.”

Sûhl said, “I would not have women taken. Wives are friends.

The young man, whose name was Prentivand, said, “I would see a man keep what he earns. Yes, there must be tax, but if he grows or makes or takes fish from the sea, it is his.”

Mr. Tan was next around the table. All could see he was thinking and the right-living people let him speak in his own time. The man licked his lips and said, “Want is a two-edged sword. I agree with young Prentivand that a man should keep what he earns. But that must not apply to taking what others have. That is not earned. It feeds into how Mordor seethes and grows and festers!” The man’s blood was high. 

Chûran was not here. She was a witness and not of the council. The Haradrim who came to the second meeting said, “I say as the others, lo I fear that right-living will not contain this plague.”

It was finally Khilestu’s turn, “I would see all of this but never will if we do not strangle the Yvsuldor in its crib. Nulvanash does not grow old. He will wear down his neighbors and then come for all the world. I am not here for what I want. I am here for what we need, and I would rather die fighting than begging for mercy. Nag Kath, what do you need?”

The next day they would meet again to discuss bringing men and means to bear. Nag Kath decided to keep what he thought he knew about the ring to himself for now. He would hold ‘The Fast’ in reserve too. No one here should rely on that. 

After the meeting, he sought Shelturn. The man was at the stable replacing a bridle strap that had frayed. He looked up as the Elf sat next to him on a straw bale but then looked back at his work, saying nothing. Nag Kath started, “I am sorry about the pond.”

The man concentrated on forcing the leather through the ring. A minute later it was far enough in that it would not slip. Then he said without looking up again, “I suppose I should thank you for not drowning me.”

“That was not a risk. I needed to get their attention and you were the toughest man I could find, except maybe for a big Northman here for Gelansor.”

That was a joke. Shelturn tried not to smile but eventually failed. “I have seen him. Good man in a scrap, I’ll wager.”

Nag Kath said, “I am going to need good men in a scrap. I also need a soldier who understands such things. Can we shake hands and work in fellowship?”

The bridle was ready to be stitched. Shelturn finally looked at the Elf and reached his hand. “Aye, I can do that.” He shook his head and got the same small smile again. “Most here are Teüchir, learned ones. Three in ten are women. Some men have borne arms but that pays better than many things so men seldom leave soldiery by walking.”

Nag Kath considered carefully before saying, “I was born a soldier. We never really walk away.”

The next day in council was for organizing. He asked what skills those of right-living had here and in their sister retreat in the north. Shelturn would be his chief of staff. The maps they found were in a sorry state so a man was deputized to combine the little ones into one large one that could lay on a table. He told them he had about fifty Florin squirreled in his gear. That was a boggling sum in the shadow of Mordor. Khans probably had that much in pocket money but they did not share.

Nag Kath could not stay here. He was unique and people would notice him riding the magnificent horse from the city to nowhere and back. He decided he would hide in plain site. It was time to use the Bror’s little ring. 


	25. Pulling the Strings

** **

** _Chapter 25_ **

** _Pulling the Strings_ **

Emond tûl Yigresh, Khagan of Upper Khand, wiped his lips with a pristine cotton cloth and dropped it on the floor. It would be used again, but not by him. The lamb had been prepared properly. He nodded to the servers who removed the assorted plates, bowls and goblets in moments. Then he rose and walked down the hall to his private study. 

His Vishtuun was standing by the desk. The Khagan nodded and the man sat. Yigresh was not as staid as his famous grandfather who made all in his presence stand. He didn’t like looking up at them. The Vishtuun summarized the day’s agenda which included meeting with the Purse, a pair of Khans who could not agree on a parcel of land left on the other side of a stream after it changed course in a storm and the disposition of a concubine of second son who had not conceived. It was a light schedule. The Vishtuun began to rise and sat down again, “Something new, Excellency. The Bror of Rhûn has been in contact. He offers to send an emissary and retinue to pay their respects in hopes of discussing subjects of mutual benefit.”

Yigresh himself wondered that they might have more to do with each other. The world had changed. This was the age of large countries. His was a large country. District satraps paid obeisance but they were notoriously independent. That was fine until someone like Dulgov pointed all his shaggy horses south now that he didn’t need them defending against his new friend the Elessar. A Rhûnic army would have starved coming here without his revered fathers lifting a finger, but with the Dark Lord gone, more rain created enough forage to reach the desert unless he burned it. And now the new Bror, a man his own age with grown sons, recently disposed of a brother who thought too highly of himself. Yes, we know such things down here. The usurper had Visitors in his ranks too. 

Yes, Visitors! Mordor was the bigger problem. Those barbarians could not be reasoned with. They knew nothing of governance. More to the point, they had not respected his rule. Sending Nulvanash’s agitators back wrapped in drying rawhide made his point but the man had not seen the error of his ways. 

Yigresh looked at his Vishtuun and asked, “What does his Excellency have in mind?”

His man reported, “The letter simply read that a small contingent would visit to ask your Lordship’s views on closer relations. It was delivered by an advance rider with the correct seal for an emissary and his retainers now wait on the border for your Excellency’s approval.”

“Yes, let us hear what they have to say. Return the concubine to her family.” 

His capital of Ûbésêsh was nestled in the lee of the Ephel Duath’s southern tail. The former capital was in the deep desert but when Sauron’s power was complete, it became too hot and dry. This had been and still was the better Khaganate. The south was getting more rain too but only slightly. They also had smaller districts and poorer roads, little wonder Sauron never conscripted many. That was old news now. He walked into his receiving room to hear the complaint of land across some stream.

A month later, the modest retinue of the Broric Emissary arrived in Ûbésêsh. They rode the familiar woolly horses of the Easterlings except one with what must be a stolen Rohan mount. Their advance man purchased a modest compound near the river wall. This being only the Ambassador’s representative, he would see to property commensurate with higher station if closer relations were to the Khagan’s liking. Vishtuun Juegesh arranged for the man and two of his aides to visit the palace for lunch after the Observance of Wind and Sky three days hence. It would give them time to make themselves presentable.

The grandees arrived with no fanfare. The representative was a man of about forty and five, dressed in the fashion of Northmen after stewing in needless furs. With him were his secretary and a tall young northerling with typical dark, braided hair. This one had no beard, probably one of their mountain lads who shaved his face rather than display unmanly wisps. He cut his chin before coming.

They were shown before the Khagan in his receiving room and adjourned to a modest table for them and four of his Excellency’s men. After introductions and compliments, Juguesh asked the representative to explain the purpose of his visit. In passable Variag, Captain Lurgsh said, “Thank you for your warm welcome, oh Khagan of these noble lands. It is the hope of northern peoples that we can consult more often on matters that affect our new, wider world.”

Yigresh nodded congenially and replied, “We thank you as well for your long, hard journey. I welcome you on behalf of my people. Vishtuun Juegesh will act for me in preliminary matters that you might take back to honored Brother King Dulgov. I look forward to your progress." All rose with the Khagan and sat down after he left the room. 

Captain Lurgsh and the Vishtuun exchanged a single page of topics to be considered in four days time and adjourned after an excellent lunch of lamb, succulents and fruits. No alcohol was served, it still being light outside.

The Easterlings rode back to their quarters and handed their mounts to a groom waiting by the gate. Strangely, there were only eight people in the group, including a cook and the groom. No local people were retained. Everyone knew the Bror, like his father before him, was frugal, to put it charitably. Hopefully an official ambassador would have a more appropriate staff. Right-living was tested early when the Vishtuun offered to send women to make the men comfortable after their constraining journey. The intemperate Rhûns might appreciate the young lovelies of Khand. Such women had to be raised gently, not plucked from the dirt like turnips. 

Captain Lurgsh, hung his hat on a peg by the door and said, “I am starting to think this might just work."

Shelturn looked out of the real glass window and replied, “Well, we got here. Pretty place. I had no idea.”

Nag Kath looked out the same window and said, “It is nice. I wish I spoke more of your tongue. This Juguesh, he is a chamberlain in my parlance?”

“That but also a family retainer. Sulath thinks he will be impossible to bribe. He is probably a relative too distant to claim lordship but too close to survive a coup.”

The three men were joined by another and sat around the low table. Captain Lurgsh was actually Teüchir (Lorist) Lurgsh from Yhammâs Fruhir. He had been a corporal for two border skirmishes before tutoring waking rest for those who had suffered injuries of spirit. The Bror’s ring fit his third finger. They all hoped Dulgov would agree this was in a good cause, should it come to his attention. The secretary was Doruk Hennipas of Kelepar. He was forty eight and had been a government agent to the horse region before right-living found him. Hennipas arranged the Rhûnic horses and tack along with suitable clothing but his main purpose was understanding something of Dulgov's administration.

The other four men were runners who could shuttle into the wilds if needed. There were two agents already working quietly in Ûbésêsh. They had been here for years. The Ghurate took a great risk in making them available for this effort. Both Sulath and Delemantêsh were ordinary merchants by day, selling embroidered cloth and rope respectively. They would never visit the embassy. And they knew who everyone was in town. 

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath wondered that there really wasn’t an original idea in the plan. Western nations had exchanged ambassadors since the Elven Kingdoms. In the Sauronic world, those roles were filled by dark servants like the Yvsuldor and Worm Tongue or creatures who had considerable power of their own like the Nazgûl. When Sauron fell, native populations thought of creative ways to repay the dark lord’s minions, but they did not replace them with embassies of their own. The typical way to parlay without bloodshed was to meet at a border and leave if they could. There were still plenty of spies; independents like Ureano or dedicated men. Somehow, the Visitors had flourished. The Bror would have eyes down here as well. If discovered, they might have to be silenced, baffled or open to a comfortable retirement. Delemantêsh knew of one who fell firmly into the last category.

If Delemantêsh knew friends, Sulath knew Visitors. Sulath was the sort of man you would want behind you, larger than your average Khandian with a face no one remembered. He watched two Visitors closely; one was Lieutenant Nen in the Khagan’s Blood Lancers. He had earned the commission by being a hard, ruthless soldier, indistinguishable from his real employment. Lately he had been in charge of Second Son’s escort so he was not in the city for weeks at a stretch. Second Son, the presumptive heir, seemed the royal most open to persuasion by the men of the Assured.

The other Visitor was more senior. Zrev dated back to Nulvanash’s ascendance and was rumored to wield small sorcery of his own. The man had no visible means of support and lived well in a private home in the garden sector. Zrev had a pair of retainers who people avoided when they walked the streets. Despite his station, Sulath thought he might be getting soft on dark summoning after living in the capital long enough to appreciate luxury. If Sulath thought so, Lieutenant Nen would as well. He had his own career to consider.

_____________------_____________

Ûbésêsh was the most convenient base of operations. It was the largest city in the east at thirty thousand and quite astonishing, even by western comparison. Unlike much of the country, it benefited by strong rivers flowing from the mountains separating them from Mordor. Fountains and flowers and things unheard-of just to the west benefited those who deserved them. They saw no need to share them with the cross-eyed Mordorans. 

That worked well for the Righters too. This was closer to Nulvanash’s capital than Lhûg. Small commerce flowed both ways. That could include accurate or misleading information, depending on the need. Upper Khand was the only country besides Gondor that minted their own money. Numenorean-style coins worked just as well but the local merchants had been quietly exchanging some of Nag Kath’s Florins into small local sizes that would not attract attention.

The capital also gave Nag Kath a backdoor to the Nargil river which kept them from having to take the northern route into Mordor past warlords fighting for control of the tariffs. More importantly, the gap at Khûr Khand led to the land of Hûrm Ryduvosh. He was Nulvanash’s southern neighbor and not well disposed towards Visitors in his midst. The Nargil River formed the border between Nulvanash and Ryduvosh and also poured a great deal of clean water into the bitter Nûrnen Sea. Neither of them could bring large numbers of troops into the other’s land without boats and trees were scarce.

Before talks got very far between the northerners and Khandians, Captain Lurgsh claimed a mystery ailment of the digestion and was indisposed. Juegesh was in no hurry and had to leave with his Excellency in a week for his annual trip to the Temple of Kondri Hochi. He would be gone a month. The Righters knew that. 

Nag Kath and Shelturn slipped out the main gate the day after their leader’s distress and made southwest along the southern edge of the Ephel Duath pincer. The Elf was surprised at how green it was. They could see nothing but brown to their left but along the slopes was good grazing and thirty-year old trees fighting for light. If their path held, they would reach the town of Fich Shon in two days. To the right was the low pass into Mordor, the only real gap in the range. Their road was continuing along the south on the border of Harad with plans to cross at the Nargil Pass.

Both riders wore soldiers clothes. There were no uniforms here. In their bags were an assortment of patches for local militias if needed. Shelturn was mixed blood of Rhûn and Khand’s vast ill-defined border. He spoke the northerly Variag dialect so they usually bore the swatch of Khagan Yigresh’s capital troops, knowing full well if they were challenged, they would not get away by talking. 

After making-up for the dunking, the two got along well and discussed many things on their ride. Both knew little of each other’s world. Nag Kath did more of the talking because he had traveled a great deal of the west and the Dark Lord crushed as much local history as he could. Men from here knew far less of their heritage than westerlings. Much of the time was spent drilling the Elf in Variag since he might need a lot of it soon. 

For his part, Shelturn shared his layman’s knowledge of right-living, which seemed closer to Nenwûla’s than Orlo’s. The man had served the current Bror’s father as a Lieutenant of Infantry and later of cavalry as the Puklak horses were bred in numbers. A bad fall led to a slow recovery and he was replaced. He might have applied for another command but had had enough of taking farmers’ food waiting for the next war. When his brother’s widow confided that she felt better for the more western gods, he listened.

It was a good thing they rode well together because this would be a long trip. Their road took another ten days along the forest edge until they reached a small river flowing west at Bogath, a hardened frontier town on the Swerting border. If Nag Kath ever wondered what had happened to all the bugs that weren’t in inns to the west, he found them. The travelers nibbled their Lembas and had a mug of the local yellow beer, not a good match. From there it was another three days into Harad to cut the corner to a place called Ankaradan’s Lair on a river leading from some of the tallest peaks in the chain. Neither Ankaradan nor anyone else was here. It was one of the few passes where Haradrim in their thousands crossed into Mordor proper

This was the last stretch before skirting the southern range and making for the Nargil Pass. The grade reminded Nag Kath of the High Pass over the Mistys. They kept east of the Nargil River to avoid Nulvanash’s lands. A month to the day after leaving the Khagan’s capital, they stepped into the lands of Hurm Ryduvosh starting with the village of Kûl Tarkorûl.

Villagers scuttled into their homes or behind anything they could find when the two riders walked their horses along the trail. Since there were no soldiers, the Righters decided to take the afternoon at ease. Nag Kath found the local fish knew nothing of disguised hooks and he landed three big ones in a matter of minutes. They made camp and let the animals graze. 

A girl-child of about six had not been hustled into hiding and walked out to join the travelers on the river bank. Shelturn gave her a piece of Lembas bread. The lass reminded Nag Kath of Mirias, the miner’s daughter in Orthanc with a mop of dark curly hair and pale skin. She said nothing but nibbled her treat and did not run away. Nag Kath asked her name. She did not understand. Shelturn tried in Plainstongue and she said it was Gulda. 

Her parents had been frantically looking and saw her in the worst of all possible places; with soldiers. They had older children and should consider their fates before rescuing the baby. In the end, they came out to claim her. Her father called her from about fifty feet away but the child was much too interested in the cake. At thirty feet she heard him and turned still holding her Lembas with both hands. Finally the man came close, bowing and muttering obeisance. It took great bravery to overcome great fear. Shelturn pointed to the fish. The man took one in one hand and his daughter in the other back to his terrified wife.

So that is what it is to live in Mordor. Was the man’s courage the future of this land or was the terror? Probably both. 

With everyone fed, they worked their way north east hugging the peaks. Another day’s ride would take them to Hurm Ryduvosh’s capital of Nargil. That was not the goal. Nag Kath was looking for somewhere obviously in the man’s domain where Nulvanash had never been. It took a day of sniffing but he found it. These mountains had bred many of Sauron’s large draft-trolls, the older beasts that could not stand any daylight. Erosion of softer rock over the ages created natural tunnels and caves that went deep enough in to protect against deadly sun. He found a second cave to visit later.

Compared to the trolls above the Iron Hills Road, these lads were paupers. There was nothing they could have stolen in their day except gureeq and the occasional peasant for roasting. Shelturn lit a torch and they walked inside. It was just waste and bones. The Elf left several Florin worth of his oldest nippers and a silver goblet he bought in Ûbésêsh with a jewel from his original cache. The coins would be easily found if someone was seriously looking.

The cave was ten miles inside Ryduvosh’s territory, the perfect risk for the gold-obsessed Nulvanash thinking he had found Sauron’s hoard. All he need do was claim it, quietly if possible, in force if not. Nag Kath had plans for that.

It seemed an awfully long trip just to salt the mine but pure fantasy would not create the necessary lust. The Elf spent the rest of the day sketching every rock for a quarter mile along the southwestern face of the crags. The next morning, Nag Kath placed the jewel Thorin Stonehelm gave him a few years before just inside the second cave and stood over it for half an hour. Shelturn saw him turn silver in color and glow with a fierce light for a few minutes before he trudged back to camp. That was the first night Shelturn saw him sleep.

The trip back was like the trip there except they knew places to avoid. At the pass town of Fruud just inside Khand, two soldiers sauntered over trying to act important. It would be a shame to draw attention to themselves so close to their headquarters but soldiers with bad attitudes came with the territory. The uglier of them said something in Variag.

Shelturn said in the same tongue, “We are returning to the capital after taking a message to Vhir of Ala-Khand.”

He would tell the Elf afterwards that the man challenged, “Then you will have no trouble producing your pass.” Shelturn scratched his chin, the signal for trouble. The few people around had vanished. Just before the right-doing soldier pulled his sword, a shaft of pale yellow light shone from Nag Kath’s left hand into the faces of the soldiers. He murmured, “You need to tell them things are fine and that we are leaving." Shelturn did so. As the soldiers looked blankly at each other, the Righters climbed on their horses and rode at a good clip for an hour before slowing to their usual pace. 

It was only then the Shelturn said, “I wish I could have done that to my sister.”

_____________------____________

It was now late fall. Folk of wetter climes do not understand that deserts are not always hot, especially in the lee of the mountains. Temperatures vary widely from sun to night. Well bundled, they rode to within a block of their compound in the Khagan’s capital and tied the horses in front of a tavern. Nag Kath stayed with them as Shelturn quietly walked to the back gate and whistled. He got the right whistle back and retrieved the Elf and horses.

Things had gone well on this end. The restored Representative Lurgsh met twice with the Vishtuun to discuss issues of trade and troop-strength on their patchwork borders. Lurgsh had no opinions, and didn’t even know about the various side-agreements among the border satraps. He neither demanded nor ceded lands, explaining that was the Ambassador’s, and ultimately, the Bror’s prerogative. He was only here to show good faith. There were also vague aspirations of creating permanent embassies in each capital.

The pace would have maddened even the patient Nag Kath but this was brisk among southern peoples. Forms had to be observed. There were constant rituals honoring the fallen, the gods and, of course, the Khagan. The Khagan’s second son was in the city, he of the barren concubine, and the mood in the market was that it wasn’t her fault. He came to one of the meetings and left bored. 

Back at the embassy, Nag Kath felt it was time to spill the lentils. He explained his theory about the Dwarf ring. To his surprise, only Lurgsh knew anything about rings of power. The Elf had Gandalf’s own knowledge of their fate but it wasn’t that much different than what most free-peoples knew if they cared. Here; there was only oppressive power. How could its source matter? It took several hours of explaining and answering until the men realized they had royal cards still face down in their pile. The lure of gold would be irresistible to the Assured. Everything depended on the age-old saying, ‘you can’t cheat an honest man’. Fortunately, everyone on the other side was thoroughly corrupt.

Nag Kath’s plan was to create the impression that men of the Bror’s contingent were investigating knowledge of Sauron’s hidden trove from years of scholarship and recently uncovered documents along the Rhûn. One of the Nazgûl, possibly the Easterling Khamûl, had protected the treasure in troll caves along the southern Ephel near the Nargil River. Wards against their detection were fading. The first sorcerer to defeat them would reign supreme. 

The Elf thought to leave a little honey here and a little bile there until Nulvanash sent a troop into the wilds to verify claims. They would find the cave that had already been plundered leaving proof of riches. They could not enter the larger one secured with fouler spells. He hoped his confusion ward on a genuine Dwarvish artifact would hold until spring. The bait might even include other rings waiting for a man of vision.

Finding all of this could not be too easy. A suspicious man would smell the trap. Hints of the prize would trickle to Nulvanash’s capital Ûniarra Nûrn from previously reliable sources. The man would have no trouble sending a troop across the river to find the bait but the Assured would need to counter the wards of the larger cave himself.

Nag Kath counterfeited a crude treasure map on his cheapest, oldest paper. It took several tries to convert his accurate pictures of the hills to rough versions that were still identifiable. For the text; he spoke Black Speech but had no idea how to write it so he butchered enough Sindarin to make the points and drew the letters in the old style Frodo sketched of the heated ring in the Red Book. The map was a place mat on the dining table to spill tea and stew on for authenticity. With all of the twists and turns, the hope was that the Assured would have to return to Hurm Ryduvosh’s lands, in force, in mid-summer after the Hurm was alerted. Sullath made sure Rydovosh's local spy was heard the tale too.

It was time for Captain Lurgsh to conclude preliminary diplomacy and return to the Rhûn for consultations. He, Hennipas and Nag Kath went to see Vishtuun one last time for a farewell lunch after Delemantesh’s wife re-dyed Nag Kath’s tan hair roots. The meal was served in a hall Lurgsh hadn’t seen before in the extraordinary palace. Rooms all around it were done in white marble with exquisite mosaics on the floors. The walls of the reception room were decorated with the elegant writings of ancient times. It seemed the actual writing of them was as important as the message. Nag Kath stood in front of one for a long time before they left. Vishtuun Juegesh walked over and Lurgsh joined them a moment later. The writing was on an old, large piece of paper and had the large first letter of a word done in their ornate style. That was it. The steward explained that it had been drawn so perfectly that the calligrapher dared not complete the work lest the rest be unworthy. The tall Northman thanked him in his harsh tongue and thought of the Elf artist Danethiur knowing when to stop. 

Captain Lurgsh told the proud Vishtuun that they would maintain the home here in Ûbésêsh if his Excellency had questions or suggestions. The three representatives returned to the embassy and two days later four of them left to report to his Excellency Bror Dulgov.

_____________------____________

Following their own footsteps, they made Lhûg just before December. It was still warm when the sun shined but the men of Northern Khand and the Rhûn wore their furs. The party made their way to the retreat to explain the state of play and Nag Kath rode back to town two days later for a word with Chûran.

After he was admitted, she walked down her stairs and offered her hands to be kissed. That was a first. Her maid served and became scarce. Did Chûran take lovers? He hoped so, for her sake. This was all business. A pretense had to be created for the spy to report the merest supposition that great lords had designs on Sauron’s hidden treasure, warded by sorcery at the headwaters of the Nargil. The instigators were Easterlings who had just visited the Khagan, so, presumably, he was in on the plot. Their ears in the capital could not confirm it because the Khagan knew nothing of the sort, but that would not stop tongues from wagging.

Vibrant Flower, Ureano’s mistress, showed the long years of her trade and a fondness for Rhûric wine. It did not take much silver to pass a story along. The spy also had an informer in his ranks called Chigurn who kept his ear to the ground. The flower explained they had a falling-out recently. Destroying the Visitors would start at the down-and-out Chigurn’s favorite tavern the next time he came by a few coppers.

A drunken soldier wandered his way, first sitting and then laying on a merchant’s porch. By the time Chigurn reached him, the man was snoring like a Dwarf. Practiced fingers retrieved three fivers from the fellow’s pocket. However could they pay these simpletons so much? The brute probably leaned on honest people and it served him right to return the money to those he oppressed.

At the dive, Corporal Lurgsh and Grend Keldan of the retreat were dealing a new hand of Intur, the two-player version of Dukks, when Chigurn arrived. The little thief was a known card cheat. Reputable houses tossed him in the street. Others took their cut. Neither of the right-living men was very good at this game. Even better for Chigurn; Keldan poured the last of the wine beaker into his cup and looked around grandly for the wench.

“Intur is a poor game compared to full Dukks, gentlemen, do you need another?”

Lurgsh slurred, “We have a man coming.”

Keldan countered, “He should have been here an hour ago. Fellow can’t keep away from women!”

Lurgsh appeared to consider that gravely and growled, “Have a chair. You have to buy your own wine!”

Chigurn had no trouble skimming the men by barely winning most of the hands. The travelers kept their conversation to a minimum until Keldan outraged, “Where is he?! He had better not have kept that coin for himself!”

Lurgsh seemed unconcerned, “It is just a groat. Here, I have several!” The man clad as a merchant slipped his fingers in a buttoned vest pocket and tossed it on the table. “He has always been reliable, even if his brother is dougsh. If you ask me, fairy stories of Sauron’s gold are alehouse talk. Who could ever claim it anyway? Those Kelepar traders are having a jest at our expense.”

Chigurn lost a hand. “May I?” He picked up the coin and saw an old rune on one side. “Easterlings?” He handed the coin back.

“Aye, company of them” burp, “treating with Lord what’s his name. It is all a nonsense. Rulers have reasons enough to speak without rumors of sorcery.”

Chigurn lost another hand, slapping his cards down in mock frustration before leaning over the table and saying, “I thought such spells were over.”

Keldan helped himself to the new beaker and poured one for their guest to the aggravation of Lurgsh. “Some are just wearing down now, like in the west with the Mournshaws. Some men may still be able to counter them.”

Lurgsh pronounced, “I have no such powers, and you’ll not catch me anywhere near Narsil.”

Keldan corrected him, “That is a sword. This is a river. I’ll not go there either. There is money enough along the Desert Road!”

To his apparent surprise, Chigurn won a large hand. He spared them enough money for the next game saying, “Please excuse me, best of sirs, my lonely wife awaits. Perhaps we can do this again tomorrow?”

“Keldan yawned, “Can’t. Leave with the light. We should probably find a bed ourselves. Good evening sir.”

Fifteen groats from the drunk, nine from these men after paying the house, it was one of Chigurn’s best nights in a long while. More importantly, he had something for Ureano. The trader’s wilted flower would know where he was.

_____________------____________

The knock on the door was not who she wanted. “Good morning, Mr. Chigurn. Ureano is still away.”

“Good morning, Vibrant Flower. Do you know when he returns?”

After the last time, she would have told the loathsome creature not until the end of days. Today she said, “I expect three days, but you know that is not certain.”

“Tell him I have something important.”

The kept-woman replied, “This had better be. Your last effort was inaccurate.”

“Yes, well, this will make things right. He can judge that for himself.”

She smiled at him for the first time. “Very well, Mr. Chigurn, I will say you have important news. Your old lodgings yielded no answers after the last exchange.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, a disagreement with my landlord. He was not keeping the place to my standards.”

The Flower said, “I see. And where can you be found now?”

“Leave word at the Desert Sword. I am there often.”

Vibrant Flower felt a little more vibrant. She had done as the Rhûn told her and a silver to match the one she hid under her drawer was almost hers.

__________------_________

Ureano was back in four days. After bathing and spending time with his little Flower, he went to his usual tavern for wine and a smoke. A large, unsympathetic doorman had instructions not to let a long list of fellows inside, including Chigurn. The swindler waited outside but never got his opportunity. Hopefully the flower would plead his case.

Starting the conversation they hadn’t had several hours before she purred, “You are home early, dear man. Was the evening not to your taste?”

“Just tired. The road is losing its appeal.”

“I worry terribly when my one love is away so long.”

He doubted that but she knew what to do when he returned. “What news of Lhûg?”

“Nothing of note. There is a new tax on guests that has the innkeepers in confusion. Mr. Orthur’s old horse finally died. Oh, and Mr. Chigurn wanted a word.” She laid that on last with the least of concern.

Ureano said uncharitably, “Chigurn, eh? Did he bring my money back?”

“I am sorry to say no, my love. He did say it was important and would atone for his last, uhmm, inaccuracy.”

“What does the dougsh want?”

“He would not share such things with me. I was more concerned with keeping him from entering.”

The merchant was ready for more flowery attention, “Where is he staying?”

“He did not say but that he could be contacted at the Desert Sword. Now, you must tell me all about your trip.”

When summoned, Chigurn was not served tea. “What is it?”

His informer looked around the room until Ureano said, “Darling Flower, could you go see if Mr. Youngus has returned?”

“Of course. Perhaps I should do my shopping as well?”

Chigurn waited until the door closed. “I received news that the Easterlings are speaking with Khagan Yigresh about Sauron’s gold.”

“You waste my time with this?! I should have had you caned for your last falsehood!”

“Take your time, old friend. I got this from a pair of travelers in the garb of the Rhûn returning home. One showed me a coin with a symbol stamped on one side.” Chigurn won the coin but lost it in his next game. “The fellow said there were more. It sounded very dark.” The card-cheat was not supposed to know of the Visitors but he did, so he said softly, “It involves friends to the west.”

Ureano was only slightly impressed. Everyone had heard of the lost treasure of the Dark Lord. Some still dug until their hands bled under the great tower. All they found were orcs and rocks. “Where?”

“He said the Nargil but did not know where that was.”

“I need more than that, unless you pay the money you owe me for this foolishness.”

Chigurn needed to discourage that idea, “Ask among your friends. I will inquire of the merchants again and see what else they know.” The thief thought the men long gone, but he could sound earnest and let Ureano work his extensive contacts in the meantime.

The merchant had tea with others who traded in secrets and indeed, there had been a deputation to the Lord of Upper Khand from the Bror of the Rhûn, the highest possible men in this vast expanse. No one knew the substance, if there was any. They were soldiers to a man and did not drink much or fraternize with the smooth women cultivated for moonlight. Northmen have no sense of fine things.

At a local scholar’s home he heard, “The story was that a stash of tribute was stored on the south side of the sea. No one knows where, with the trolls, probably. None has been found under the tower in thirty years.”

The merchant did not want to reveal knowledge of the coin so he asked, “Was there anything of the old desert script associated?”

“Who knows? If men hid it, they died there.”

_____________------____________

As Nag Kath intended, the story had been misheard four times as it passed from Lurgsh to Chigurn to Ureano and finally a Visitor Ghorandul tasked with taking it to Mordor. If the Assured had questions, Ureano, would be honored to further his inquiries. Chigurn got a cuff on his ear for his predictable yarn of missing the traders but Ureano did not demand his money back.

The Ghorandul did not make it to Ûniarra Nûrn until mid-February. The assistant of High Visitor Uvuo himself escorted him to Nulvanath’s presence. The field-man abased himself before rising to his knees. The Assured sat on his throne and fingered the gold ring on his first finger, always dangerous.

The story boiled-down to the Easterlings and Khandians holding middling talks about something that no one in the southern capital seemed to know anything about. There was a rumor that it had to do with the Dark Lord’s lost gold but that was unreliable. If it was an actual line of inquiry, it was somewhere on the Nargil. Which side was anyone’s guess. The spy did not give it much credence but felt it important enough to mention. The Assured smiled and told the junior messenger that people like him would make history someday. The Ghorandul touched his head to the flagstones knowing greatness was inevitable and left to find a meal.

Any practical man would dismiss the story as nonsense. Men with a sorcerous lust for treasure can do no such thing. By the end of the week, four riders led by Richtren (Visitor Officer) Anandogh took the northern Nûrnen road armed to the teeth and under instructions not to let anyone slow them. They also had enough cash to trade horses at stations and not sleep until dark. It took them just over three weeks to pull into their haven in the Khagan’s capital.

Retainers took their horses, bowed deeply and showed them into the room where Nen and Zrev were having dinner. Zrev was more senior than the arriving Visitors but they were more recently with the Assured so they treated each other as equals and more food was brought.

Richtren Anandogh said to both without preamble, “What know you of this?”

Zrev was unconcerned, “There was a delegation from Dulgov here until fall. Half left, half are still here. They bought a stout home in the garden district.”

“How many men?”

Lieutenant Nen replied, “There are four left. The senior men are gone.”

Anandogh said as his meat arrived, “Have you searched the property?”

Nen answered, “No. Someone is always there. I have it under eyes.”

Richtren Anandogh glowered, “I hope you have not lost your zeal, Zrev.”

Zrev had not and would not be called to account by a mere Richtren, “Then you had better explain what this is about. As far as we know, the Bror sent a delegation and they went home. The Khagan greeted them in and out but Juegesh handled the exchanges. They were not secret. If you have news that interests the Assured, you will tell me with your next breath.” Anandogh felt sorcery with the threat. Bluff called, the Visitor explained that the Easterlings might have objects of use to their Lord. 

Zrev looked at the Lieutenant and said matter-of-factly, “I think it is time for our northern guests to see more of this lovely city.”

They did not need to contrive anything. Three days later, one of the four men in the home was seriously burned cooking whatever vile food they ate, probably bottom-fish. His fellows carried him to a healer four blocks away, being careful to lock the gate as they left.

The inside had been decorated by trolls. If there was anything of use here it would not hide long. And what makes people think they can hide valuables behind pictures and tapestries? A cheap weaving of Xangoe’s triumph created a rustling sound when shaken. The printing or parchment was pinned to the back side. The men nodded to each other and were back over the fence well before the poor Easterling returned with bandages on both hands. It would teach the fool that cooking was woman’s work.

At the end of April, Anandogh presented his find to the High Visitor who took him to Nulvanash. Anandogh had lost weight and two horses but he had done as ordered, and done it well. His liege unrolled the page and stared intently. Everyone in the hall watched him seem to swell and contract with each breath. The man was surely called to Lordship!

Compliments were due and he paid them, “Excellent work, Anandogh. Take your rest and we will talk soon about other ways to honor the one we serve. The man touched his head to the floor and returned to his rooms. His escorts were well fed.

When he was alone Nulvanash stared at the map. Was it genuine? Someone thought so. Would Khand or Rhûn march in here and take what they wanted? That would unite even the deepest divisions among the Nûrn Hurms in short order ... or would his enemies assist possible invaders? The map was old. Did it have secrets only seen in certain light or on certain days? 

The script off to one side was no help to him yet. The Assured could not read or write in any language. This was certainly a tongue of the past. Was it Sauron’s? It had that feel. It was said an old prophet above the delta knew some of the Elvish tongues. The man would be found and brought here with dispatch! And most of all, what was this ring drawn in the mountain?

The hermit was the worse for wear after hard travel. He had never ridden a horse before. He never would again. The man was dragged before the Assured and forced to his knees. In a voice to command obedience, Nulvanash said, “Go to the table. Read the writing on the page.” The order resonated off the walls.

When the poor man did not rise quickly, two of the door guards jerked him up by the armpits and marched him to the discussion table. The fellow gazed at the unfamiliar script and mouthed the words one at a time. “High Assured, the writing is ancient. It says that tribute paid in the time of the Dark Lord’s ascendance was placed in the mountains near a river called the Nuschga and guarded with fell wards against any but a Lordly voice. I am not sure but I think the cartouche is of the lands before the Balchoth.”

The Assured was kindly, “Does it say where?”

“Nay, most High. It only says that power will make itself known.”

“Guard, get this man food after his long trip.” It was a short meal.

_____________------____________

Four days later, Anandogh took six cavalrymen on a hard, three day ride up the Nargil until they reached the foothills. No cliffs like the map were on their side so they backtracked to the highest ford and crossed at first light. One rider was swept downstream in the strong flow. His rest would come when Lord Sauron was avenged. Three leagues to the east they identified the distinctive crags and peaks. There they were, on the wrong side of the river. His orders were specific. Find the place regardless of where it was and report. The Assured would be obeyed.

Hiding the horses, the troop climbed the trail and scoured the rugged slope. Shale slipped under one man’s foot and he twisted his ankle. It would not kill him but he was useless. Dinner was jerky. Late the next afternoon, one of the troopers called up to his fellows. There was a cave, a troll cave. They had not brought torches so Anandogh had them gather brush for a large fire in the center of the main opening. Before the outside light faded, one man found a nipper. Another man found a second. Light failed so they slept around the fire and built it high the next morning. Four more of the small gold coins were found along with a goblet holding a raw gem and a handful of doctored groats. As they prepared to leave, another nipper was found in the dirt. 

That was but one cave. The five who could walk fanned further east until a trooper found another cleft in the rock face. Anandogh hurried to the entrance and felt he had been pushed away by a great wind. He tried again and doubled over in confusion and anguish. Vomit came up and out his nose until he backed twenty feet away from the opening. A trooper was ordered to try with the same result. This was beyond the ken of mortal men. After the Richtren gathered his wits, they carried the injured man back to the horses and waited for daylight for the four-day trip to deliver the news. The troopers were all kept in individual cells upon their return until their ordure was inspected for coins. There being none, they were returned to duty. In the meantime, the Assured considered the coins and the map. This gold was older than Gondor. The coppers were stamped from Sauron’s first appearance here. 

What mattered more was the ward on the larger cave. Perhaps a lesser cave had a lesser spell now degraded enough for mountain men to have looted it. But they had not gotten through the spell that made Anandogh ill and drove him mad. He would give the man a couple days to recover and then he, Nulvanash, Assured of Yvsuldor and rising power in Mordor, would go there personally and see how much of the protection was left.

_____________------____________

To his southeast, Hurm Rydovosh met with his counselors. “What is the dougsh doing now?!”

His wise man said as delicately as men of Mordor can speak, “My Lord Hurm, a bird in Ûbésêsh whispered that the Assured will bring a small party upriver and cross to our side. The reason goes deeper than his ears heard.”

“Has no one told me that he visits?”

“Nay, best of Lords. They hope to travel in stealth.”

“Send Captain Orvous and a full company of cavalry. Don’t kill Nulvanash. He still has my sister and her children visiting her kin. But let it be known that the Hurm of Nargil expects courtesy from his neighbors. Have Orvous leave with the light.”

Anandogh was his ruthless self quickly and on the first morning in May, a troop of twenty four riders, including High Visitor Uvuo and Nulvanash’s Chamberlain accompanied the Assured in formation up the river. Since the headwaters were so dangerous, they forded half-way up and hugged the bank to avoid alerting Nargil pickets of their movements.

They failed. Fifty miles upriver they found twice their number looking confident and ready. Archers to their flank stood ready to pin them against the bank. Their Captain rode over with his Sergeant and said, “All honor, Hurm Nulvanash. A pleasant day for a ride.”

The High Visitor replied, “The Assured thinks so as well.” The Assured did not treat with enemy soldiers who should know better than to call him a common Hurm. 

“It being so late in the day, there is only just time to return to last night’s campground. Perhaps the embers are still warm.”

Nulvanash kept his fleshy face composed but his frustration spilled over and he doubled the arrogant officer in pain with a wave of his ringed hand. Had the man fallen from his horse, arrows would rain on him from men outside of his range. Like Nag Kath saw early in life, arrows cannot be reasoned with. The Assured paid no further attention to Orvous and turned his horse around. Someone would pay for this, starting with whoever alerted the unwashed Hurm of Nargil.

Ryduvosh enjoyed the report. If he wasn’t such a tyrant, he would remind folk of a Rohirrim. They made something like ale from gureeq and roots. He liked the company of soldiers since he was a fine soldier at need. Orvous recovered within a few hours, rode home with his summary and was invited to share a mug before the Hurm attended other concerns.

Nulvanash seethed. Ryduvosh knew he was coming. Did he know why? A trooper trailed the group long enough to report the enemy rode home the day of the confrontation without exploring. Nulvanash made token sorcerous inquiries of his staff but did not maim anyone. The petty despot to his southeast could not have gotten a full company of his best to that wretched corner of their lands by the time the Assured made his decision to ride, even if there was a spy here in the capital. Was there something to the Bror and Khagan’s meeting after all? 

He had time. He had stopped aging. It did not matter how many lives of men it took, he would reach his ends. That was how Sauron did it, patience until the pounce. He was still uneasy. At times he wanted to understand the secrets the great ones had left behind. At others, he disdained the lettered; always discussing and stalling, failing as warriors. Such weakness was infuriating. This was a time of wishing he understood the ancient markings on what seemed a genuine document of power. He had the coins. A trusted Captain had been repulsed by wards that must be just as old, but he had not been torn to pieces. Was the Nazgûl’s curse fading with his master’s demise? The first one to overcome it would reign supreme. 

And he had the ring.

Nulvanash cursed his own impatience in dispatching the old hermit. The creature might have discovered more or shared more with the right incentive. It followed a lifetime of not letting people know too much. No matter. There were those who could answer his questions.

_____________------____________

The one exception to knowing much was Uvuo, the High Visitor. He was as close as the Assured had to his own Nazgûl. The grim, driven man ran both the internal security in the capital and the missionary Ghoranduls in the field. He was summoned.

Uvuo walked down the hall and nodded to the guards outside the door. They worked for General Yshok but no one interfered with the black Visitor. This was the one man who did not have to touch his forehead to the floor when approaching the throne. A deep bow was enough.

Rising, the Visitor looked at his Lord. He was the one. He would return them to greatness. That was why Uvuo gave Nulvanash the ring. Their leader had shown cunning and resolve. He also had enough personal sorcery to excite the gold band that had been acquired at great cost. Uvuo could not bring power forth but it gleamed when the Assured placed it on his finger. Together they had conquered the weak and timorous despots of the western delta, built this capital and demanded tribute from the fallen. The Easterling campaign almost worked but for the white ghost. The one in upper Harad succeeded and now his Visitors were undermining their womanish neighbors. When Nulvanash ascended, he would need Uvuo’s help then too.

The Assured called him closer saying, “Did you feel it?”

“I did my Lord.”

“Pity Khamûl could not have left it on our side of the river.”

Uvuo wasn’t here to fawn, “Both sides of the river are your side, my Lord. We have but to convince others.” Yes, the humiliation on the Nargil would be repaid with interest.

Nulvanash came as close to a smile as he could these days. “Now; what of the man in Khand who brought this to our attention?”

“I think we should ask him what else he knows. One of those gold coins is certainly worth his time to come visit.”

In the past, Nulvanash would have thought nothing of such an expense. But now, even with his wealth and power increasing, it pained him to part with even a single nipper. He must draw all such to him. The Visitor was right. Uvuo sometimes understood better than he did. “I agree. Have your man make a generous offer. No reason to mention where this has led if he does not already know, eh?”

Uvuo had considered that, “I expect whatever he is peddling must have great worth in your Lordship’s lands.”

The Assured fingered his ring and flexed his hand with the slightest red color, “Then we must purchase it.”

_____________------____________

The junior Ghorandul knew nothing of that when he arrived in Lhûg for Ureano. The trader was in the east and the young man waited impatiently among the blasphemers for two weeks. When he finally delivered his message and payment, Ureano said he would need to ask some questions before returning to the Nûrn as soon as he could. Strangely, the nervous Visitor said the payment was for his current inventory without asking what it was. No one told the rider to wait so he left the next morning, a three week trip through Aômul's realm without killing the horse.

Chigurn did not expect to hear from Ureano again. The Visitors had not mentioned the merchant’s information leading to the map in faraway Ûbésêsh that started the avalanche. They had not complained either so it signified nothing. The invitation to speak was not threatening so the card-sharp visited Ureano’s home the next morning and was shown a seat by the departing flower.

“Good morning, Chigurn. Have you had tea?”

Tea was for those with money and time. “Not yet.”

The trader placed two mugs on the table himself, unusual; that. Both men took sips. Ureano asked, “I need to know a bit more about that groat from last spring. There is interest.”

Chigurn was not one to admit he had said all he knew if there was another payment in the offing. It was time to be creative, “It seemed the same size as one of the westerling coins (which it was).”

“It is more the manner of your finding it. Tell me about the men.”

“Rhûnish, seemed to be doing rather well. Not skilled at Dukks.”

The merchant took a long pull at his perfect tea before asking, “Did they volunteer their absurd story?”

“No, they were waiting for another who did not join them. The conversation came from annoyance at being left waiting. They did not stay long.”

“Did they invite you into their game?”

Chigurn had no reason to play the innocent. Ureano knew what he did. “One of my other patrons (implying he had many) paid me a commission so I went to celebrate and they were already playing, and drinking, perhaps too much drinking. Not seen them before.”

“What were they selling?”

“It did not come up. They wore riding boots.”

Ureano knew he had exhausted the subject and handed Chigurn two Gondoran fivers. “Keep this to yourself.”

__________------_________

Two days later, the merchant saddled up for the trip with panniers of tin pigs on a protesting donkey. Mordor did not have tin which was needed for bronze. If they wanted tin at double his usual price, he would oblige. 

Leading a donkey to Mordor was not in dark Nulvanash’s design. The ruse to not revealing their true interest meant the merchant would arrive no faster than he could walk. Ureano had been there five times before. He knew the way and where to stay. He wondered who else would keep his flower fresh at night. Past her prime, yes, but she had been so expertly trained.

In early July, a right-living bird whispered in Righter ears that Ryduvosh had confronted the Assured east of the river. Events were in motion. The Assured would have learned just enough to send trusted men into enemy territory. They found the coins but had been denied by the spell on the Dwarvish charm. It was believable enough for Nulvanash to sneak in with a minimal guard. That he didn’t take his whole army must mean he either didn’t trust his ability to break the ward or knew this Rydovosh had good enough troops to keep him from getting there. It also meant that Rydovosh took his informer in the capital seriously and certainly would again.

Now the Elf had to start guessing. In addition to an alerted Hurm protecting his ground, the Assured probably thought Easterlings and Variags had discussed trampling their way over any resistance Mordor could muster if they thought it was worth their time, or buy their way in. One or both great lords would have someone of Nulvanash’s power or greater in a saddle. He was not yet confident in exclusive sorcery.

Of one thing Nag Kath was certain, by design; the tyrant would want to know what the rest of the map said. He found enough hints to locate the trove but there was more writing on the map. The right-living war council did not know that a swamp prophet had given his life translating the Sindarin. Some of it could not be translated because it was gibberish. Few scholars would admit that. The Elf chuckled at drawing the ring over the mountain smeared with duck fat. That was inspired.

Nulvanash would be back looking for people who could make sense of those runes. Captain Lurgsh became Rhûnic scholar Tsitreq, an expert in ancient symbols. Shelturn was promoted to Levas Quastille, master of lore in Mistrand until irregularities came to light with receipts. Their tall, taciturn assistant was a bastard Dunedain from the northern wastes who spoke no local tongues but was familiar with Elvish. The three took modest quarters after an employer paid to bring them here and then reneged on the contract. They were reduced to accepting students to earn enough coppers for the return trip. By the strangest turn of fate; their few pupils were folk who quietly went back and forth to the Hanvas Tûr retreat.

While Ureano was berating his poor donkey, Nag Kath thought it was time for another trip. By reliable accounts, Hurm Rhorzah along the southeast Nûrnen got along tolerably well with Rydovash and both despised Nulvanash. That made the entire southern lake hostile to the Assured's purpose and certainly no lovers of the man’s Visitors. The exception was the northeast corner of the lake where smaller warlords were still in bloody contention. The Assured backed one against the other which made neither a reliable ally.

There was good road almost all the way to Nargil that skirted trouble between the eastern rivers. With Charlo moving at speed they made their way to the Culduin in just over a month. He did not pay a courtesy call to Hurm Rhorzah on the way by but he might on the way home. 

The road forded the Culduin along the northern foothills of the Ephel. If his directions were right, this was the faster way to get within a hundred miles of where he had been with Shelturn. The road became more of a path for the next hundred miles into Nargil itself. Rydovosh’s capital was in a series of hills well away from the smelly lake. The rivers on either side of his domain offered both military protection and irrigation for grain.

The only path took him directly to the city of Nargil which might have fifteen hundred souls. Every one of them stared at the curious rider with the long, black, braided hair in Easterling style. There could only be one possible building for the Hurm so Nag Kath tied Charlo in front and went inside still carrying a sheathed sword. 

No one was sitting. Sitting on duty showed weakness. A few men milling about stopped but no one spoke until he said in Plainstongue, “I would speak with the Hurm.”

One of the men walked to an office just off the main room and returned moments later with a man in cleaner clothes. Nag Kath repeated himself. Plainstongue was a trading language of Sauronic allies but quite different inside Mordor itself. No one here spoke the black tongue. The man said tentatively, “Who you is?”

“I am Nag Solvanth. I have sent word to him before.”

They spoke in an unrecognizable language and the new man walked down a hall. To Nag Kath’s surprise, the Hurm himself came back with him and stood with his arms crossed. The Elf bowed low and said in Westron, “Thank you.”

Without a word, the despot turned to his clerk as if for translation. The clerk shrugged but did not seem afraid. Both faced him again the Hurm pointed back where he came. They walked to a small room with a table that looked like it was used for playing cards. Rydovosh sat down and motioned for Nag Kath to do the same while the clerk left. The Hurm said nothing but looked his guest up and down carefully. After five minutes of that, the clerk returned with a trooper who was told to sit. Satisfied the right people were in place, the Lord told his trooper something and the man said in halting Westron, “His Excellency wants to know how you are.”

“I am fine, thank you.”

The trooper looked confused for a moment and corrected, “Who you are.”

“I am Nag Solvanth come to pay my respects.”

The trooper gave his boss the gist and was told to ask, “Why come you here?”

“I come to destroy the Visitors.”

It took a couple tries but the Hurm unfolded his arms and showed true interest. Nag Kath put him at about thirty five. He was bigger than the typical Khandian. Lore said that the men of this region came here long ago and were enslaved in different iterations of Sauron’s dominion. He had the coloring of a Northman with brown hair but the beard was not as full and his gray eyes were closer together. A slice across both lips had not been sewn in time to prevent the scar. His teeth were fair and his clothes were almost clean.

The man dictated something to the trooper who then said, “Did you send message of Nhûrguld?”

“Yes.”

“Why”

“Nulvanash is enemy to more than Hurm. Others are not pleased with the Visitors.”

That went more quickly. Rydovosh broke into an actual smile before shouting, “Vuuch!”

One of the men from the main room appeared with two large mugs. It smelled like ale that had been used to wash saddle blankets. The Hurm raised his mug and so did his guest followed by long pulls. The trooper was not given a mug, a mercy. The Uruk had tasted worse and finished his slurp with a satisfying smack of his lips.

So far, so good. He had made it here alive and seemed to have the ear of Nulvanash’s most prominent adversary. Nag Kath was able to get across that he represented the Bror of the Rhûn. That was a long way away but everyone knew he was one of the two most powerful post-Sauronic forces in Middle-earth. There were Rhûnic horses’ progeny under the men who made the rules here. 

The Hurm had other things to attend after half a bell. The trooper found himself reassigned as guide to the stranger and showed him to a storeroom of some sort just off the main hall. Since it wasn’t generally used for sleeping, it didn’t have many bugs. 

Dinner would not be recognizable as such in Dol Amroth. There was stew, of course, but it had so little meat that Nag Kath could keep it down with a smile. There was some sort of green that took forever to chew. All meals came with a serving of gureeq porridge and then there was a twig to pick your teeth with afterwards. He ate with the Hurm and a dozen officers who thought the Elf strange but not threatening. A man with no scars must have never been in a fight. They all had a large mug of the ale, but only one, and left immediately after eating. Nag Kath and his new shadow followed them and looked down the plain at the sea. It was time to find out what the Hurm would allow him to say, “What is your name?”

“Name Idgshtok”

These people would assume Nag Kath was a soldier so he sounded like one, “Rank?”

“Khasaak. You call horse.”

“Did you face Nulvanash?” That was the test.

The man pointed downstream and said, “There.”

“He has power, yes?”

Idgshtok said, “He is puukh.”

That was black speech, and a black insult too. 

__________------_________

The next day started for the soldiers at first light. Most of them lived in row-buildings that had partitions. Men with women got their own space with extra for kids. Single men had barracks that could take up to twenty. Those were about half full. The Hurm sent for Idgshtok and Nag Solvanth at mid-morning. This time they went to the Hurm’s quarters. A woman about the age of the ruler wandered by and looked at the queer Easterling without expression. What could only be a daughter and son came by a few minutes later as the Elf and trooper stood waiting to be called. They stopped and pointed with a word among themselves before moving on. A booming voice from a back room must have been the invitation. Idgshtok walked Nag Kath back to the source of the sound. 

Chûran had described Nulvanash the way western men imagined eastern despots; well dressed, luxuriously appointed and with servants scurrying hither and yon for every whim. Rydovosh was a soldier first, probably how he got and stayed here. There were no chamberlains or attendants fussing about with papers. The man was sitting with what must be two officers who seemed to be sharing a jest rather than quaking in the man’s presence. 

The Hurm said something to Idgshtok who interpreted that as; why do we help you?

Nag Kath thought that a fair question and said, “We help you.”

“Why do we need help?”

This was going to take a while. Fortunately, Mordor Lords didn’t waste time on flowery court etiquette. “Nulvanash will attack you in force next year.” Nag Kath did not say they would attack the least important part of the land and then leave.

The older of the two officers had the trooper ask, “How do you know this?”

“He seeks to replace Sauron in these lands.”

At that point they dispensed with roundabout probes. Everyone in the room knew the Assured’s intentions. The title Hurm was now beneath him as he prepared to make them his slaves. If the pale Easterling knew it, the world knew it. Nag Kath kept up the offensive, “He gains power. Nhûrguld is next.”

He could see them assessing forces. In a straight fight, Nulvanash had a three to two advantage but that would be exhausted the further they pushed from the river. If they crossed the army at the river mouth, informers would notice barges being built. The army could also drive up the river on their side and ford the mountain streams. That would be obvious too with not much to eat. The problem was that the upstart Assured was cultivating friends around the Nûrnen. If the dougsh could bring the eastern river clans under his banner, that changed things since Rhorzah to the Hurm’s east could not stop them from fording the Culduin.

To break the silence, Nag Kath added, “He will use sorcery.” Sorcery was the same word in just about every language. 

The officers spoke again among themselves. Rydovosh had Idgshtok translate, “He is Orvous, horse chief. Sees sorcery!”

The younger officer said in a softer voice, “Black Lord give pain here.” The man pointed at his stomach and mimed bending in torment.

Nulvanash’s fatal mistake! It would cost him all. He couldn’t resist punishing the officer who embarrassed him in front of his crack escort. A thinking villain would have smiled at the navigational error and left. A powerful one would have melted the captain like wax and taken his prize. But no, the Assured made a petty example, the sort he made every day to keep people from knowing that a dozen of them working together could spit him like a Syndolan pig. He would have known there were arrows pointed at his double chin so he did back down, but not before showing his weakness.

Nag Kath asked the man the last question on the list, “Did you see or feel a color in your pain?”

The man straightened up and looked at his ruler and superior before saying, “Red.”

The Elf wasn’t sure but thought that was the color of Dwarves, like Elves were silver and men yellow. It would have flashed before his eyes as the power was released. A Dwarf ring would keep him greedy and fat, but little more.

The more senior officer asked, “And what will you do?”

“I will cut the ring from his hand while you keep him busy.”

This went on for another hour. Nag Kath asked the Hurm for an introduction to Hurm Aômul, Nulvanash’s hostile northeastern neighbor. Rydovosh asked if the great powers outside the Ephel crescent sought these lands for their own but did not expect an honest answer. If this man was here playing the local warlords against each other, he would not say.

Nag Kath gave them something they could use. “No. They will leave you alone. Our concerns are with those who do not respect rightful rule.”

They knew exactly what he was talking about. Stories of Frûnzar to the north and Yigresh’s relatives to the south even made it here. The Visitors were getting better, harder to spot. One in the largest town along the lake was known to them. He was young and stupid so it was better to watch his errors than try to identify his replacement.

Nag Kath stayed another ttwo days, meeting with the Hurm and his most senior man along the main tributary flowing into the Nargil. Another commander was stationed along the Culduin with a smaller force since Hurm Rhorzah respected the border better than Nulvanash. 

When he wasn’t in meetings, Nag Kath was allowed to wander. He caught a few fish in one of the creeks dripping down from the permanent snow caps to the south and showed two of the troopers how to bend hooks like his. Women were only out during the day and looked much like the men with closed-set gray eyes and non-descript hair. Women were not treated well around the Nûrnen but better here than in Nulvanash’s lands or around the eastern deltas where Chûran was from. And this was Valinor compared to the deserts closer to Sauron’s capital.

In the end, the Hurm agreed that he would accept help in ridding the lake of the Assured as long as it did not expose his troops by themselves. Nag Kath said that he would speak with Hurm Aômul across the lake but could not get to it before he went into Nulvanash’s lair. Those two should make their own arrangements to work as a pincer when Nag Kath gave them the signal. That was when the man would be weakest. 

Since no one in the Hurm’s realm could write, he was sent as far as the east bank with Idgshtok to introduce him to Hurm Rhorzah of Culduin who was as reasonable as a rascal could be.

_____________------____________

Idgshtok reminded Nag Kath a little of Dornlas. He was much shorter, but taller and ganglier than his countrymen. When he was amused, he broke into a broad, toothy grin. This was another prejudice the Elf needed to break. Thirty years of exposure to western descriptions of lands they had never seen had given him a selfish sense of superiority. In practical, economic and cultural terms; absolutely. But this place was changing. How could western men think they would not? More than that, free-peoples didn’t care. It was a violent and often soul-wrenching process, but just as in Gondor, the Fourth Age was the age of men. Magical overlords, foul or fair, were gone. 

It took until now for Nag Kath to understand the politics of the Nûrnen Sea. The water itself was unusable. The realms in Mordor all ringed it for access to the half-dozen large rivers feeding in from the Ephel mountains encircling this benighted land. Those were much stronger than they had been in Sauron’s day so the lake was rising. A number of crops could be grown on river banks so all of the little countries had the vast majority of their populations staring across a river from their neighbors, some enemies, some slightly less so. There was no tradition of ships or barges capable of transporting soldiers across the rivers for lack of wood. That was changing as the forests matured. They only now had enough horses for officers. Nulvanash had been breeding them since the day he seized the throne. That would change the balance of power in Mordor and everyone knew it.

To Rydovosh’s east was Hurm Rhorzah with whom he got along tolerably well. To Rhorzah’s other flank was the Scave River and just over it was a small city-state controlled by a Hurm in league with the Assured, replete with Ghorandals. They were fighting a like-sized nation to their north just as Nulvanash had before consolidating the western delta. If the Assured's allies won, it would give the combined area enough clout to control trade trickling in through merchants like Ureano.

Nag Kath and Idgshtok presented themselves to Rhorzah. Now that the young trooper had more experience interpreting, the Hurm was able to explain the situation to his north. He wasn’t in the fight, but they had caught a few Visitors on their side of the river and sent them halfway back. Mr. Solvanth was welcome to use the road if needed.

That was when Idgshtok dropped a surprise, he had been told to stay with the strange rider for as long as it took. The trooper had no wife. In this land, if the Lord said you were indentured, you were. Nag Kath took the night thinking about security and decided to bring the young man along. He seemed interested in the outside world. Scholars would have to teach him everything, but on the way back here they would ride into hell. They needed someone who spoke hellish. With little in common, the two riders taught each other their tongues. Nag Kath stayed more to Westron rather than Mordor Plainstongue. Fortunately, the young student had some Westron from an uncle which got him the job in the first place. 

Clearing the last tail of the mountains, they were back in Khand. The fields had already been harvested. Autumn celebrations were underway. Idgshtok discovered wine. Another week took them to the crossroads town of Nenbalrahm where they picked-up the little river that would take them the rest of the way. It was their annual harvest festival. People wore their best. Women danced in colorful dress, always covered completely but sensuous just the same. The Mordoran horseman’s mouth dropped several times when females fluttered their eyelashes at him. After that it was just another week of riding, mostly through the rain, to their school in Lhûg after a Kath Bath in the river.

Idgshtok was nineteen. He wandered about goggle-eyed as they put their horses in the paddock and walked into the former go-down that housed this temple of high-learning. Lurgsh was there teaching an actual student. It was good cover and he liked kids. He liked Idgshtok too. They walked to a restaurant and ordered whisker-fish. The trooper ate everything on his plate. He would have to stay in town. Hanvas Tûr was not ready for soldiers of the Hurms. Tomorrow they would get him clothes and a sword that wouldn’t break. 

______________-------______________

At first Idgshtok reminded Nag Kath of Dornlas. Now he reminded him of himself. Plucked from the blackness of Sauron’s world, he saw all manner of peoples and foods and smells. The Elf watched for signs that the lad was nasty or short-tempered but he seemed to take it all like he himself had gaping at the halls and tapestries of the White City.

Idgshtok got his own room in the modest building unfashionably far from the river. They had to make ground rules for his debut into Lhûg society. The first was that they would only converse in Westron. Mordor Plainstongue would set bells a-ringing. It could wait if he should not say something in public. Another was that he would stay close to their members, no wandering the city by himself. And he would not abuse wine or ale. 

Taught to nod up and down in agreement, Nag Kath took him to the local equivalent of Chandrie and Family for shirts, pants and socks. A good pair of second hand boots was found. The youngster was nervous having a barber cut his hair with the best steel he had ever seen but there was no bleeding. The Elf slipped him a groat to pay the man himself.

Now for more good steel. The surplus of quality swords had been absorbed into the growing population but they were still available. Idgstosh had to look like a Broric soldier. They knew the place to ask. A beaming proprietor brought forth two weapons that had been officer’s kit long ago. The trooper swung both of them competently and preferred the lighter cavalry blade. His own sword found the bottom of the river. For the time being he was the first live-in student in the school and Lurgsh coached him in the tongue of Easterlings. Nag Kath stayed three more days to ease Idgshtok into Khandian life but the lad was at home the minute he got here.

______________-------______________

That very same morning, Ureano arrived in Ûniarra Nûrn with his tin ingots. He had to buy another donkey two weeks in or cripple the first in the hills but all three of them and his horse arrived not much the worse for wear. Since he had already been overpaid for his goods, he left them at the army depot and found a bed in the barracks. 

The trader nearly left two days later without being announced but for once, the administration worked. Nulvanash’s civil servants were Visitors after the first two levels of bearers and cleaners. The warehouse man sent his daily report to his supervisor who then informed the metalworkers that materials had arrived. Being unexpected, the metalworkers asked the Visitor if they were to make something of bronze. The question made it the level of those who reported to Uvuo.

Any foreigner in the city was watched at all times so they knew where Ureano was. An invitation for tea was sent from the High Visitor, one who famously abstained from alcohol. The trader would rather have ridden-out quietly, leaving the donkeys as change, but there was no refusing the large Ghorandul waiting at the door.

The two men had met twice before when there was information to help the Assured in his governance. Both tips were accurate and this last information much more so. Ureano knew about the coin, the travelers and movements-in-force by the major powers. Explaining the first was easy because he had no qualms sharing what Chigurn told him. The second was easy because neither the Easterlings nor the Variags had done anything unusual in years. There was no mention of the map but Uvuo produced one of the altered groats. Ureano should confirm from his source if that was the one he saw.

Always happy to see their good friend of Khand, the High Visitor gave him another forty silvers. A single Florin was the same value but the Assured could not stand parting with gold. That was in exchange for the negligible service of sending his reply with the local Visitor when he got home. He should keep his ears to the dirt for any trouble with the Lords of north and south. Oh, and did he know of any who could assist with Elvish tongues? The Assured was much interested in restoring their lost cultural heritage.

Ureano beetled his brows in thought, “A party of scholars is stranded in Lhûg.” He went on to describe their troubles, which had been gossiped all over town for no particular reason. Would they be of use? Uvuo gave him another forty silvers for expenses to employ them. Ureano had no idea he just paid for the trip.

______________-------______________

One of those very scholars visited Chûran later that afternoon. Now almost October, her under-robe accents were soft colors of earth and sky. He was served tea in a new chair that was tall enough for him. The maid then took her basket out for extended shopping.

“You are much away, yes?”

“Indeed Chûran. I visited the dark lands again. We will need allies in the season of strife.”

Her trained smile drooped slightly. A sip of tea brought, “I do not care for that, though it is necessary. Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” She had said she had nothing private and Nag Kath had to delve. She discussed the movements in what Nulvanash styled as his palace. It had more style than the school warehouse but it was not as grand as the local Khan’s private home. 

In the Assured’s lands there were three classes of people; Visitors, soldiers and slaves. She had been among the last. The local warlord in her eastern delta was aligned with the Assured’s predecessor, just as the leaders were now. For lack of cash or soldiers, four untouched girls were sent to the Hurm of Furnar Durosh. Chûran’s desirable Khandian features might have been selected for the man’s personal use but when she failed to understand a guard’s command, he struck her face leaving a purple welt. She was presented for inspection before it healed. Only one of their four was placed in the Hurm’s quarters. The other three were given to officers or sold.

Chûran landed with a promising Captain named Nulvanash. His needs in her direction were modest. The man preferred to spend his time with advancement. He became chief counselor to Hurm Joukbahn in the next few years. With much idle time, Chûran spoke often with the Hurm’s women who received much more lusty attentions. They taught her ways to retain a man’s favor. She had little occasion to use them but her prospects were poor if the man found others for his pleasure.

Six years into her concubinage, Nulvanash began spending all available time with Uvuo, a soldier/priest of the delta. The fanatic had a hard, uncompromising view of how life should be lived and the tests a man must overcome for supremacy. The year after that, a vein was said to burst in Joukbahn’s heart. Nulvanash had operatives of Uvuo in place against such a possibility and they took the heads of anyone else considered eligible to succeed. Of course, all of Joukbahn’s women and sons were slaughtered as well. When the blood was washed, Nulvanash was Hurm. 

That was not enough. Ruling even the delta was beneath a man of vision. He began to show sorcery said to align with Sauron through an ancient ring of power. With that, and the fear it instilled, he conquered Ûniarra Nûrn so the realm stretched from the Lizzurant River to the Nargil and as far back into the black lands as anyone cared to claim, save a smaller delta disputed by Aômul. 

Nulvanash gained weight and sought treasure, bleeding his people to convert anything saleable to shining metals. Mordor itself had only iron ore and the black rock for melting it, but traders from the east brought things that were precious to him. Uvuo’s men helped those transfers and told those they visited about the ascendance of their Lord.

The other Nûrnen Hurms had been consolidating their holdings as well. For some unfathomable reason, his neighbor Hurms did not appreciate Nulvanash’s obvious superiority. Raised in the same school of violence and soldiery, they spurned his gestures. In outside trading lands, men who sought their rightful places in the new order listened. Some even agreed.

As the man’s obsession with his ring increased, his interest in personal pleasure vanished. Chûran and a more recent tribute girl were still treated well by their keepers. The guards knew better than to replace the Assured’s attentions. For a while, dismissing his pleasure females would have brought unacceptable ridicule but both women knew it was only a matter of time.

Nag Kath daydreamed off with that revelation since it supported his own contention that immortal dark ones would not create their own successors. Some could not. Some chose that path. He hoped his powers would not cause the same. Having this sensuous woman describe her pleasure training was hurting his focus. He kept those thoughts to himself since Chûran was dredging up memories she could not mercifully forget. 

She and Chlore, another girl of eastern blood, accumulated trinkets over a week when Nulvanash was in the west inspecting troops. Since the man loved gold in every room he went, there were some nice pieces. Two nights before his scheduled return, they dressed as laborers and crept out a window into the streets. A donkey was purchased and they started east along the northern route.

Nulvanash erupted. Riders were sent both north and south to find his gold. The women had taken the ferry across the mouths of the two rivers and were twenty miles into the realm of Nûrn when the horsemen closed. They had enough warning to take their bundles off the donkey and hide in a storehouse. 

The Assured’s riders did not create the same terror in Nûrn where Hurm Aômul had gutted two Visitors only the month before. The town outpost was outnumbered two to one but they stood in the troopers’ way and told them to leave or expect more company shortly. Unfazed, riders threw torches onto the straw roof of the shed. Chûran took a bundle and hid in a compost pit. Chlore did not get as far. Villagers tried to quench the fire and shot arrows into the haughty posse of the Assured. A Visitor seized the other bag in the scuffle and they made back to the river leaving one man fallen. 

That night when the villagers were enjoying the last of the Ghorandal’s screams, Chûran pushed the lid off the pit and walked every day she could find the strength with Chlore’s bag. The new girl had taken better mementos than Chûrran’s and they bought this home ten years ago. If Visitors were still looking for Chlore, it might take a while.

Shelturn arrived at the scholarly residence that evening and was introduced to the Mordoran trooper. The lad was building his strength by eating anything that could be chewed. The Righter soldier gave Nag Kath a look that combined curiosity with having been played a dirty hand. Training their new recruit would be his job. 

The Elf explained that sometime next year, a party of feeble scholars would need to claim their moving money by traveling to the western Nûrnen and deciphering ancient runes on a map. Of course, it would say exactly what they said it did, but they had to be there to flush Nulvanash out of his hidey-hole. Rydovosh was ready as long as he did not have to do it alone. Hopefully he had contacted his fellow Hurm Aômul as the top half of the pincer. They would approach the man on their way in either event.

Getting there would take someone who spoke the language, someone like a Broric soldier whose mother had come from these lands. Nag Kath happened to know just such an imposter was gobbling late season melons near the fire. They agreed he might owe his first allegiance to Nargil, but judging by the way he was enjoying Khand, he might stay here.

Before any of that, Nag Kath had to call in reinforcements

** _Best and Most Rightful of Brors,_ **

** _I hope your Excellency is well. _ **

** _I am pursuing our mutual interest and preparing for the last phase directly into Mordor. In my inquiries, I took the liberty of opening a diplomatic mission in your name in the capital of his Lordship, Yigresh, Khagan of Upper Khand. We discussed areas of common ground and the Variags look favorably on exchanging Ambassadors to serve in your respective courts._ **

** _One of the protocols we suggested was that your Excellency and the Khagan meet near the border of your realms to discuss matters to your mutual benefit. In keeping with your state, each monarch should bring an honor guard of 350 light cavalry next spring. They should be kept well away from each other but in plain view of anyone we need to see them._ **

** _This letter is brought by a man acting on my instructions using the signet you gave me. He can answer your questions more completely. I am returning the ring with him to ensure his safe passage. I hope you will look on his efforts for your Excellency’s realm favorably._ **

** _In hopes we meet again, NK_ **

Keldan was the messenger. He knew Rhûn better than anyone and agreed to ride into the lion’s mouth. It was right-living at its best. The ring should get him there with changes of mounts at stations dotting the coast road. If the Bror did not flay him, he would probably be back here in the winter with official delegates to negotiate terms with the Khagan.

Nag Kath rode to Hanvas Tûr the next morning. No one followed. They would have to be even more careful. The Ghurate was hastily assembled to hear several months of fresh news. If the High Lords put their honor guards at the mouth of Mordor, the Assured could draw his own suspicious conclusions. Perhaps Rydovosh and Aômul would position troops at the ready and ride when called. It was in their interest to remove Nulvanash. 

One thing was certain, three or four of them would visit Ûniarra Nûrn as the guest of the Assured. Otherwise, the tyrant would fester in strength and spread his malice over the land. Nenwûla of the Viersh had made slight headway into plant and spell combinations with local substances. Different things grew here. Nag Kath took what he could gratefully. 

He also spent time counterfeiting more ancient texts to support the sham he had in mind for Mordor. One was a glyph of Khamûl the Nazgûl. It explained the sorcery needed to remove the cave wards. High Sorcerers could summon the power needed to collapse the decaying spell. Lacking such a leader of men, a Balchoth of lesser power would need to anchor the spell and a shaman of the Variags would release the energy. Keldan would help the Bror choose an alchemist of the capital to join the cortege. Groats would reach similar charlatans in Ûbésêsh.

Syndolan Day arrived. Khandian customs were quite different than in the west but the turning of the year mattered to everyone who ate. For his part, Idgshtok settled in nicely and enjoyed the festival. His Westron got better. His ribs did not stick-out. He did ogle females and had to be taught that Righters did not impose. Perhaps Shelturn would find him companionship in a less right-living establishment.

__________------_________

All of this depended on Nulvanash taking more bait. Ureano arrived the next day, first tending his flower and then getting a meal with wine. As much as he disliked the idea, he should speak with Chigurn. The informer was the only man who could match the rune on the coin.

He also had to find someone to approach the scholars. The merchant enjoyed a good reputation among his own but scratching too deeply would show he did a lot of business in the west, not the references Rhûnic scholars might favor. They had to go there since Nulvanash would not let the map or the ring out of his sight.

The right man for the job was the same scholar Ureano consulted before, a man of some renown. The Khagan has an extensive library in his capital but there were texts, mostly duplicates of the ones in Ûbésêsh, that needed study and tending in the local Khan’s palace. The scholar had quite a few himself and was was also a tutor of privileged youngsters. The new school did not interfere with his clientele, but he knew of it.

A lad brought his scented note requesting an audience with the destitute scholars two days later. All three and their servant were waiting in their sorry best. A modest assortment of texts and scripts were littered about as well as some books with no printing on the spines that held past inn registers.

Nag Kath was now conversant in Khandian but could not admit it. Teüchir Lurgsh spoke for the three. Scholar Îonzuld dabbed the corners of his mouth with a delicate kerchief and said, “A commission has come my way that I cannot accept, what with my obligations to his Excellency the Most High Khagan Yigresh. It needs a journey into the lands to the west where would be rendered a consulting fee of a Gondoran Florin for services in restoring the Hurm of Ûniarra Nûrn’s historical documents. I have it on good authority it is a modest collection.” The man sniffed like he just stepped in something and dabbed his lips again. Their Rhûnish library scattered around the room was beneath comment. 

One of the hardest jobs in acting is pretending to be desperate when you aren’t. Teüchir Lurgsh shifted his game leg with a wince and said in his northern accent, “That is a good deal of money, honored scholar. May we consider that in light of our other commitments?”

This was to be expected. Îonzuld could negotiate on both the finances and terms but he needed to get those men into Mordor. “I see no obstacle. Contact me at my home when you have spoken.”

This next line was rehearsed too. Lurgsh said, “Do you have any information on the nature of the subjects so we can prepare appropriately, assuming, of course, that we are available?”

Again dabbing the lips, “I believe some of it is ancient Elvish, in which I am not proficient. You understand, of course.”

The Easterling looked at the tall, braided one and said something northern. The man replied and then Lurgsh asked a question. “Your pardon, scholar, if this commission does not interfere with our teaching, could we look at your own esteemed collection for texts combining Elvish and eastern scripts?”

The scholar would have to keep his handman watching to make sure nothing left the room but he was being well paid as intermediary. He also wondered what else the tall creature would do for money. “I suppose so, providing we come to terms.” A message would be sent in due course.

Nag Kath had enough Variag to know they had exactly what they wanted. Money was no object but they needed to stall for time. The plodding of three men, a servant, including an unfortunate illness in the realm of Nûrn would take them a month and a half. They had to arrive about the time Nulvanash started sweating that the Bror and Khagan were coming for the gold and what could only be Khamûl’s legacy of eastern sorcery. 

Troubles on far borders would reportedly take Rydovosh’s main army to the far side of his filthy lands giving the Assured a clear path to drive in force and claim his prize. And Nag Kath had to get his hands on that ring as he did.

Scholar Îonzuld was sent a note that the party would be pleased to accept the commission and would leave on the first day of April. Feeble protests would not avail since their senior man was much affected by adverse weather. Ureano would have had him put up a better fight but he knew that the scholars had him by his manhood, even if they did not know it. They were the only game in town. Îonzuld was told to accept the delay with good grace and give the scholars four silvers, enough to prepare but not enough to run.

It wasn’t long before the Teüchir of ancient writing and the smooth Dunedain were at the scholar’s door for a look at his personal archives. Of course, the scholar was busy, but his capable man stayed posted at the door watching for theft. Questions asked of him in different languages determined the fellow only spoke Khandian.

They were playing on the vanity of scholars. It was absurd on its face that there would be combined Elvish and eastern texts. Even in their glory, you couldn’t get the two races in the same room. But nobody who didn’t know that would admit it. There might be other useful things in here and this was the one chance they would get to examine what the Variags might have said at their zenith. Lurgsh could read a little of the flowery script and the handman was able to direct them to specific volumes.

Over the next three interminable days, the only thing they found useful was the nature of Khandian sorcery as practiced by adherents not directly controlled by Sauron. If one of the two men needed to defeat the spell was of this land, it couldn’t hurt to know what they did. The scholar came by a few times to get close to Nag Kath but the grim face, accented by a little charcoal under his eyes, made Îonzuld reconsider private tutoring.

______________-------______________

Keldan had to wait after delivering the packet. It was taken directly to Bror Dulgov. With the signet seal, only he could open it. Keldan knew he spoke Westron but did not read it well. The Bror would not have the messenger see the letter read to him.

Maturity kept the strapping Bror of the Rhûn from shredding it and the messenger with his own hands. That sneaky Elf! Thinks he to interfere in my rule, does he! “Bring the man in.” If the fellow had been ordered by someone with his signet, the man was doing his duty. When he was brought to the throne room the Bror demanded, “What know you of this?!”

“I was among those in the false embassy, My Lord.”

Well, he wasn’t trying to weasel out of it. “Do you know what I have done to people for less?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

Dulgov wouldn’t even get the satisfaction of hearing the man beg. He leaned forward and growled, “Why?”

Keldan smiled and said, “Because I want rid of the Visitors, Excellency.”

The Bror crossed his arms on his chest. “Good answer. Now what is this about?” Afterwards, Dulgov sent for his General, Chamberlain and second son Voranush. First son Dorgov would be included as soon as he was recalled from the field. 

The Elf had created two nearly separate lines: One was the obvious connection between Rhûn and Upper Khand. It probably made sense. Elessar and Éomer to the west wanted no more contested land than they had already seized. Bain had quickly taken the reins in the north. Keldan, who Dulgov now remembered from the farms when the Bror was still heir apparent, said the Khagan had dealt with a few relatives of his own and was not looking north for border squabbles.

What neither of them needed was a consolidated Mordor spewing out of the Ephel pincer. It was a near miss with his brother Frûnzar and they would not stop. This Yigresh might feel the same way. If all the Elf needed was for the two rulers to drink tea and talk about trade, he could manage that. As soon as the spies saw troops in strength leave their capitals not planning to use them on each other, that might force the dougsh on the Nûrnen to overplay his hand. Then the local tyrants could clean up the mess. 

Dulgov instructed his staff to make the arrangements and had a genuine troop of men, led by Prince Voranush, carry a letter to the Khagan stating the terms favored by his Excellency were agreeable. He would look forward to meeting the man on the first of June. Keldan could join the advance riders wearing his own hide.

______________-------______________

It was the breath before the plunge. Between now and leaving there wasn’t much to do. With hope, Rydovosh would stage-manage the same sort of tea party with Rhorzah on their shared river and give the impression that the bulk of Rydovosh’s forces were on the wrong side of the country. 

Aômul was the unknown. He hated Nulvanash more than anyone. Rydovosh was going to probe but his men might not be welcomed any more than the Visitors. Given the route in-between, that meant taking one of their rickety boats north. From the east, the scholars had to travel the length of Aômul's realm to reach the Assured. Hopefully Aômul could make a stink as well. A lot of that depended on how the tyrant felt about the major powers massing outside the open end of Mordor. Nag Kath tried to create as many diversions as possible thinking most would fail.

Keldan arrived in Lhûg on March third. The Bror had agreed. It helped that Dulgov weeded another Visitor out of his own household staff just before Keldan arrived, the sort of fellow who would have sent word back to the High Visitor where to wait with a knife. This man was from Kelepar and had been seduced by the order having never even seen Mordor.

His Excellency still had to wait for the Khagan to agree, but Khand had a lot more notice than Rhûn. With terms, Dulgov would start publicly preparing men for the border on or near the beginning of May. 

It was time to go. Nag Kath had seen Chûran several more times. There was a heat building between them and he had not acted on it. When he rose from his chair to say goodbye, she came to him and put her hands on his chest. If this woman wanted him to stay the night, he would. 

She looked in his eyes and said, “Nag Kash … Nag Kash, if you see a young officer who looks like me, please spare him if you can.”

He kissed her forehead and rode back to the school.


	26. Hearts of Mordor

** **

** _Chapter 26_ **

** _Hearts of Mordor_ **

Their exit was a farce from the start. Lurgsh, who was in fine condition, had been limping around Lhûg since he first got off his horse. They bought the slowest donkey in town, ostensibly loaded with books and texts. The poor jenny actually did have a few, but under the pack-frame, their bows and arrows were within easy reach by lifting a flap. Nag Kath carried his. 

Shelturn had made his peace. This was a dangerous mission but it was a dangerous world. He was a soldier. He dressed in the travel clothes of any soldier of the Nûrnen with lapel gorgets from every army that wore them in his front pocket. Idgshtok was their servant but he was also dressed to play any part needed. All four carried their swords either at their sides or on their backs. Keldan wanted to come too but he needed to stay close to the Bror. 

There would almost certainly be a Ghorandul Visitor dogging their steps the whole way. The man was not hard to spot, lurking where he shouldn’t be as animals were readied and provisioned. He might see things he did not need to report, a decision to make as needed. 

They trudged about the same pace as Ureano. Travelers were few and the villagers always stopped to stare. Twice, local toughs thought to share their cargo but thought better of the swords and bow. It took a month to reach the Sirlath River into Ghurzun. It would have been faster to cut cross country but that put them smack in the middle of the two western warlords fighting for control of those deltas. Studuray Nûrn was a crossroads for the path along the western bank and the river-border of Aômul’s realm in northern Mordor. 

They reached it towards dusk and made camp in time for a half-dozen hungry infantry from the western war to stalk towards the fire. The soldiers didn’t even bother to threaten. Rushing in with bare steel, arrows took the first two in the face. The ‘fast’ finished the other four before the scholars could reach their bows. It was too dark to cross so they left them where they lay. Nag Kath had had these campfires before. Shelturn saw some of what the Elf could do but this was new to Lurgsh and Idgshtok. Nobody was hungry. Hopefully the Visitor behind them would think they were already dead.

______________-------______________

Three quiet days led them to the Nûrn crossroads, the worst place in the history of men. Their path continued along the lake shore to the three-river delta. The spur to the right led to what most people think when they think of Mordor, the plain of Gorgoroth. This was the road where men bore the heavy grain bags that fed the orcs of Sauron. Many died under the orc whips. Many were eaten when they arrived. Surviving orcs came back this way and were slaughtered by men of the lake. If ever Nag Kath had wondered why he wasn’t enjoying wine, women and song in Dol Amroth, staring up that road put things in perspective. The scholars let the bloody changeling stare as long as he wanted.

The next day, two riders passed them like they were standing still. With luck that would be a Visitor making for his Lord to say that Rhûn and Khand were massing cavalry at the open end of Mordor alongside the Ghorundal who had been tailing them. Idgshtok spit where they crossed his shadow. 

One more day brought them to Aômul’s capital of Truzurn on the east side of the Maegond River. It was ten leagues upstream and only another ten leagues from Ûniarra Nûrn. Most of that distance was over strong currents. Nulvanash would have to send an army a long way west to ford in enough numbers to hurt the Hurm. They arrived about mid-afternoon and found the only building that could house the royal family of Nûrn. 

Two men, guards in the loosest sense, loitered at the front door. They straightened when the four scholars walked up the short staircase. The young foreigner told them in their own tongue that the group was here to see Hurm Aômul with references. One of the guards went inside and the other tried to look like he might do something if the gore-spattered giant caused trouble. The man was back quickly with a more senior soldier who spoke with Idgshtok, now schooled for these conversations. The senior man shut the door on his way back inside leaving both guards a few uncomfortable feet from the scholars.

It was an unending quarter-bell before he returned and told the guests to follow him. Their swords were not demanded but the Hurm appeared at the other end of a long, low room with four men to either side of him. They would have this discussion from thirty feet away. As practiced, Idgshtok greeted the Hurm with dignity and respect before stating that they were the folk his esteemed neighbor Rydovosh told him would be coming.

Only the Hurm’s eyes moved. He was a hard-earned forty-ish with thinning brown hair and the kind of face that can’t help but scowl. He nodded to the men on either side and sat cross-legged where he was standing. The guards splayed against the wall and he told Idgshtok to tell the four to sit where they stood. If the scholars hadn’t just learned about Nag Kath’s speed, this would have seemed a distinct disadvantage. 

The Hurm spoke in a low, gravelly tone for a minute. The trooper translated that to say that he had heard from his fellow Hurm but he had done nothing with his troops. The guests were known enemies of the dougsh below the rivers so he would hear their petition.

Nag Kath spoke next. This had been practiced first from Westron to Khandian and then to the language of Mordor. “The evil Hurm of Ûniarra Nûrn will cross the Nargil shortly and make for the capital. It is then he will be destroyed”

Aômul nodded his head slowly. “That is a large boast. Do you think I will help?”

Nag Kath set the hook. “We are more concerned what you will do with the Maegond Delta.” That was the finger of land between the two realms that had not been conquered by either side. Nulvanash had a worse river to ford than Aômul. Both claimed it but neither controlled it. Raiding parties from both sides made it a misery for the people trying to scratch gureeq out of the contested soil. 

The Hurm made Idgshtok repeat it and bristled, “What I do with my land is my business!”

It was Lurgsh’s turn to speak. He looked at his fellow scholars first before saying, “Then we are mistaken. You have our sincere apology, Lord Hurm.”

Mollified, the man rocked back on his hands with a, “Huummph.”

Shelturn requested, “In the spirit of fellowship, can you give us a pass to travel through your troops towards the Liûrzrant River?”

A humorous man might have said; ‘Gladly, if you can find any troops.’ This was no laughing matter. If he could occupy above the Liûrzrant and Rydovosh below, that would settle the pompous Assured right proper. Aômul asked, “What do you want?”

Nag Kath said, “In two days time, move your army across the Maegond. Make much dust, light many campfires. When this is over, it will be yours.”

“Why would the dougsh Hurm not attack?”

Nag Kath replied, “He seeks sorcery in Nargil. If he gets it, he will rule all.”

The Hurm sat stock still for a long moment before calling a counselor to sit next to him. They spoke softly for a few minutes. Nag Kath could hear it but did not understand. He was fairly sure that the conversation was about the weight of power. The sheer brutality of Sauron’s lands was that men, food and steel had been balanced by blood in this forsaken place. Aômul did not fear combat more than any of the others like him, but sorcery was different. For ten years he had heard tales of the puffy ruler dealing-out pain with a wave of his arm. The Hurm did not understand that. The ruler of Ûniarra Nûrn drew foulness to him. Aômul was five when the orcs dropped dead and the overseers either became leaders or were torn to stew by bare hands. He liked his life now. If occupying his rightful lands would help these men rid the lake of Nulvanash, he would take that chance.

With gravity the man spoke, “I will consider this.”

______________-------______________

The only troops they found crossing the delta were Nulvanash’s men on the north bank of the Liûrzrant. Nag Kath had seen his share of sullen, bullying soldiers but these lads won the ribbon. With a master who believed ‘might makes right’, everything trickled down. There was a genuine ferry docked on the other side of six infantrymen who rose and sneered at the approaching scholars. The biggest drawled something that could only be; ‘What do you want, dougsh?’

Idgshtok had worked on this response more than the rest combined, “We are here at the call of Uvuo.”

“Sure you are.”

The trooper nodded to Shelturn who produced a note. It had a single rune surrounded by a ring. The corporal changed his tune in a hurry and shouted to a man on the ferry to wave a yellow flag. That would start the horse on the other side nearly a quarter mile away. They all got on the barge except for the jenny. She had had about enough of Mordor. After some heehawing and pulling, she was loaded. There were no rails or hooks. If you went over, you swam. Loutish soldiers on the other side knew from the flag that these were not men to be trifled with. Shelturn showed the corporal the same note and the guard walked them to the central building.

The capital city was fairly new. With few trees, everything was made of rock or mud bricks making the buildings the same color as the dirt. The corporal told them to stay out front and went in to fetch one of the Richtren Visitors. Somehow the scholars expected a fiend in black robes but the fellow was dressed like every other soldier except for a reddish collar on his tunic. He said in passable Khandian, “You are expected. Please come this way.”

The Visitor deposited them in a fair sized room with one window. Shelturn instinctively gazed at avenues of escape. Looking around they realized just how much they would need to rely on each other. One of them spoke every language needed. But they also spoke some of those languages better than they should. Nag Kath was now fluent in Khandian but was not supposed to know it. Idgshtok would now have to struggle with his native tongue because anyone who spoke it well was an enemy.

At length, a spare man who was dressed in black arrived and said in Khandian, “Ah, gentlemen. I am so glad you have come. I hope your trip was free of trouble.” No one complained. “I am Uvuo, advisor to his Excellency the Assured.”

The Scholars took that as a prompt to introduce themselves in their assumed native tongues. Uvuo got right to the point, “We have asked you here to consult on several pieces of our heritage written in tongues no longer spoken.” He had to stop every sentence so Lurgsh, now Scholar Tsitriq, could translate it for the pale northerner. 

It was long understood that complete answers might land them in a black pit so everything they contemplated would take hours of painstaking research and consultation. It was nearing dinner so the Visitor concluded with, “Please, refresh yourselves after much toil. The attendants will take you to your quarters and meals will be brought. Tomorrow we will meet the Assured.”

One of the attendants was going to pull the bag off the poor donkey until the Dunedain beat him to it. A growl from the towering creature convinced the servant that the guests were welcome to carry their own luggage. They were shown a mid-sized room with four cots and a single large water basin. A bucket in the corner was the privy. Dinner was two large bowls of cooked grain with some kind of fat and the tough greens Nag Kath chewed here before. 

______________-------______________

About breakfast time, a red-collar opened the door to let sun filter in and gestured for the men to follow him. They were led into a large room with a higher ceiling than they had yet seen around the Nûrnen. In a black throne on a raised dais sat the Assured with Uvuo standing beside him. The scholars stood in a line twenty feet away from the man and bowed deeply. Being blasphemers, they were not forced to kowtow. Shelturn counted six guards with red collars inside the room; one at each window and two more next to both doors.

They all knew the face by heart from Nag Kath’s drawing. He was a little fatter and the effect was intensified by wearing padded armor against knives. He turned the ring on the first finger of his right hand. Uvuo did the talking. “Hail Assured, Ruler of All Nûrn!” The scholars managed halfhearted second bows in varying degrees.

Uvuo cleared his throat and announced in Khandian, “You are here to help the Assured divine mysteries of ancient documents using your learning and tongues.” Lurgsh gave that to everyone in Westron. 

Designated speaker Tsitreq added, “We are honored to serve the house of such an esteemed ruler.”

Nulvanash seemed a bit piqued at them not using his full title but nodded for his Visitor to proceed. The man could educate them in the fullness of time. They could see the concern on his face. A subaltern was waiting by the door. The Assured waved him up and received a report. It was not what he wanted to hear. Nulvanash asked him a question and got an answer he didn’t want either. With a wave of the ruler’s hand, the man flew across the room and skidded to a few feet from the wall. He immediately prostrated himself with his head to the floor until told to leave. The demonstration was probably for the benefit of the visiting scholars and they were duly awed. That was more power than Nag Kath was expecting. Had the man found secrets in that ring? Did he have power already? It didn’t really change their plan and it confirmed the man couldn’t control his temper. They might need that.

Uvuo gestured for them to cross the room towards a small table with papers on top. A few steps into the trip, the Assured barked an order in Mordoran Plainstongue. Idgshtok turned, bowed and stumbled through an answer that showed he had barely understood. The kid had ice in his veins. That was a test. Uvuo said in Khandian to proceed and they gathered around the documents. 

They were old manuscripts. The agreed plan was that nothing could be immediately translated without the scholars meeting privately. These were another test. Nag Kath recognized them as the same sort of requisitions and trash he used to keep because the backs were blank. Shelturn, now honored Scholar Quastille, briefly of Kelepar, shook his head in concentration. Lurgsh and Idgshtok looked on in as if studying the Nuralth. Six sheets down, they reached something in Elvish. Nag Kath looked at Uvuo as if to ask if he could touch it. The Visitor nodded and the Dunedain brought it close to his face. It seemed to be a personal diary. He read a part about putting the children to bed after reading to them aloud which Lurgsh translated.

“Houghnosh!” That wasn’t something the Assured needed to know. The stranger understood the womanish Elvish writings. He could understand others in due course. Lurgsh found something in his bailiwick to show competence. It was a piece from the Balchoth. That was not especially ancient. The nomadic warriors were active in the middle of the Third-Age, well after the Wain-Riders of the same region. Allies, but not servants of Sauron, clans of Balchoth were the dominant force among Easterlings for centuries.

They were also the model for Nulvanash’s hierarchy. It helped that Nag Kath showed everyone the Visitor’s rock tracings many times. Scholar Tsitreq pointed at a few of them and read them by their original and modern names. One was Fûl, the same one on the Visitor pass and stamped on the groats they altered in Lhûg.

Seemingly not charlatans, Uvuo said they should take the documents back to their quarters and prepare their findings for the Assured’s pleasure. Idgshtok gathered them reverently and the four men left after deep bows to the motionless Nulvanash.

There was poor light in their room so Lurgsh asked if they could use a table near a window. That had to go almost all the way to the top for clearance. No one dared take authority for any decision at any time. The consequences burned in every mind. Half an hour later, the men were seated in four of the least comfortable chairs in Middle-earth. Chairs were rare. No one sat in the palace of the Assured. Westron would be the language of choice and a pidgin version of that when anyone was within earshot.

______________-------______________

Shelturn chuckled at the venerated archives, “Plenty here for wiping.”

Lurgsh agreed, “Aye, this might be every scrap of old paper in the place. Let us assume that they know what these say so our interpretations should be as close as possible. We have already invented what needs to be said about the map.”

Nag Kath broke out fresh paper and pencils or quills for their preliminary report. He dictated the dullest part of the Elf’s journal into Westron which Lurgsh wrote in Variag. Lurgsh took on the Balchoth writings which were essentially Rhûnic with some of the symbols sprinkled in. Those seemed to invoke godlings of the east, probably more obligations of respect than shorthand. The man had the oratory of a scholar too if he needed drama in explaining.

Their presentation the following day was designed to be tedious and succeeded. The Assured waved the hand without the ring and Uvuo took that as a signal that the documents had been superbly studied and would be added to the national library. Then Nulvanash nodded to his henchman and the tone became more intense. On the same table were three new documents. Two were single sheets that seemed older and simpler than yesterday’s. The other was the map. Shelturn had to bite his lip recognizing his tea-mug stain on the dragon. 

Lurgsh asked permission to pick-up one of the sheets, as if to imply the scholars did not consider any of them more important than the others. It was granted and he said in Khandian, “This is older, much older.” Nag Kath walked a quarter turn around the table to look at his own script on the map but said nothing.

Uvuo did, “These are from the Assured’s personal files. You will report on them as well.” Igshtok started to roll them together when Nulvanash barked a command. The trooper had practiced not understanding and only stopped when the High Visitor said in Variag, “Those should stay here, young man.” He laid them down gently and stood at less than soldierly attention. 

As planned, Scholar Tsitreq said, “This will take considerably longer, honored Lords. What conditions would you place on our deliberations?”

The High Visitor had practiced his part too, “The room to our right will serve as your new quarters. Your own papers will stay there as well. These documents will be brought to you in the morning and will remain under guard until dark.” This was in a harder voice than he had used. They were all sure it could be harder still. One of the red collared Visitors took the three sheets into what could be called a vestibule. It was the mirror image of the entry room with two open windows each guarded by a single man. Another man covered the door. These weren’t rankers. They had red collars with swords and spears. None of them twitched. The scholars were shown back to last night’s room to collect their things except for the weapons. They were glad of the Lembas. The table here could seat eight and the chairs were better. They started with the two sheets. That was purely Lurgsh’s domain. Nothing looked particularly Elvish. Shelturn had to appear studious, offering comments in Westron. Their servant was not required to act scholarly but he cocked his ear at the two statues by the windows. 

While the archivists were trying to earn their keep, riders approached the palace slowing from a dead run. The Visitor by the door slipped out and was back a few moments later saying in halting Khandian that today’s session was over as he scooped the three sacred documents off the table. The guards left with him but there were still men posted along the perimeter of the grounds. This was what the scholars were waiting for. News had already reached the Assured there was trouble outside Mordor by way of the Bror and Khagan. Hopefully this was noise to the north that Aômul had crossed the Maegond, possibly in support of the great hosts massing to the east. If Rydovosh was holding to the script, he would be obviously not near the Nargil when Nulvanash felt forced to claim his rightful legacy in a mad rush due south. After this interruption, the Lords of Ûniarra Nûrn would want answers fast.

They were kept in the room the rest of the day and night. Nag Kath listened for breathing outside the door and heard it. The guards never said a word. They didn’t really have to. Soldiers outside were moving fast and yelling orders. Horses were unsettled. Pigs were butchered. The cavalry was moving.

The next day what they took to be a senior visitor came in with the four guards and the papers. Idgshtok cleared their own documents away to make room. Those papers were a collection of counterfeits along with a pile of their own wipers collected in Lhûg. A few were on the same paper as the map. Secrets they divined for the Assured depended on which of the diversions were in play. Those had been practiced on the trip here, or there were nose scratches and chin rubs to steer the conversation. 

The scholars concentrated on the two new sheets. Soldiers shouting outside was music to their ears. Idgshtok translated the cries into rough Westron as if commenting on the ancient texts. It was the same hurried preparation of every army, wondering where the saddles were or who had the food. Soldiers and Visitors had separate tracks.

The first of the sheets commemorated a Balchoth moot with a list of gifts presented to their Lord and those presenting them. None of the names were familiar. Presumably this was tribute and making sure who had paid their squeeze. Scholar Tsitreq could give a fine oratory of a ruler probably much like the hefty Assured.

The next was much more interesting. Lurgsh only mumbled. This was something from ancient right-livers. It detailed the origin of Gelansor. Much of it was the same as taught now but it was not known to be that old. There was no way the locals could counterfeit something on this parchment. The script was in the oldest Khandian with the flourishes that made it almost look like the elaborate Black Speech. Did it date from the same time? Lurgsh dictated detailed notes to Shelturn who crabbed them between lines of one of their older papers rather than write them fresh. Nag Kath turned his attention to the map. That was why they were here so they had better look like they paid attention.

Around mid-afternoon, Nulvanash and Uvuo walked in to receive their bows. The Assured jabbered something which the steady High Visitor converted to; “What have you learned?”

Scholar Tsitreq said, “We have translated the two documents. He started with the tribute list and said it almost as if a herald would in the court of the Lord Balchoth, emphasizing the praise heaped on the old warlord. Nulvanash seemed to think that went well. Tsitreq shifted to the right-living document and summarized Shelturn’s comments. “Honored Lords, this is an old document that outlines family customs of peoples to the far east of these lands. It is …” He stopped for Shelturn’s next sentences and continued, “ … chiefly on the raising of children and holidays for their forgotten gods.”

After Uvuo gave it to him in their tongue, Nulvanash managed a “Hummph.”

The High Visitor delicately shifted to the remaining piece. “And have you made headway on the map?”

Lurgsh asked something of Nag Kath and received an answer. When that was not adequate, he asked something else and got a remonstration with rare gestures from the taciturn northerner. With dignity, Lurgsh turned back to the waiting lords and said, “Some of the writing is clear. It concerns the mountains towards Harad. But there are wards and locations that may be of Mordor itself. We may need to ask questions of you for reference. Tanisditter, here, thinks it should make itself known to us within the week.”

That exchange between the Lords was not as smooth. The Assured spoke sharply and left in a huff. Uvuo rubbed his hands together and soothed, “Please continue your studies. We have every confidence they will bear fruit.” 

Sitting back at the table, Nag Kath said, “It is time to spring the trap.”

______________-------______________

Uvuo’s rooms were spare. Nice things held no charm for him. He was the fifth High Visitor. Their birth was the destruction of the One Ring. Always before always, Sauron had servants, men with sorcerous powers, men of the Yvsuldor. It was they who would visit him to learn his will or hear his voice from afar. It was they who instructed and threatened the lazy Variag and the witless Southron. The Nazgûl were at the top of the heap. 

They all died with the reckoning. Anyone known to wield sorcerous powers was slain in vengeance along with their spawn. With the death of the soldier orcs, other men ranged from the basest slaves to men and orcs who whipped them. Almost everywhere, the latter were mutilated beyond recognition, helped when the clouds of the dark lord dissipated. But here on the western shore, a small group of overseers slew the mob. They knew how to control men and did so.

They agreed in fresh blood that Sauron was Lord and would return. Their lives would be better than before since they would serve directly rather than be buffered by the loathsome orcs. Warlords came and went, sometimes monthly. Visitors advised, intimidated and spoke words of greatness. Their own hierarchy was not based in violence. The dark lord took his time. It could be many generations of men before he could accept their help. High Visitors died or abdicated to their chosen successor and all men believed.

But no natural sorcerers could be found. It was not until fourteen years ago that a promising officer of Furnar Durosh showed signs of higher gifts. Close to the Visitor lair in Ûniarra Nûrn, men were sent to assess and cultivate the Captain. One of those was Richtren Uvuo.

Nulvanash was almost what they were looking for; ruthless, singled-minded, cunning and persuasive. His volatility was concerning. And he was just smart enough to be effective. High Visitor Xaugoush decided the time had come. A gold ring had been found, stolen, stolen again and found by one of their order who told his superiors who to remove. There was only one kind of gold ring in Mordor. Survivors of Morannon said a fell-beast rider wheeled and made south as the others turned to Orodruin. It plummeted furthest from the tower. Could this be that ring? It had power.

Uvuo gave it to the impossibly rare male sorcerer who used it to inflict pain and demand unquestioning obedience from his men. Nulvanash’s Hurm died suddenly, triggering the Visitors’ plan to murder any potential rival. Within the year, the new Lord of Furnar Durosh had conquered Ûniarra Nûrn above him and consolidated his power between the two rivers.

The Visitors then split into two discrete corps. One was the security detail for Nulvanash. They were the best of his soldiers who well understood their favor. The other was the Yvsuldor reimagined; men spreading this gospel of malice to other lands, as they had done for the Dark Lord. They were carefully chosen for believing in his return. Nulvanash himself would build their stamina against interrogation and blasphemy with the ring. Six of their best were killed with Frûnzar in Rhûn or the pestilential winelands. A like operation in northern Harad succeeded. Visitors used it as a base to spread the word among that ruler’s neighbors and co-opt local men whose passion burned bright.

Now it seemed their toil and patience would take them higher. The next dark lord was that much closer. 

______________-------______________

The Scholars’ plan relied on other men’s armies. Lords capable of laying waste to Mordor were waiting on the doorstep. That they were drinking tea and discussing trade routes was unknown here. Idgshtok heard Aômul mentioned twice last night, and not respectfully either. 

With luck, the Assured would decide he had to risk running up the river and crossing with enough time and sorcery to capture power. Then he could bend all to his will. His hero had done so. Fighting Aômul to the north was the wrong direction. Nulvanash would probably win, but that left him open for Rydovosh to cross his army below. The scholars knew it was time to build the Assured’s confidence.

Uvuo came with two senior red-collars after Shelturn told one of the guards there were tidings. Elvish Scholar Tanisditter stayed sitting at the table and said in his harsh tongue, translated in Lurgsh’s smooth tones, that there was sorcery involved. The older, separate part of the text on the map said that a man blessed with favor from the dark ones could enter places lesser men could not. Failing that, a man of the Wain-Riders, in congress with a man of the desert, could combine their separate, lesser humors to be received by the most high. Was that why both Khand and Rhûn were massing, each having one component of the pair?

Scholar Tsitreq said there was more about the qualifications of favor and the Dunedain was going through their records to discover those secrets. Uvuo had lost his usual chattiness and nodded before stalking out the door. The learned men would drop the hammer in the next meeting tomorrow.

______________-------______________

There is a certain calm that comes from knowing you have done everything you can. The situation is still tense, but not nagging. If all went wrong, Nag Kath would kill the entire leadership of this wretched realm but that would still leave a seething dunghill of men who would do the same thing. The scholars slept while Nag Kath watched.

Late the next afternoon, the scholars announced a breakthrough. Both the Assured and his High Visitor came into the room. Nulvanash was in battle armor this time but his right hand was ungloved. Nag Kath gave Lurgsh the story in pidgin Easterling and Sindarin. Lurgsh explained, “There is more to the puzzle, High Lords. The older writings describe how the favored man gains entry. Perhaps the map shows where but your humble scholars do not know the location. I apologize. Amid the hidden tribute of the Southrons is the test. It will take a ring to claim it. It must be of the Urmthalak rings held away from what is described as a ‘citadel of sight’. Discovering it must come through flame because a false ring would destroy the bearer.”

Hopefully they had heard that the one ring showed its inscription after being heated. If not, Nag Kath could pantomime that. As rehearsed, Lurgsh dismissed the claim, “Of course, there are many such treasure maps in the bazaar that men will sell to the gullible. I hope your Excellency did not pay overmuch for this one.”

They could see the wheels turning inside both minds. It was the real thing. Lurgsh set the hook, “One would need to already have a ring of power and it would have to be confirmed.”

Nulvanash turned the ring on his finger and nodded to the Visitor. No one moved. Uvuo asked, “What must be done?”

Lurgsh looked at his towering northerner and asked a question. Nag Kath gave a short, halting version in Westron which Lurgsh interpreted as, “It must be heated in fire to reveal writing of the source.”

Put my precious ring in fire?! Nulvanash knew he must. Those rings were wrought in the hottest of smithies. The Assured ordered a large fire built in the stove in his throne room. It was already sweltering but the Lord’s will be done. The Dunedain also said he would need tongs and a large bucket of water. Those were brought as well.

The scholars were left alone for an hour and then summoned to the blazing throne room. Nulvanash stepped off his dais and went to the tall man. Taking the ring off his finger he had Uvuo translate through Lurgsh, “If any harm comes to this, you will die a thousand times.” The stranger nodded grimly and took the ring with the tongs. Nag Kath set it in the fire not knowing whether there was any writing on it or not. It didn’t matter. He had a story either way. 

For five minutes they watched the ring near the coals and then did see two Dwarvish markings inside the band. He could not read them and doubted these men could either. He gripped it with the tongs and showed them before slowly quenching the ring into the water. When it sizzled, he lost the tong grip and reached his hand into the bucket to get the ring which he handed to the Assured.

As the man started to slip it on Nag Kath said something sharply in Elvish, apologized in the same tongue and told Lurgsh to say, “I am sorry, Assured. This ring is the sort that dissipates power if worn constantly. Tanisditter said …” he looked at Nag Kath again for clarification and continued, “… for highest power it should only be worn at the time of greatest need. It was the custom of men with such rings to wear them on a chain that could be used at an instant.” He showed the charm Nag Kath bought in Riavod, conveniently around his neck.

A golden chain was found instantly. The assured was not used to a naked finger but the massing troops along the northern corridor made the situation dire. Greater power may be required. Uvuo asked, “Were there any instructions for the kind of spell?”

Lurgsh asked that of the tall man and replied, “Just the spell that the bearer always uses for favor. The Black Speech will take longer. What my man has still not discovered is the nature of the folds.”

“Black Speech? Folds?”

“Yes, the way the map folds on itself. Come this way.” They walked back to the vestibule and Nag Kath showed how the wrinkled map folded at several angles. One clever combination of them made the rocks of the mountains grasp the ring like a fist. 

Nulvanash and the High Visitor looked at each other without speaking. With a wave of his Assured hand, the Lords and guards left the room taking only the map. The other two documents were tests too. Shelturn slipped them in his folio. They all sat at the table and watched the Elf nod ever so slightly. 

The Dwarf ring was in his pocket. 

______________-------______________

That night the Elf used the ‘fast’ to slip out the window to run an errand. He was back within the hour. It was a good thing because red-collar guards woke them before dawn with orders to move. They collected their things and, surprisingly, their weapons from the original room. Saddling the horses, Nag Kath quietly said that anyone who wanted to leave could ride anytime they saw the opening. 

A week before, word had reached the High Visitor that the blasphemer Hurm Rydovosh had moved forces to the east, away from Ûniarra Nûrn. That was supposedly because the equally contemptible Rhorzah had massed troops on Rydovosh’s eastern border after a simmering disagreement over a matter beneath the Assured’s dignity. The spy left as soon as he knew and it was possible that Rhorzah had already forded some cavalry.

When the two Visitors saw the mountain fist grasping the ring, they knew their time had come. The scholars would ride with the strike force if more answers were needed. Nulvanash spent his night awake. Not wearing his ring was uncomfortable. He did grip it in his hand much of the time and still felt its power. So much blood. So much toil. So many traitors. Sauron must have had similar moments of doubt.

A skeleton force of two hundred infantry was left to guard the Assured’s gold. Aômul’s forces were still on the peninsula but had not moved closer to the border. All three hundred eighty of Nulvanash's cavalry would use the same ford as the stealth raid did last time, about two-thirds up the Nargil. Pushing hard they should reach the rocks in four days. Five days before, a thousand infantry along the Lisurrant left one in five behind making noise and lighting campfires while the rest were force-marched up the Assured's side of the Nargil. They would pick their way through the crags to drop in on Rydovosh’s lands from the south where the Nargil tributaries could be forded by foot-soldiers and join the cavalry in the foothills. Orders were given the day the news of Rydovosh’s reinforcing the far end of his realm arrived, which was why Aômul crossing days later was so concerning. They had stripped their northern defenses wagered that after seizing whatever was in that cave they could come back and deal with the lowly Hurms.

One hundred sixty of the cavalry were red-collared Visitors. One might assume they were the elite troops but they weren’t hardened soldiers. All had imagined their Lord’s victory in glory. Young and ruthless, they were roundly despised by the working soldiery, even if no one said so. Sixty Visitors were the Assured’s bodyguard and the rest rode ahead or behind. There were Ghoranduls with the infantry too, much like the man Nag Kath questioned on the Celduin. They were spies and motivators with the top man annoying the general nominally in charge. There wasn’t much either could do about it since Nulvanash purposely played them against each other. Only a few in either column knew the destination.

The cavalry made it to the ford at dusk of the third day, camping without fires to cross at first light for the sprint up the hill in enemy territory. Anandogh, the Captain who had felt the power and came back with his Lord, was one of the men in charge of getting the horses across the river. He scornfully glanced at the eastern scholars as he walked by. With him was a young aide listening for orders. He reminded Nag Kath of the delicate woman who hoped her son might be spared. With the summer river flow, horses made it across in good order, though two dozen were caught in the current and straggled in late. That would have been the best place for any of the scholars to drift from pursuit but their horses were tied to four of the larger Visitors. 

Four hundred horses can’t make time like a dozen. They get in each other’s way. It takes a long time to drink at little streams. Few had been conditioned for distance. It was dark before the army reached the foothills of the Nargil Pass. After a hard day's ride, Nulvanash planned to walk up there by now and proclaim himself Lord of All. He would have to wait for the sun or take his chances on loose shale. His infantry was camped five miles south on their side of the river. There was no place to put them out of view. Fords had been scouted across the tributaries to move at the signal. General Yshok was here in the Assured’s camp and would return to his men at first light to cross them here as the perimeter defense when the Assured reached the rocks about mid-day.

Most of Rydovosh’s army and cavalry plus a hundred thirty horse on loan from Rhorzah were biding their time five miles to the east. In the dash for the mountains, the Assured hadn’t sent flanking scouts to survey the gullies more than a mile from the main force. The Hurm’s scouts in the mountains were relaying signals. Rydovosh was to wait until the fat man puffed his way up those crags before coming into view.

Nag Kath wrapped his arms around his knees and smelled the air. Later that evening he paid a courtesy call to the infantry General’s tent after visiting the Richtrens' horses. As the sun peeked over the ridge, Uvuo and a dozen of his trolls came by the scholars’ bedrolls. Any pretense of graciousness was gone. They were prisoners to answer questions and they would fight for their lives if attacked because either side would slay them just as happily.

The High Visitor growled, “Now, what of the Black Speech?” 

Shelturn hoped to kill this one himself. In the famous stories, the hero always slew the villain and the officers destroyed their opposite numbers in fair combat. With this one; a knife in back would be fine. Shelturn said to Nag Kath, “He wants to know about the Black Speech.”

The tall northern scholar looked terrified and started to whimper that he was not a soldier, he was a man of words and thoughts. One of the Visitors slapped him across the face to silence his womanish fussing. Lurgsh walked over and made things clear, “Sorry, lad. Tell the man.”

The Dunedain could not compose himself. The jumbled translation was that knowing those words would be a terrible thing. The red-collar stepped in for another punch when the tall creature broke down and cried, “It must be said, _**‘Dooshs nucht halamn viell.’**_

The High Visitor asked softly, “What does it mean?” 

The scholar was crying and babbling. The red-collar threatened and the tall man raised his arms to protect himself howling, “I do not know! It must be said to enter. But it must not be said else darkness will fall!”

Uvuo said firmly, “Repeat that!” The cowardly Dunedain took Uvuo and one of the guards through it several times until they would not forget. When the Visitors tramped up to Nulvanash’s tent, the other scholars comforted the poor fellow. 

______________-------______________

They rode another three hours to the base of the cliffs. There was no sign of the infantry but it was still early. The Assured could not wait and removed his armor. He was not in shape to haul twenty five pounds of steel up that mountain. It would take him at least an hour traveling light. Thirty of his men under Anandogh accompanied him, stationing groups of three as rear guards along the way. 

Rydovash pulled his troops up to the ridge just east of the horizon. They crested the hill as Nulvanash had almost reached the warded cave. The Assured tried to get in and was repulsed, forgetting for a moment that his ring was on the chain. One of the Visitor guards shouted that enemy forces were attacking. The Assured scampered to the edge of the crag and realized he had to get in and seize power now. The guard with Uvuo who had memorized the chant repeated it. Nulvanash tore the gold chain from his neck and put the ring on his finger frantically chanting, “_**Dooshs nucht halamn viell!**_”

Nag Kath had not had much luck with Nenwûla of the Viersh’s binding plants. The only one that could be combined with sorcery was the local equivalent of the horse-purge pugas root. That powder was slipped into the officers’ paddock on his late night visit to the general. What little sorcery he was able to embed in the former Florin ring was released and sixty horses that had been irregular suddenly bolted and loudly relieved themselves. The infantry was nowhere to be seen.

As the Nargil horsemen bore down on the dismounted and unformed cavalry of the Assured, Nulvanash threw himself against the ward Nag Kath created. The weakened spell broke and the man burst into the cave to find the Dwarf charm in plain view. Grasping it as his token of power he screamed from the ledge; _**‘Dooshs nucht halamn viell’**_, which only made the horses buck the officers off and void themselves again.

His men were being crushed below from Rydovosh’s cavalry wedge supported by a hail of arrows into troops pinned at the river. A few jumped in to risk swimming rather than die on the bank. Nulvanash howled from the ledge in rage and fear. With the extent of the disaster obvious, Anandogh shoved the hysterical man down the cliff. 

Not a single Visitor survived, though many tried to surrender. Stripping their tunics did not help. Men in shirts were slain begging. Uvuo was stabbed between the fifth and sixth ribs, too quick an end, some thought. About half of the regular cavalrymen were allowed to yield. Five miles up the hill, General Yshok seemed in a trance, sure to his imminent dying day that his commander had personally told him to hold their positions. Without food or prospects, the soldiers trickled down the mountain over the next week and were generally treated better than they deserved after denouncing the Visitors among them. 

Four bedraggled scholars wandered towards the victorious forces and bowed before Hurm Rydovosh. The Elf said, “I hope you like your new horses.” Idgshtok translated and the Hurm grinned. He asked his trooper, “Aômul has the far bank?” The Hurm had been promised some of the Visitor’s gold. 

“As we speak, My Lord. Two hundred infantry hold the city along the Lisurrant trying to look like more. They are his worst troops.”

The Hurm asked the Elf, “My sister and her son?”

“Staying with your friends.”

“Tomorrow we will ride north to secure the city.” He needed to make for the capital since his ally might take the opportunity to seize the defenseless city. Rydovosh’s losses were light. His horses were replaced in greater numbers. There was no celebrating or ale, just the screaming of men who would walk or die. His Horsemen crossed at the lower, safer ford into Ûniarra Nûrn while the infantry took the prisoners to the river mouth waiting for the lone ferry to the west. Not many of the regular army tried to escape. There was nowhere to go and if they hadn’t been killed already, the chances were good their lives would improve with the change in Hurms.

______________-------______________

Idgshtok was allowed to return to the east for services rendered. Fortunately, no one had eaten the donkey so she got the Lembas bags and as much fodder as she could carry. The Hurm fared the conquerors well as they boarded the ferry across the Lissurant. Sentries had eaten the ferry horse so Shelturn showed one of Rydovosh’s men how to wind the winch with a captured mount. It took two hours to cross but they lived. 

Once there, Hurm Aômul greeted them more warmly than the last time and insisted on giving the worst dinner any but Nag Kath could remember. It might have been worse but their host proudly claimed that for their honored guests, the meal included none of the sucker-fish that never lost the tainted smell of the Nûrnen.

In the morning it was time to go. Nag Kath wished his scholars the best of lives and hoped one day they would celebrate with good wine and stories. The bond would last the rest of their lives. Waving goodbye, Shelturn turned and shouted, “Nag Kath; **_‘Dooshs nucht halamn viell?’_**

“Your Lord relieves you!” 

There was still use for the Black Speech.

______________-------______________

The scholars still had a dangerous ride ahead but it was a jaunt compared to what the Elf had chosen. He could have returned with them, been feted and perhaps courted the lady fair, but there was still a job to do. The Elf nudged Charlo along the west bank of the Maegond and made for the Plain of Gorgoroth. As Gandalf had said; ‘as the Nazgûl flies’ was about a hundred leagues of the rankest land on earth. And the Nazgûl had flown it many times. The jenny, he named her Rosas, carried fodder and gureeq grain along with two mostly empty water sacks on either side. Charlo had water too along with Nag Kath’s few clothes, satchel and him. 

Five days upriver he reached the confluence of the tributaries; one flowing from the mountain spur of the upper Ered and his path towards a spur from the Ephel Duath. This was the orc road of men’s tears. It hugged the lee of the mountain range. Three days later, the path veered northwest away from the spur which was when he was told to fill the water bags. Rosas slowed but did not complain. The grade rose gently and he did not push her the way every owner before him had. There was water trickling down the north slope of the spur for another couple days so they drank whenever they could and refreshed the bags. 

Trees had not found their way to this blasted land, though he could see some in the far mountains with year-round snow. There were no people, no animals and few plants. Those were edible so he let the beasts nibble them to supplement the dry food. Fifteen days after the battle, the road turned north. This close to the mountains it was not as hot as it had been in all-day sun. To the right of the road were vast tracts of thorn bushes. Once or twice he saw birds flitting among them looking for bugs.

And there were bones, bones of men, orcs, fell draft animals used to haul grain for thousands of years, bones bleached white in the rainless plain. Every story ended badly. That was why this trip was so important. A week later they were halfway up the western edge of the plateau. For the first time in five days there was a stream bravely fighting its way from the foothills to the flats. It tested clean. Rosas saw her first Kath Bath but withheld comment. They had to cross quite a few of them in the next two days.

______________-------______________

Nag Kath hadn’t broken camp two hours before when he felt the hair on his neck stand up. He was being followed, from a considerable distance, but there was someone there. He kept his pace steady. Cresting a ridge, he dropped the reins and scampered up to a rock overlooking the path. There it was; a hint of motion sneaking from rock to rise and then half a head poking up to check his next stop. 

It was an orc, or, at least, mostly an orc. If it was a horse-eating orc, pickings had been slim for a long while. The smell of him would startle the animals but the wind was coming from the west. The hunter knew that. Nag Kath moved the beasts over the next little rise and secured them against a scare before running back to his original vantage point. 

The creature would rise up more like a man than a soldier orc on his back legs. He was dressed in rags with no armor and carried a short curved sword. The stalker peered around Nag Kath’s rise but did not see him hiding above so he capered into the bowl beneath.

The Elf said in the Black Speech, “_**So, think you to eat my donkey?**_”

The orc startled and looked from side to side but not up. He didn’t run away. Nag Kath slid down the sand from his loft and repeated his question. As the orc raised his sword the Elf said, _**“Drop that or die.”**_ The creature let it fall and stared. Nag Kath asked, **_“What are you?”_**

**_“Ghougash, Brou Kath.”_** Another orc six.

Tallazh once told him that southern orcish was much simpler than the Black Speech but that orcs often had a smattering of Westron. Nag Kath asked, “Do you speak the common-tongue?”

“Some.”

In Westron; “Are you hungry?”

The creature looked at him as if trying to understand how this was going. With the bow and long-sword, the tall one could easily have killed him from far away. “Hungry, hauk.”

The Elf said, “Wait here.” When he returned with some Lembas, the orc was still standing there. Nag Kath tossed him a large piece. The creature first nibbled and then could not stuff his face fast enough. The changeling wondered if the orc could eat the bread of the fair but it was gone in moments. Barely taking his eyes from his captor, the orc went to a rivulet in the rocks and had a long drink. Lembas makes you thirsty. Nag Kath told him to sit and then sat about twenty feet away. Settled, he asked, “You fought for Sauron, yes?”

“Hauk.”

“How did you live?”

“Live, all die. Only me.” Oh, did that sound familiar.

Nag Kath recalled the famed pity of Bilbo and Frodo in his turn. The war had been over for thirty five years. Here was this creature wandering the wastes of Mordor in penance for the army that died at the Black Gate. 

“Do you want to live like this?” He had to remind himself that as a former orc, he couldn’t answer that either. “Do you want to be free?”

“Hughhm.”

Nag Kath changed to the Black Speech, _**“I may be able to make you not be orc. You may die. It will hurt.”**_

The orc said quickly, _**“Do.”**_

This was an experimental spell. Gandalf had dragged the remaining orc out of him in a minute, though it took the now-Elf three days to recover. He might kill the beast. He might butcher the spell and make it worse. It looked like the creature was already turning from orcish form but he would die of old age before he got there. Out of hundreds of thousands of orcs who were directly tied to Sauron, two lived. And they were both sitting here. It was a risk, but not for great stakes. 

Nag Kath stood and sent a spell as close as he could remember being hit with in Orthanc. The orc doubled on his side, screaming in pain. He writhed and tried to reach for his sword but there he had no control of his muscles and simply groaned and twitched for several hours.

When he mercifully stopped moving, Nag Kath went back to his confused animals and got a towel and a blanket. There was no wood for a fire so he just covered his patient and stayed there, occasionally dribbling water into its mouth. 

Day by day, the orc started looking more like a man. On the third day, Nag Kath used his healer’s nips to cut the tin staples out of a gash that ran from the creature’s forehead down his nose. Orcs squeezed those into serious wounds to stop bleeding. Since infections wouldn’t kill them, they could live with the scar. On the morning of the sixth day, he was a man about the size of the men of Mordor with a bald head and that disfiguring scar running down the front of his face. A quick check showed he was male. 

Ghoughash woke quite gently that afternoon. Raising on his elbows he looked around to get his focus and saw Nag Kath waiting patiently. The man jerked up to sitting position and reached for his sword but it had been hidden a few yards away. Nag Kath asked, “How do you feel?”

Ghougash felt around his various parts and ran his hands over his face. Then he spit loudly and staggered over to the wet rocks for a long drink. Still disoriented he walked back to his dent in the dirt and sat again. “What you do?”

“I turned you into a man.” 

“Men are enemy.”

“They are all that is left. Now you go live with them.”

“They will kill me.”

“They might, but not because you are an orc. Come with me.”

They walked over to Charlo and Rosas who still smelled orc and were nervous but didn’t panic. Nag Kath took a half-dozen Lembas cakes out of his pack and some coins. He approached the new man carefully and handed him the food. “Do you know what money is?”

“Hauk.”

“Hold out your hand.” 

Ghougash did and the Elf dropped a small load of coins in his palm. “That is a lot of money. You can buy ten horses with that much. Do you understand?”

“Nuch.”

Nag Kath explained as well as he could what each of the various coins would buy ranging from groats to a nipper. “Take them to the Nûrnen and live. You will be a man now.”

Orcs can smile. This one did. The bloodlines used to create him must have been of men and he would be middle-aged and ugly. But he would be a man and could learn to live with men until he died like one. Nag Kath ripped the cuffs and hems off his bloody clothes and sent the Ghougash on his way. He hoped he would make it. He hoped everyone would.

______________------______________

It was another week to Orodruin. The landscape never changed. There were fewer streams on the plateau and he was glad of the water bags when they got out of the mountain shadow. What a terrible place! Even a generation and a half after the explosion that rocked the world, sulfurous gasses and steam still fumed from the pocked earth. Nag Kath imagined Frodo and Sam grinding their way up this benighted rock when it was much taller than now. The animals were ill at ease. Rosas tried to flee once but she was tied to Charlo and he was much larger. 

The mountain had cooled. After tying the animals together, it took the changeling all day to climb blasted cliffs. A pool of molten rock might still be hot enough. Nag Kath took the ring from his pocket and looked at it for the longest time. It called to him, seducing him. He should keep it. Wear it now! He should not waste this chance to increase his power. 

Even in his palm, he felt possession trying to seep into his skin. A man would have been torn asunder with doubt and greed. He was an Elf and tossed it into the reddest lava forty feet below, waiting for it to melt. Then he heaved several five-pound rocks down until one splatted on top to spread the gold. 

Gimli might never forgive him, but he would understand.


	27. Earned Family

** _Chapter 27_ **

** _Earned Family_ **

Making the pass of Cirith Ungol in late afternoon was like the sun rising in the west, less than a mile to the headwaters of the Nuessan. He was back. Nag Kath couldn’t say home. He had at least two of those with friends he cherished.

About even with the waterfall to Gimli’s cascade, he dismounted and let the animals graze on the first green grass they had seen in a week. As he often did, Nag Kath sat on a mound and wrapped his arms around his knees. He was tired, no, a better word was weary. For the last eight years he had been deep in darkness, starting with the witchcraft in Dol Amroth. Then he lost Flor and the baby. He wondered if those were connected. Solace in Dale was short lived with the war on the river. The last three years were of his choosing but he felt he had been called. Nag Kath allowed himself a smile. ‘Called’ was too noble. He had been invited by the little man in the garden that never was and accepted.

Those years followed even more of hard service building the aqueduct he could see stretch from his feet to the river. It was all worth it. But now it was time to start loving again. He would paint and listen to music. He would listen to stories shared with friends. And if Tal and Ardatha conspired to introduce lovely females, and they certainly would, he would be kind and caring.

His re-immersion into Gondor would have to be slower than usual. Nag Kath’s head was filled with political, military and economic information that must be first shared with King Elessar and Reyald as the representative of the King of Dale. It was excellent news, but everyone else had to wait.

First he had to get there. It was getting dark when he reached the compound at the base of the cascade. By an odd chance, Kemandroth was there with two of the linemen. He stayed on as the chief of the inspection crew for the run between here and the Nuessan. Problems were few and quickly fixed. Better yet, Osgiliath still had fevers but none were from drinking swamp water. The water-men had trout with bread and ale made from real wheat! When the changeling left in the morning, Kemandroth was sure he didn’t need a donkey.

They set a slow pace to Osgiliath. Even unloaded, Rosas was not built for speed. Nag Kath did not stop to see anyone. There would be plenty of time for that soon enough. Mostly he wanted to sleep in a real bed. Converting the orc to a man was a long, powerful spell, haltingly done, that left the creature writhing in pain for hours. Nag Kath was bone tired for days. Gandalf probably had no more than tingling in his hands after purging him of the Uruk-hai. He would still trade his eleven months of torment for what Ghougash endured any day.

“Oh my goodness, hello Mr. Kath! Come in, come in! Gracious, can I get you a nice mug of tea?”

“Cool, thank you Turnlie. I hope you are well.”

“Right as rain, sir. I’m glad I was here. Been looking after ma. She’s been poorly of late.” Turnlie lived-in when someone was here but she could stay where she wanted otherwise. 

Nag Kath flopped in his favorite chair and took off his hat. Turnlie gasped. He had forgotten his two first inches of hair would be blonde by now and the rest coal-black stringy braids. Delemantesh’s wife used a permanent dye for his Dunedain/Easterling charade. It stung the first day but it would not wash out in the rain. That was better than cutting off the tips of his ears and hoping they grew back.

“Oh, sorry Turnlie. I was in disguise.”

“Gave me a turn, it did.” She brought his tea and took a closer look at his clothes. “I’ll just have Remund fetch water for a nice bath.”

“That bad?”

“It is not my place to say, sir.”

Clean in fresh clothes, Nag Kath wrote a note to Reyald hoping to describe his vacation with him and the King at their first convenience. Turnlie had the neighborhood handyman Remund take it to the sixth gate while her master fell face-first into his pillow.

Nag Kath had breakfast of real eggs for the first time in three years. Then he wandered down to the stables to check on Charlo and Rosas. Nepthand had them both in the main paddock since his annual lease had lapsed. As soon as a stall opened, he was first in line. And no, the stableman did not know anyone who needed the donkey. Next stop was the barber. Mr. Milldrake smiled and said, “I am guessing you want this a bit closer than usual, Nag Kath.”

“Aye, Mill, take it back to the yellow.” It would be shorter than when he got out of the dungeon, but still easier to explain than black on blonde.

The sixth gate guards let him through on sight. Loral opened the door and said, “Oh my, Mr. Kath. Her Ladyship will be so pleased. She took his hat with a minimum of staring and led him into the main room. As the maid went to tell Ardatha, Eniecia skipped out. He picked her up like a child and kissed her forehead. Now seventeen, the young woman was past such things but this was Uncle Nag, even if clipped like a spring goat.

The girl was the very image of her great grandmother Mrs. Borenne on the lake. Only a couple inches shorter than Eniece, she somehow escaped all of the burly Northmen in her blood. Some lucky boy would appreciate that one fine day. Ardatha was out a minute later and gave him a bear hug. She ran her fingers through his hair with a sideways smile. Then she turned to Loral and said, “Ambassador Conath is expecting us. I am not sure how long we’ll be.”

Their home was above the embassy so they only had to go down a long staircase to a discrete private door. Reyald’s secretary came over and said her husband was in with the representative of Dorwinion. Polgash was a sweet fellow and important to Dale, but never brief. Her Ladyship smiled and said they would be fine in the sitting room. Ardatha explained they loved it here. She had not been a doyen in Dale on her brief visits but was making up for lost time. A genuine Princess, married to the heroic Ambassador, they cut fine figures in the capital of free peoples. She met Tal once a week to solve the problems men created. Shurran was learning architecture like his Uncle Nag. Vincenz of the aqueduct took private students and the lad had the best references. He also proved capable and was well along in his studies. Eniecia loved to read, and dance. She had lots of friends. They attended music and cultural events with appropriate chaperones. The acclaimed Catanard heroine Fullena Robertal had visited their class only last month! Nag Kath got the impression the girls’ parents were not grooming child-brides for the market.

Reyald showed Polgash out of his office and the man stopped to say hello to her Ladyship. Reyald stayed by the door jamb. Waiting until the Dorwinrim collected his hat and stick, the Ambassador shook Nag Kath’s hand in the Northman style and kissed his wife on the cheek. “Welcome back, old friend. We are expected upstairs.” With that they made for the seventh gate. “I don’t know if you heard; Prince Imrahil died in the spring. We did not attend the memorial but many from Minas Tirith and Ithilien went. That is the second ring hero gone in three years.”

Nag Kath gave that a moment, “He was a noble man. I did not meet Elphir on my trip but the Prince said all three of his sons were lordly.”

______________-------______________

King Elessar was in his study and stood to accept their bows before shaking Nag Kath’s hand himself. When they were seated and cool tea served he said, “I can only imagine the tales you have to tell.”

“Where do I begin, My Lord? The massing of troops from Khand and Rhûn was a contrivance of mine to infiltrate a warlord’s realm in Mordor. He bore a ring of power.”

Aragorn leaned back in his chair and grinned with his famous chin rub. “So; nothing to do with us?”

“I found an order of those like the little man I spoke of and we created a false embassy in Bror Dulgov’s name to Yigresh as a cover. When we told Dulgov, he agreed to go along with the scheme and meet in state with the Khagan to make it look like they were coming for Sauron's gold. As far as Khand knew, they were discussing trade routes and borders. They probably did. From there we conspired with the other Nûrnen warlords to destroy the Visitors and divide their lands.”

Aragorn looked at the Conaths and everyone just smiled shaking their heads. Nag Kath spent nearly an hour explaining the set-up and trap. Overall, things went well. The Visitors were eliminated for a generation, moderate Hurms now controlled the western Nûrnen, Easterlings were behaving themselves and had frightened the Assured into panic by camping on the border drinking tea.

Aragorn leaned over the low table and asked gravely, “What of the ring?”

The grin he got was on the upper scale of all Nag Kath grins. “You will enjoy this …”

“A Dwarf ring?!” 

“Aye. I threw it in a lava pit beside Orodruin on the way back. Right now, only we four know. I saw the markings inside the band. If one of your scholars could quietly show me the Angerthas runes of likely bearers, I might recognize them.”

They talked at least another half bell. Reyald and Ardatha floated few questions knowing they would get the long version shortly. Aragorn asked if Nag Kath could come back to speak with his advisors since this crossed into aspects of trade and security across his realm. Finally the King wondered, “We have only scratched the surface of matters at hand. What is your greater sense of all this, my friend?”

The Elf did his own chin pinching as the King tried to imagine him with black, braided hair. “Humility, My Lord, humility after my own presumption. Most people here think only orcs lived in Mordor. By my count, men are fifteen thousand strong just around the lake, former slaves now free and trying to find their way. They are forming nations and said I am welcome back. Dulgov is ready for diplomatic relations now. If he makes friends with Yigresh; maybe him too.

“The world has changed, Sire. We think of Khand as a vast desert but with thirty five years of rain after the drought of Sauron, most of what I saw looks like Rohan. They grow their own food and horses and sheep. Merchant trains are everywhere. There are towns. It is not what I thought at all. They are joining the world of men. Sire, Mr. Tallazh said you had him gather as much military information as my poor head held after my change. That said, I have seen the face of the new enemy. This lot was routed but will soon be replaced by others. Were I a Lord of the West, I would keep my ear to the rocks for signs that other relics of the dark ones are being dug from the abyss.” 

The King nodded gravely and said he would speak to the Ambassadors of Erebor and Rohan, less the news of the ring. They might be able to stand-down troops along the eastern borders. Finally Aragorn smiled saying, “I may tell Gimli. Those rings brought the Dwarves to ruin as surely as the nine. He will fume for a time but he will understand.”

______________-------______________

The Conaths and their shorn step-father went back home for a leisurely lunch. Shurran was in class but Eniecia joined them and heard all about her grand-da’s adventures, going to Mordor three times and living to tell the tale! Since none of the western armies were on a war-footing, Nag Kath was free to explain. This would not get far. Eniecia was a sweet child but also Thain-kin and a Countess of Dale. She knew to keep politics to herself. Now here was her Uncle Nag organizing wars behind the Black Gate! The other girls could not claim that. He was to be there without fail for dinner three nights hence.

Nag Kath thought one more nap would restore him but the Bank was next to the switchback so he stopped to check his accounts. The main one had earned a little interest. Kathen Properties was accumulating rents. And the annuity account was paying out. That got his attention. He asked to see the distributions and there had been three silvers paid every month since a year ago May. Flor’s signature was on the card next to each withdrawal. 

The next day he felt fully rested. There were a few more stops he could take without risking the security of Gondor. Timalen was always up with the birds so he walked down to his home on the second level and knocked. Tim did as he always did and opened his arms wide for his old friend. Semi-retired, Marie had taken to sleeping-in so they walked down to his sculpture studio. Three men were chipping and chiseling on various sized rocks. Timalen walked over to one for a word and then came back out the door saying, “I can’t work stone anymore without wheezing so I quit before it got bad. I’m painting again and have started etching copper plates.”

“Haven’t heard of that, Tim”

“It is like making wood blocks to dye cloth but much finer. You grave the surface, put ink on it and press it into the paper, make as many as you want. Zoullhad and Son make paper good enough to lay flat. I’ll show you when we walk back. We’ll have tea at the corner and let Marie get dressed.”

Seated at a restaurant-by-day and tavern-by-night, Tim asked, “And what about you Nag? More adventures?”

“Fighting in Mordor.”

Tim made a grim smile, “You have to stop that sort of thing! You are a great artist. You inspired me. What do we need to do to get you back on the path?”

Nag Kath genuinely appreciated his oldest friend being candid. He was right. The Elf’s artistic growth stopped somewhere in Dale. Architecture was a form, but not mastery of expression. He humbly said, “I decided to do that on my way here. I showed you those watercolors from the Elves, maybe something like that. I have some extraordinary sketches of the Variag capital and folk there. I should have brought them.”

Tim nodded that his point was taken, “Good man, Nag. Gondor is ready for the real you.” Marie was still sleeping so the copper plates could wait. Nag Kath waved without going in and walked up to the fifth. 

______________-------______________

“Hello Mrs. Tippi.”

“Good morning Mr. Kath. You’ve changed your hair.”

“Always at the forefront of style, Mrs. Tippi.”

“Very good. I’ll tell Mrs. Talereth you are here.” 

As the maid went down the hall, Ectillion came out of the kitchen for a hearty handshake. “Nag Kath, my friend. Been back long?”

“Just got here. I would never be forgiven if I didn’t check-in with Tal.”

“I know the feeling. Forgive me but I was just leaving to meet my board of counselors.” He leaned in confidentially and added, “Old retired friends talking away from our wives. It is a regular group.” With a wink he took his hat from the peg and strolled into the street.

Tal was out a minute later and offered her hands to kiss, “Oh you terrible man, coming before I have time to put on my face. Did you see Ecc?”

“Yes, he had a counselors meeting.”

“Hummph. Sit down. Back long?”

“Got here two days ago. Saw Ardatha yesterday but I’ve spent most of the time sleeping.”

She knew that meant he had pushed himself but would let him explain later. “Life is good, Nag. Ecc can see far away but has trouble reading so I read to him often at night.” She whispered, “I have half-spectacles.” In her usual tone, “The children are fine. Ecc junior works at Ecc’s old company. Ectilla draws pictures for children’s books. People are spoiling their kids these days.” Tal proceeded to tell her former love all of the provable gossip on the upper levels of the White City. He watched her face the whole time. She was a formidable woman, always had been. 

As her ramble wound down she observed, “Quiet as always, Nag. What have you been doing these two years?”

“I had to destroy a dark army in Mordor.”

She giggled and said, “No, I mean really.” He sat stock still. “Oh.”

Her expression showed deep care, “Nag, do we get you back? Have you gone so far that you can’t have parties and shoot rockets and be with us?”

He grinned, partly to reassure her, “No, not too far. On my way back I decided to do just that. I’m going to take some time to do things I left behind. Timalen inspired me this very morning. You aren’t rid of me yet.”

Tal hated to pour water on that flame but this was better coming from her, “She’s back.”

“I know. The Bank showed me the payments.”

She said softly, “That was sweet of you.”

“We are not all dark Lords. And no one bargains for what they get with me.”

Tal folded her hands in her lap saying, “I saw her three, four months ago. She looks good. I think there’s a man, someone who doesn’t need her stipend. You know how it is; it is hard to pretend so much water hasn’t flowed under the bridge, but we talked for a minute and waved goodbye. It still seems so raw.”

“I am sure I will run into her. Someone I need to visit next is Amiedes.”

“Sorry, Nag. He died in the spring. His cold came back. Nouri said he was ready to go, made it to ninety. He loved you too.” Tal started to cry. What was it about this creature that inspired such feeling? “Well, just look at me, weeping like a child! Teldamir is the King’s Vice Chancellor now. Your water men landed on their feet. It was the making of Ectilla too.” 

She set her face, “Now; what’s this fuss about your statue?”

Nag Kath stopped at Tallazh’s house on the third before returning home. What must be a great grandchild opened the door and stared up at the giant with hair like a dandelion. Nouri came out and smiled. Hugging was not a custom in their household but the emotion was there just the same. She had looked after her father for so many years. With quiet strength, “Hello Nag Kath. I am glad you have come. Would you like tea?

“Thank you, Nouri, I’ve had as much as I can hold today. I just wanted to pay my respects and wish you well.”

“He liked you, you know. He told stories about you, though never so often that people weren’t entertained. Are you back for a while?”

“I believe so, thought I will visit Dale. And sometimes my plans are not my own.”

“Good. My nephew Teldamir works for the King now. I hope you see him.”

“Probably the day after tomorrow.”

“Oh, Amiedes left something for you. I’ll just get it.” She returned with a small box. Inside was the letter written by the tailor in Trum Dreng introducing Tal and Mrs. Skilleth. He could read it now.

______________-------______________

The Elf settled in. He visited Tim again to see his home studio and the copper plates. It was painstaking. Tim had a pair of spectacles made to make things seem very large and plowed tiny grooves in the soft metal where the ink shouldn’t go. Nag Kath didn’t remember seeing anything that looked like spectacle glass when he melted the Dwarf ring but it was said to be found on the other side of the mountain, a hard journey.

For the first week, he might dash off to the palace for reasons he couldn’t say and then return to ordinary things. Dinner with the Conath’s was always a pleasure. Shurran enjoyed his studies. Eniecia smiled but was still quite shy. Tal and Ecc had him up for dinner with two couples about their age. Suspicious of Tal’s notorious matchmaking, he smiled thinking they might have to ask someone’s daughter along for romance. His original friends were now pushing sixty or better. 

Once the King’s men were briefed, Nag Kath saddled up and visited Tumlen in Osgiliath. He was still in his twenties and a fine man. Business was good. Nag Kath transferred another hundred Florin into the southeast branch of Kathen Properties for Tum to buy more property. It was just sitting in the bank. He had half that much mortared under his downstairs stove.

The original house here had been rented so Nag Kath took a room in the Great River Inn and spent some time wandering the city for the first time as a tourist. The healing section where the old witch died was the smallest of three; two on this side and one in the west. He visited them all. No one seemed to be in the inductive healing business these days. Considering how that had gone, you probably had to know someone for an introduction. He was able to find an uncommon ingredient for Lembas that men occasionally used for liniment. A few people recognized him from the aqueduct but most did not know or care. Popular performers would be distraught. Nag Kath was glad to let someone else be famous. He did drop by to see Sepulvath who consulted on private water lines. The rotund water manager always had tea steeping and would organize another aqueduct reunion in the fall. He should have a statue too. 

There were artists here, lots of them. Some painted, some sculpted. Some decorated homes by painting trailing flowers around door jambs and window frames. Those were painted on both sides of garden walls where real flowers grew in season. The Elf watched a young man use one brush to make the vine and leaves and others to draw petals or butterflies as he went rather than returning to do the other colors later. They spoke for a while and the fellow said the paint was pitch-based so it wouldn’t wash off but it took at least a week to dry. Nag Kath got his card.

With more open space than Minas Tirith, restaurants often had patios bordering on the street that were boarded in winter. There was always some sort of festival or event. At one wine-house, men mortified their wives by singing Catanales out of tune. The place felt freer than the White City, fewer Kings glowering from tapestries, he supposed. Nag Kath thought about having Tum get him another house but liked the bustle of the inn. He even smiled at a young woman who looked his way.

Back home, Nag Kath took his easel to the very bench where he was accosted by the three soldiers. This was still the yarn and thread district. Women spent their time spinning or dying wool or plant threads waiting for buyers. He hadn’t tried this for quite a while and forgot the way these paints drip at the wrong angle. The third attempt was fairly successful. An old crone, wrapped head to toe in dark woolens, was haggling with a younger woman in summer clothes. He hoped they wouldn’t come to terms until he froze the image.

______________-------______________

Before he knew it, it was militia time. Nag Kath taught boys the fundamentals of archery with cloth-tipped arrows. They were still dangerous little fellows, shooting each other’s bottoms and using the toy bows for sword practice. The tykes couldn’t take more than an hour at a time so he shot with the Reunited Second Infantry and rode in formation twice with Captain Bessandal’s unit just like on the trip to the Shire.

It had to happen. Going up the first switchback after target practice he walked straight at Florice and a well-dressed man of about forty heading down to the market. He bowed and said, “Hello Flor.”

She froze for a moment and then replied tentatively, “Hello Nag. Heard you were back.”

The Elf introduced himself to the man who would certainly know who he was. The fellow shook hands confidently and said he was Wenyurd Ostourn. He also had the presence-of-mind to proudly say, “My militia days are over but I carried the pike for the Regald Line.”

The Elf smiled and said, “I just volunteer teaching the little ones not to shoot each other. It does not always work.”

Ostourn added, “Say, that’s a Northman bow, isn’t it?”

“Aye. It has seen hard service. I should probably get another if I can find one here.”

“Can’t help you there, Mr. Kath.” Looking to his fair lady, “Shall we, my dear?”

On the way home he thought that could have gone worse. The woman had probably been dreading a public humiliation. Instead, Nag Kath and her new man talked pleasantly about bows and arrows. He was glad it amounted to so little as well. He told Tal and Ardatha as much over tea at one of the lordly restaurants on the fifth. The latest fashion was Dol Amroth cooking, without the big fish. He just had tea.

Ardatha sympathized, “Hard to take, Nag?”

“It gives me pause, but no. If the Rohirrim could forgive me, I can forgive her … a good habit for such as me.”

“Do you miss her?”

Tal asked him the same three years ago. He said thoughtfully, “I miss being in love, all the little things that remind you of another. It is hard knowing I must say goodbye, like with your ma.”

Always helpful, Tal asked, “Could you visit one of the Elvish cities to seek a wife?”

Nag smiled very slowly for that. “I have not learned the patience to gauge time the way they do.”

Tal scolded, “Nag! You say something elegant that means little.”

“Nay, my dear, it is considerable. Imagine this; you both rose today looking forward to talking about things that are changing, of life, interesting to you. Things must change even if only because they must end.

“Now imagine that Ardatha asks you what you are doing today and you say that you will be squashing acorns into Lembas patties for the next thousand years, just like you did the last thousand.” He had a sip, warming to his subject, “I see the world as you do. I could not shop for a female in Lorien, fair though they are, and then say; ‘Let us away to the world of men! We will see low Catanard and dine with friends. Bring a soft blanket on our picnic for I will take you in my arms!’ Oh no, ladies, you both know I am not one to wait hundreds of years for such warmth.” 

He grinned. Tal knew the heat of his passion and Ardatha must have gleaned as much from her satisfied mother. More eloquently than he imagined, he just told them a great deal. Ardatha thought of Eniece, more daughter than mother in some ways. The love of his life, she had many chances to walk away on her own terms. She had a couple of times. When she chose him, she accepted that which was known and the unknowns that would certainly follow.

Tal, chief instigator in romance, thought to match him with someone as beautiful as he. There were few such women, even in Minas Tirith. Unlike with Eniece, Nag and Flor’s love grew in confinement. Florice never made a decision in her life. As much as she loved him, and he her, and poor Helien most of all, when the pressure of what could never be overwhelmed her, Flor chose tragically and broke both of their hearts.

He said more gently, “You see, dearest Tal, I am best served by someone who is confident and has already lived some life, someone who can live just for the joy it brings.” He touched her chin the way he did in Trum Dreng. “Please do not worry for me.” Looking at Ardatha next, “Nor you, dearest daughter. I am finding my way.”

______________-------______________

Newly minted Kath of the Nûrnen needed a project. He had been at the core of the most important struggles in decades, deeper and darker than most men could imagine. Tal asked him herself if the mortal world would hold him. He was painting and sketching and doing lots of little things but his attention drifted. Riding Charlo helped. A return letter from Brenen helped. Turnlie singing as she cooked helped. He blessed them all.

Nag Kath visited Tim and tried his hand at carving the copper plates. His first effort was sorry. Timalen told him it was hard to think the opposite of what how the ink would appear. He often took his pad or water color easel down to the first. The north side where the switchback from the second level opened onto the first was a bleak wall of stone that only got summer light. He paced it at seventy feet long by twelve to perhaps twenty high at its highest along the switchback.

Walking past spawned a thought. The space against the wall was only used by peddlers at occasional trade fairs. Nag Kath stared with his hands on his hips for several minutes and then ran two steps at a time up the short-cuts to the sixth level garden Flor liked so much. Those flowers and bushes were bare but in his mind’s eye, he imagined just how it would look. That night he furiously sketched, throwing many pages over his shoulder until he had something to take to Tim on the morrow.

______________-------______________

“Let me get this straight; you are going to paint a garden on the side of the prow?”

Nag Kath nodded, “The whole thing, from end to end.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s ugly.”

“I think that is brilliant. Who is going to pay for it?”

“Me.”

“That’s a lot of money, Nag.”

“I’m rich. And expenses have been low lately. I settled with Rhun, Khand and Mordor for something under twenty Florin, after Dale paid me back for the fish.”

“All right, I’m in. What do you need?”

“I need to get the paint formula from that young fellow in Osgiliath. The scaffolding and such will be left over from the aqueduct. Feel like a trip to see my statue?”

That afternoon Nag Kath paid a call on Teldamir. It had only been a couple weeks since the Mordor meeting but the man always gave him a hearty handshake. Teldamir was busy but the Elf only needed his blessing and the name of the city works manager. Ignoldon was busy too but when Kath of the Nûrnen, nee Water, came to call, he got all the time he wanted. A good number of his best men apprenticed on the aqueduct. When the Elf said he wanted to paint a garden on the rock next to the grain market, Ignoldon said it was fine with him and he would break the scaffolding out of storage.

Tim could ride but didn’t do it often. He hired a nag from the first level paddock for two days that wasn’t much faster than Rosas. They stopped by to see Tumlen who was having lunch with his lady. Artist and property manager had met several times at the Syndolan parties and got on well. Then they tracked down the wall decorator who was between jobs and at home.

Nag Kath was known as a builder but Tim was as famous as any artist in the land. The fellow’s name was Feurgil and he was entirely self-taught. Single and living with his parents, he was all for selling the secrets of his pitch-paint recipe. He was also contracted to prepare them in bulk. It was better to buy ingredients in Osgiliath and mix them in Minas Tirith else they dry before use so Feurgil was hired full-time. 

First came the planning. Nag Kath rented the space next to Tim’s sculpting works and had Feurgil tack sheets of paper over an entire wall. They used those as grids for his master sheet of the garden. This was how most landscape painters did things. The Elf hadn’t, but there would be no doing this by eye. Feurgil and Nag Kath transferred the grids from the master over the next week and then took another week coloring them in with ordinary paints, often changing colors and even whole sheets if the original idea failed.

While they were busy, four former water men were hired to erect scaffolding and a tent awning as high as the mural would go. Feurgil explained the pitch paint would not run with water but it would get gummy and never dry right. The work would have to be protected from rain and snow the whole time layers were going on. In Dale they would have to wait until spring but here, it would dry in two or three weeks.

Feurgil had to find enough ingredients to make large batches of white and blue paint because the image was mostly sky. Nag Kath hired a wagon to fetch supplies from the river. The same four men then washed and brushed the wall. Spikes were hammered into the stone at both ends so strings could be stretched between them as the guides to recreate the drawing grids. Folk wandered by and stared but then went about their business. This was the most commercial of commercial districts so none of the gentle society was ever within shouting distance.

All the while, Nag Kath kept seeing the Conath’s for dinner, or Tal and Ardatha for tea at the little restaurant where they held court. Shurran occasionally came down to look at the project. The two of them were growing closer. Nag Kath wondered if he would stay here or return to Dale. There would be work for architects in both places. Eniecia still enjoyed her friends and learning but she was quiet at meals. Nag Kath asked Shurran on one of his visits if she was well. As older brothers are required to do, he said she was just being moody but too old for him to pull her pigtails.

Nag Kath received a notice from the new Prince Elphir of Dol Amroth’s scribe that he, as a knight of the Principality, would have his name carved in a new monument near the commercial harbor. There must be a fifty of those being sent but what made this interesting was the messenger was Caladrion, son of Durnalath. He had shown true colors fighting Umbar pirates. The new Ambassador was also a respected Marine and brought him as his aide. Cal, as he was called, couldn’t stay long but they agreed they would see more of each other when the embassy staff was settled.

It was time to draw! Tim showed Feurgil how to take the single sheets of paper from the shop wall and enlarge them to scale on the side of the prow. Self taught or no, that took Feurgil no time to learn. Nag Kath made a few changes as they went and drew the lower segments where the flowers would go. Most of the top would be sky with clouds. It took eight days to charcoal-in the main lines, just in time to quit for the first snow storm of the year. It did not amount to much but it was a good time to rest and let the young man visit his family.

Nag Kath had other important responsibilities as well. Syndolan invitations were already sent. Folk were engaged for food, music and beverages. Nag Kath had to use the last of his firework powder in time for Feurgil to take them to Tumlen for the barge in Osgiliath. 

______________-------______________

A week before the party, a terrible row was barely contained above the Embassy of Dale.

“What you suggest is impossible! I will not have you even thinking such a thing!”

“I don’t care, mother. I love him. I always have. We are meant for each other! Can’t you see?”

“No, not at all! You will put this foolishness out of your mind.”

Eniecia was crying, “I cannot. It is all I think about. You married for love. Can you not understand?”

“This is different. You cannot be in love with your grandfather! Such things are not done. You haven’t told him …” Ardatha was beside herself. What had the child done? Her shy, beautiful daughter was smitten by the handsome, heroic Elf who happened to be Ardatha’s step-father. After he bared his soul at the café, innocent Eniecia was not going to fill the bill.

Eniecia stood silently as Ardatha shook her head. The Princess composed herself and restarted her question, “Have you told him this?”

“I dare not, mother. But how could he not know?”

Mother doubted that. Reyald said he was a brilliant strategist. He was very sensitive to his woman’s needs. But he was famously witless when it came to females who were interested in him. Ardatha said firmly but not meanly, “You are confined to the house. We will tell your friends you are indisposed until we cure you of this madness.”

Her daughter trudged to her room bearing the weight of the world.

Reyald walked upstairs after a hard day's diplomacy. His wife was sitting in the main room with her hands clenched, face grim. “What is it darling bride? You look like you just fought a dragon.”

When she looked up and said nothing, he knew it was serious. Usually a servant would be here if he wanted tea or something stronger. Cook and Loral were in the kitchen, pretending they weren’t listening to every word. The Ambassador sat down. Ardatha spoke softly and evenly, “Our daughter has announced she is in love with Nag Kath, says she always has been.”

Reyald was quiet for a few moments before saying, “And what does he have to say about that?”

“He doesn’t know. This is from our child’s own brain.”

The man sighed, “Well, there’s that.”

“The silly girl said she has been mooning over the man for years. It is why she is so quiet around him.”

“What do you need from me, dear wife?”

“Comfort her. I need to talk to Nag.”

Ardatha had been sitting in the main room of Nag Kath’s house for an hour before he walked-in covered in charcoal and paint smears. She rose for her hug but he offered a peck on the cheek so she wouldn’t be coated in dust. She was not here to chat. He gave Turnlie the look that there must be something she needed at the market and the cook excused herself. “What is it, dear daughter?”

Ardatha was not the sort to hem or haw, “Eniecia says she is in love with you and always will be.”

“Hmmm, be right back.” He trotted up the stairs and was back in a minute, barefoot with a clean shirt and trousers. “And how long has this eternal match gone on?”

Both of them sat down but he immediately rose and poured a mug of cold tea. Ardatha said, “Years, evidently. That’s why the child never says anything when you visit.” 

“Can’t you just tell her I am evil?” She just looked at him. He might be Sauron, but what was that to young love? He said softly, “What must I do?”

She sat for the longest time. What was there? Other than being cruel, which she knew he would not do, this would just have to go away. Finally she took in a large breath before saying, “I’m not sure, Nag.”

“I could talk to her. How much does she know about me?”

“Most of it. It doesn’t matter. Your disguise is that you are what you seem. Her grandmother loved you. How bad can you be?”

“Does she love anyone else?”

“No.”

“I suppose I could disappear for a couple years.”

That was less absurd from him than almost anyone else. Ardatha considered it for a moment and said, “We will talk to her. If needs be, I am glad you will as well.”

He asked, “Have you spoken with Tal? She is very clever about such things.”

“I just learned and walked down here. We have our weekly tea Thursday morning. I am not sure I am ready for that. Nag, Eniecia is confined to the residence. If she comes here, be sweet and bring her home, else she wanders where she shouldn’t.”

The determined woman showed herself out.

______________-------______________

Stealing rings from fell lords was child’s play compared to not hurting his granddaughter’s feelings. The Elf wracked his brain for signs the girl was infatuated. She was quiet and polite, no glances, no Tilli feet. Poor Ardatha and Reyald!

Whatever they needed, he would do. Until then, Feurgil should have started the sky blue paint. That was the hardest color to mix and most of the mural. Every bit of dye they found was not enough but should last two weeks. Tim painted the browns for stems and trees. Fuergil got the sky and clouds from the scaffold. Nag Kath did greens and the colored flowers. People stopped to watch. Soldiers slowed for a look. With the scaffolding in the way, they might be repairmen shoring the switchback. It looked like one could just walk onto the path. They decided to paint a white picket fence along the bottom to keep people from getting flat noses. Two days before Syndolan Eve they quit work for a week. Nag Kath had things to do at the house. Tim had paying business to complete. Fuergil would stay for the party and then go home.

Still nothing from Ardatha. She and Reyald would be at the King’s party. That was part of his job. The last time Nag Kath threw one of these, their children came down by themselves. It was too late to plan around that. His job was to buy the ale and break-up fights.

Everything went fine. Inviting Dwarves to come was always easy but Hobbits were getting hard to find. The same musicians came from the last time and they helped people sing with the lyrics Nag Kath wrote years ago. Tumlen and Annlie surprised them. Turnlie put them in Flor’s old room. Tal and Ecc arrived at their usual time. He was a gem. The man who made Talereth happy was the best of men. As usual, Nag and Tal sat bundled on the porch waiting for the King’s fireworks. Ecc was telling old stories to old friends inside. She rocked her feet forward and back asking, “Have you heard from Ardatha?”

“Not since she was here. I’ve missed our dinners.”

Tal sighed, “Poor thing.”

“Which one?”

“Eniecia, of course. Ardatha is tough as leather.”

“She will think of something. You got over me. Eniecia will.”

Tal giggled and said, “That wasn’t easy but there are plenty of fish in the lake.”

Nag Kath looked her in the eyes, “You will tell me if I need to do something intelligent, won’t you?”

She rose to get warm inside, “Of course. We can’t leave things like that to chance.”

The Syndolan songs were sung again. Musicians retuned their instruments at the request of folk who wanted to sing Catanales, all the rage, it seemed. At the conclusion of the Lament for Osour, a beautiful voice near the front door held the phrase just a moment longer. Nag Kath looked over and saw Caladrion. He wasn’t needed for rubbing shoulders on the seventh and took the Elf up on his invitation.

Nag Kath was standing with Ecc who fancied himself a singer and was enjoying himself. When the young man arrived, his host clapped him on the shoulder and said, “I should have hoped someone from your land would do that song justice!”

“Nay, I am the weak sister compared to the best.”

“Good enough for here! Caladrion, these are Ectelliad and Talereth Toroldinar, two of my oldest friends. Ecc, Tal, this is Caladrion Ivandred who is seconded from Dol Amroth with the Ambassador. Glad you could come.”

“Thank you for inviting me. There was another gathering on the sixth but I could not imagine it being as merry as yours, especially after our Elvish adventure!”

The Toroldinars insisted on the full story of that little escapade which, as usual, escaped Nag Kath’s telling. The Elf introduced Cal to people his own age and the young man stayed another hour before saying goodnight.

After the ten-bell, people started collecting their wraps and making for bed. As Tal and Ecc were leaving she said, “Nice young man.”

“Cal? Yes, he is the nephew of Thain Durnaldar. His cousin is marrying Elfwine in the summer, or so I am told.”

Tal looked at him, her husband and Nag Kath again before sighing, “Honestly, you two are as thick as slurry.” They could only agree and said goodnight.

______________-------______________

The mural was coming along. Yellow paints would not dry so they had to scrape them off and try a new batch. Overall, there was progress. People of the first level north of the prow showed interest as it started to look like a picture.

A week later, the painting was complete. There had still not been any official interest or comment. Nag Kath did it for the people who walked by every day so that was all the same to him. He gave Feurgil four nippers which was an astonishing amount of money for the young man. Tim would keep him in mind for future work. Altogether the project cost almost three Florin. The artists cleverly hid their chops in the mural for others to find if they looked.

They had to leave the awning up for another few weeks but after the scaffolding was removed, small crowds of merchants and tradesmen gathered round during the day. None of them had ever seen the sixth level garden. By purest chance, King Elessar was leaving for his farm in Lossarnach that morning and saw a group before he turned for the gate. He trotted over with six of his troopers. It had been a very long time since an artist had done other than carve stern men frowning at the horizon. Folk in the throng bowed deeply and one shouted, “Thank you for a fair garden in winter, Lord King!” Everyone cheered the same and he fared them well as he joined his larger escort. Now, who might have done this?

Ethorlad, Ambassador of Rohan, was the purest of Rohirrim in every way, wise in knowing rugged sensibilities of the Mark did not always play well in diplomatic circles. Here in Minas Tirith almost three years, his wife Jourwyn minded the female side of things gracefully and occasionally attended Tal’s little klatches. Wouldn’t it be lovely if Rohan would host a party for diplomatic families, a few staff and friends? It could be less formal than the recent royal function and help the new representatives from Dol Amroth, Anfalas and Arnor ease into the White City. Odd that so many new folk came all at once! Invitations went out for the fifteenth of January. 

The Dwarves would come in force. They love parties and were closer to Rohan in outlook than many mannish nations. Captain and Mrs. Vertandigir, newly arrived from Dol Amroth, were delighted and would come with their ten year-old son and their aide. Ambassador Featherstaff of the Shire always loved a gathering and would bring small presents for everyone, even though told that wasn’t necessary. He and his wife would also introduce the new folk from Arnor personally. And one could always count on Ambassador Polgash of Dorwinion and his lovely wife Fuscia for good company. Chamberlain Vestule and his family would represent Prince Faramir and Lady Éowyn of Ithilien.

Kath of Mordor was not invited, needed or wanted, even though he had done all of the diplomatic work among the former enemies. Those who knew kept that quiet. He was in Osgiliath anyway and knew nothing of the affair.

The Conath’s brought lovesick Eniecia with Ecc and Tal as guests. The Toroldinars knew half the room already and were always the perfect examples of White City folk. Lady Jourwyn was accounted a wonderful hostess. Everyone had a fine time. Mr. Polgash supplied a small cask of private-reserve red wine, Fourth Age 26 if you must know, to the enjoyment of many. 

When Nag Kath got back from the river there was a letter waiting in Eniecia’s flawless handwriting.

** _Dearest Uncle Nag,_ **

** _Please forgive me for my lamentable inattention to my loving grandfather. I have not been myself but all is right now. My studies go well. With work I will start new classes in March. We all hope to see you for dinner again when your schedule permits._ **

** _With all best wishes, dutiful Eniecia_ **

** **

He put the letter on the table and asked, “Turnlie, do you remember who delivered this?”

“Fortain from Ambassador Conath’s, Mr. Kath.” Ardatha, more like. Good! Hopefully the girl was over her infatuation. He would not know it for a while but the new aide from Belfalas made quite an impression. 

______________-------______________

There were two large stirrings for royal watchers in the year 32. The first was the wedding of Prince Elfwine, heir to the throne of Rohan, and Tilleth, daughter of Thain Durnaldar of Nauthauja. This was not a strategic marriage in the old sense. With only three countries left in the free world, there weren’t a lot of treaties left to sign. Dynastic unions were still fashionable in the provinces and among lords of commerce. The couple was marrying for love after an almost three year courtship on the second of June. King Éomer and Queen Lothíriel liked the young woman and that carried the day. 

The other news was that Bain of Dale would wed Xondra, daughter of Beatru Manzanard of Dale. This marriage had no strategic value at all, but the two had known each other for years and it was time to tie the knot. Her family was at the top of Dalish society from both the cavalry and business. Xondra was a lovely and loving young lady, friend to Brenen’s younger girl. Those nuptials were set for the following spring.

For reasons unknown to Nag Kath, he was invited to the Rohan wedding. This would be the largest gathering of nobles in Middle-earth since Bard’s memorial. It would also be cramped. The City of Dale could accommodate quite a few lords but Edoras was a rough wooden fort. Perhaps they had time to build quarters, for it was a sure bet Arwen and Aragorn would not be bunking with Dornlas. Shurran came down to Uncle Nag’s house with a question on architecture. Turnlie gave them both tea and started preparing the evening meal. Nag Kath said, “Have you heard your cousin is getting married?”

“Mother has known for a while. I hope they have a half-dozen boys.”

The Elf teased, “You don’t want to be King?”

“Not really, though I would be better at it than I thought when we came here. He gave his grandfather a knowing look, “No accident; that.”

“When you shoo the pigeons away, you look a lot like the statue of grand-da Brand in Girion’s Courtyard.”

Shurran smiled and pointed at his face, “It’s the nose. I would have to let the beard grow out.”

The young man was nineteen now and kept his beard and his hair in the White City fashion. He was also maturing into his legacy. Nearly as tall as his father and still growing, he had the size and strength you expect from your Northmen. As a guest in Gondor militia training, he handled all of his weapons well and could ride like the wind. Nag Kath thought his parents underestimated the boy back in Buhr Austar but they now knew he had just developed slowly.

Shurran said, “Haven’t seen you for dinner in a while.”

“Invite me.”

“Thursday, then?”

“Gladly. How is your sister?”

Shurran gave that a little thought before answering, a bit like Uncle Nag that way, “She was off her feed for a few months but now she dances about the house humming Catanales. She is a good dancer.”

“Good, I was worried.”

Shurran smiled, “She said she wanted to be a performer for historical dance pageants. Mother reminded her that those ladies don’t always enjoy the best reputations.”

Nag Kath smiled remembering the fifth-level clubs, “I like dancers. But Eniecia is a Princess, no Countess. I suppose there are things they can’t do before the right marriage. Elfwine is taken. Are you all going to the wedding?”

“Oh yes. Da needs to meet King Bain. I am sure Torrold and Gerda will come with him, not sure about Haldiera with her little ones. I may go home. Great grandmother must be lonely and old Conath is failing.”

Uncle Nag said, “I will go with you then. I have a few things to attend on the way. Then there is Brenen’s side of the family and no one can get him on a horse. Stay the winter for your cousin’s wedding in the spring. That is convenient if you have things to fill the time.”

Shur nodded, “It is. I do not know if the royals will attend that in force with two trips north after Prince Imrahil’s farewell last spring. King Bain may want it that way. He can introduce Xondra in Rohan without stealing too much thunder. 

Nag Kath veered slightly, “And how about you, Count Shurran? Any Princesses lined out your door?”

“Not yet. We keep that side of things quiet. Around here, what foreigner isn’t some sort of penniless lord? Friends always introduce me to friends but I haven’t done much about it. I am not sure where I will be in three years. And you? Ma or Tal plotting?”

“Always, but lately I think they have been sentries.”

Shurran rubbed his chin, “Protecting your reputation from dancers?”

“Umhum.” 

The young man grinned, “Then I think you are off the hook, grand-da, thrown over for someone new.”

“So I don’t have to skulk in Mordor?”

“Not any more. Come for dinner and see.”

Dinner was pleasant. Eniecia spoke more than Uncle Nag had ever heard before. Her animation made him realize just how beautiful she would be. Reyald and Ardatha seemed to be at ease so they could line-through this chapter on their ledger slate. Looking at his granddaughter made him think again of the picture of the queen in the magistry. When the conversation lagged he asked, “Reyald, Ardatha, have you ever been to the little courtroom in the palace, the one just off the corridor from the staff offices?”

Reyald was the more frequent palace guest so he answered, “I have not, Nag. We usually visit on the other side.”

“You should see it. That was where I was interrogated. There is a painting in the room of a King of Gondor, and his wife. I don’t know who. Her face is the very image of Ardatha’s grandmother and now Eniecia in her turn.”

Eniecia asked softly, “She is just like me, grandfather?”

“Very close. That is why I am an artist. I saw it again a few months ago. After all those years, the image stayed true in my mind. It made me wonder of the gift of mortal life, that maybe some people are so special they keep returning so everyone is the better for their presence.”

Ardatha’s first thought was that comparing her romantic young daughter to a timeless beauty might not be the way to quash the girl’s ardor, but as she chewed she wondered if sometimes she took her step-father too lightly. How could he not think differently than everyone else? He must already know more than they could imagine. 

The Princess dabbed her lips with the cloth and said, “With the King and Queen’s leave, we will make a point of visiting.”

______________-------______________

Minas Tirith was collecting a sizeable contingent of wedding guests. Dol Amroth had several blood ties to the couple. Queen Lothíriel was the sister of Prince Elphir and first cousin to Prince Faramir. Éowyn was Elfwine’s aunt so the young man was bracketed on both sides. If Lady Durnalath came, she was aunt to Tilli and her son Caladrion was already here.

The Dol Amroth contingent arrived first, having allowed for weather they did not get. That gave them ten days to take their leisure in the White City. Their train included Elphir himself, his wife Fortunal and their son Alphros. With them were Durnalath and her husband Captain Legorn Ivandred, a highly-decorated Marine. When word reached Emyn Arnen, Faramir and Éowyn came sooner than expected with their daughter to enjoy the company from the coast and prepare for the ride north.

This would not be one of Aragorn’s sprints. All counted there were something like thirty eight guests, almost that many servants or aides and sixty troopers watching anything that moved. Wagons carried tents, food and lordly apparel. Not all were seasoned horse travelers or used to roughing-it like their ranger Liege. That was not a problem for the riders of Buhr Austar. Of all of her friends, Eniecia was the only horsewoman. Uncle Nag joined the family and a retainer from the embassy staff at the gate as the rest of the train trickled down from the upper level.

It was Nag Kath’s habit not to greet everyone at once. This would probably be a ten or eleven day trip. Nods and smiles would be enough until there was time for hellos and he usually made some people nervous. He did know quite a few of the troopers so when he wasn’t riding with the family, he joined the flanking scouts to pass the time. The first night was not an ideal campsite so most people stayed in their tents balming sores and reminding themselves they were too old for this sort of thing.

The following afternoon while Nag Kath and Shurran were scouting gullies for little more than ground squirrels, Caladrion rode alongside the Conaths and introduced his parents. The young man knew them from the ministers’ gala and Reyald knew her from home. It was understood that she held no blame for the witchcraft and the Conaths were now on the best of terms with her brother Thain Durnaldar coming from Nauthauja. 

Captain Ivandred’s reputation as a soldier was known among those who matter. Dol Amroth was still fighting pirates along the coast even while the rest of the Reunited Kingdom was enjoying the Peace of the King. There was considerable Dunedain in the man. Eniecia smiled at first but looked like she had been bitten by the Mouth of Sauron when the young aide talked only with the grown-ups. The sun shined on her face when he said, “And it is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Eniecia. I hope your journey is fair and free of incident.”

She had still never said more than 'hello' to the young man but the lass hummed Catanales the rest of the day.

When the outriders were recalled, Nag Kath and Shurran found the other Conaths in folding chairs outside their tent waiting for dinner. Travelers were welcome to cook their own food but the quartermaster of Gondor would have much better than stew for this noble cortege. When cookie rang the bell, servants lined-up to take food to their masters. A few of those masters were among them including former rangers King Elessar and Prince Faramir. Both men carried their plates and forks while wandering through the campsite saying hello, starting with the Ambassador of Dale.

Everyone rose and bowed. Lord Aragorn finished chewing and muttered, “This is good.” More loudly he said, “Pray, be seated. One can count on our friends from Dale to handle the road.”

Faramir called across the fire, “Good to see you again, Nag Kath. It has been a while.”

“Not since before I left for the east, My Lord.” Both knew they would talk about that later.

Reyald stepped forward and said, “My Lords, may I introduce my children, Shurran and Eniecia.” He left out the Lord and Lady. These men knew exactly who and what they were. They shook hands and were glad to meet them. Lady Éowyn strolled through camp looking for her husband and joined them for another round of introductions. She walked up to Eniecia and looked at her face very closely saying, “I cannot help but think I have seen you before, child. The King stepped forward with a glimmer of recognition.

Faramir solved the riddle, “In the magistry, the old picture of King Turambal and Queen Nepthat. I used to hide in there when I was a lad. Young lady, he could have painted you in her place.”

The Lady of Dale smiled demurely saying, “I hope to see it. Folk tell me I am the image of my great-grandmother as well.”

Faramir turned to Shurran, “Thank you for riding the sides. We are going where such horsemanship is appreciated.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

Éowyn stated plainly, “Of course, My Lords, in Dale as in Rohan, we teach the young ‘uns to ride before they talk.”

Shurran smiled and followed with, “Yes, but only after we learn the bow.”

It was then they realized the strapping lad was a great, great grandson of the man who put the arrow through Smaug. Aragorn came a step closer and said, “Yes, I see it. I met the Bowman and Bain and Brand in their times.”

Ardatha asked Éowyn, “Is that one of your daughters riding by your side?”

“Lilleth, she is fourteen and this is her first trip to my birthplace. Our son is not quite ready for the trip. It is fortunate that so many of the next generation can come.”

Her husband said, “Aye, except for you ladies and Nag Kath here, we are all getting older.” Over the course of the ride and for years to come, Ardatha and Éowyn had a special bond as horsewomen of the plains.

______________-------______________

The next day was uneventful. The best campsite was not as far as they could have pushed but a broken wagon spoke settled the matter. With time to pitch the tents in good light, cooks made a sumptious meal that could be enjoyed in a large open area half-surrounding a roaring fire. 

The Ivandred family walked over where the Conaths were chatting with several other travelers. Nag Kath did not know they knew each other and started introductions when Reyald cut him short, “We are far ahead of you Nag. I know Caladrion from their mission and we met the Captain earlier and her Ladyship from the Buhrs.” 

Caladrion clapped the Elf on the shoulder and said, “Will we be bearding any scholars in the Meduseld?”

Nag Kath laughed, “Nay, sir. There are no idle stargazers among the horse-lords.”

Eniecia asked meekly, “How is it you know each other, grandfather?”

Uncle Nag replied, “We met in Dol Amroth six, no seven, years ago, when I visited Lady Durnalath. He was kind enough to show me around his fair city.”

Caladrion gave them a short, humorous version of infiltrating the Sindarin library in the Old Quarter that Nag Kath hadn’t mentioned to them either. Then Nag Kath said something that nearly voided his status as honorary grandfather, “Caladrion came to the Syndolan party and wouldn’t you know, he sang the Lament for Osour!”

They might have gotten away with it but Shurran, secretly proud of his sister, exclaimed, “Really? Eniecia dances the Rising Water Spirit.”

To the girl’s horror, it would not do unless the two of would perform for the folk gathered around the fire enjoying an ale. Both of them pleaded their best excuses to no avail. Captain Ivandred was a fair baritone and could fill in on the low end where he thought his tenor son might have trouble.

Everyone around the fire, with the notable exception of Queen Arwen, was lustily hooting for the young people to play. Faramir’s daughter was a singer too but did not practice Catanales and was very shy. She drank in every nuance of the fair older girl. Eniecia said to Shurran through gritted teeth, “My revenge will be pitiless.” He smiled knowing he would survive. 

In this rustic opera, a solo female dancer opens the second act as the blossoming of a water flower and finishes as it closes for the night. With no musicians, she raised her arms from a crouch almost as if stretching after long rest. Then she began to circle around a small area of the clearing gradually opening and turning in full bloom until retracting those motions into the stillness of her compact form. She delicately returned to rest near the feet of the man who ended the crush on her clueless grandfather.

The dance was the prelude to the Lament as the young hero bemoans the closing of the flower as his loss of innocence. He sings of wishing she had stayed but knows he must carry on. The Captain had a wonderful time singing a low harmony to the delight of his lovely wife. A few of the Belfalas aides and servants handled bits of the chorus.

A tremendous success! Caladrion took his father’s hand on one side and the glowing Eniecia’s hand on the other for a theatrical bow to the royal assembly. The young woman told her mother she wanted to be a historical dancer. That would not be possible at her station in life, but this was awfully close, maybe better. The handsome tenor kissed her hand before she floated back to her honored family.

They made better time the next day. People were getting used to saddle-sores and this was where the road started to flatten away from the foothills. With fewer gullies and hiding places along the side, troopers could handle all the scouting. Two riders pulled alongside Nag Kath and greeted him warmly. He knew they were Prince Elphir, brother of the man he had saved in Dol Amroth and his son Alphros. Nag Kath had wondered that they hadn’t met before, either there or on the trail, but he suspected the man’s Lady Wife was one of those discomforted by travel and trail food.

The august gentlemen introduced themselves and thanked him for his service to their family. These folk were as pure Dunedain as existed anywhere but Arnor, much older than they looked. Having both the Prince and heir make the trip was of great moment. Nag Kath said, “It is nice you can visit your Lady Sister.”

Elphir considered that and added, “And for a more joyous event than father’s funeral. Elfwine did not come for that. I haven’t seen him since he was a lad.”

Nag Kath agreed, “He is a man grown now. I know the bride too. She is very fair.”

Alphos nodded, “Her aunt travels with us, a fair lady herself.” He grinned, “I wonder if her husband and son will serenade us again. Your granddaughter is a lovely creature.”

With a Nag Kath grin, “That came as a surprise. I am still not sure if she is radiant or furious, same color of female in either form.”

They spoke for quite some time. Out of earshot, the Elf answered questions about the lord brother’s treatment, explaining it had been tried before. Mrs. Hürna had settled-in nicely as a Lady of the Galador and sometimes healed expensive maladies among the gentry. Good for her!

______________-------______________

Six days out they crossed the Mering Stream and everyone knew everyone. Nag Kath even had a few minutes with Queen Arwen. She asked about Mordor and the Dwarf ring. In one of the only times he ever saw her smile, she admitted that the King had not mentioned its destruction to anyone but her and Faramir. Dale knew too but they could keep a secret with Thorin Stonehelm on their doorstep. He had enough gold. He might even be coming to the wedding. Gimli would certainly attend.

Three days from Edoras a curious thing happened. Nag Kath heard a cry from the past that made his hair stand. People who had a view of both said his and the Queen’s heads turned east like helmets on a stand. He looked at her, she nodded and he took Charlo at a full run to just under a ridge about two hundred paces from the road. Arwen said something in Elvish to King Elessar and he ordered the right flank to dismount and nock arrows. The left flankers were atliers. 

Nag Kath slowed when he reached the point on the rise where he could not be seen from the other side and walked the horse up sideways so he could pull off the hill and retreat instantly. Reaching the top, he scanned the horizon for a few minutes before returning at a gallop and giving the barest shake of his head to the royals. They were underway in five minutes.

Reyald raised his eyebrow and was told, “Thought we heard wolves.” For the next two days, the right flank scouts were bolstered and Nag Kath took both watches. 

The following day they reached the river plain of the Snowbourne in sight of the fortress of Edoras. Folk of Arnor, the Shire and up-and-coming Dunland had arrived the day before after crossing the Isen. They collected Lord Gimli and his entourage on the way and were regaled with stories of his first meeting with Éomer.

As Nag Kath knew; space was at a premium. Like the Hobbit parties, large tents were erected for the guards and folk stayed in private homes with obliging residents. As soon as the Conaths were settled, Nag Kath took Shurran down to Dornlas’ house. He and Annlie were both home and the Elf collected his usual Rohan arm-shake. Shurran was introduced simply as Shurran and they went in for a half-pint.

“Great to see you, Nag. You two need a place to stay?”

“I do. Looks a bit cramped up the hill.” Shurran nodded to take a little of the strain off his folks.

Annlie brought the ale and sat with them. She announced, Torenne finally married her trooper. It took forever for him to ask but they’ve been together almost a year.”

Nag Kath raised his mug and toasted the happy couple. Dornlas asked, “Now, how do you know this rascal, Shurran?”

“He’s my grandfather. I’m on the Dale side of the family.”

Most folk would have dropped their jaws but Dornlas had been regularly informed. He just grinned and said, “We got Dale aplenty. Thain Durnaldar arrived fully a week ago with his brood. King Bain got here yesterday with his intended, not a bell after all the folk from over the Gap.”

Shurran added, “We brought the lot from Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith.”

Annlie smiled sweetly, “Don’t know where they’ll put them all. Is fish good for both of you?”

Nag Kath thought and said, “We should probably go back up in a bit to see if we are needed. I doubt it, but if we aren’t back when you have to start, we’ll fend for ourselves. Dorn, got some old business; I heard wargs on the way here.”

“We heard some too. A few horses near the Entwash haven’t come home. Did you bring them with you?”

“They aren’t mine, but I’m sure to get a roasting from King Éomer.”

______________-------______________

The next morning was three days before the wedding. Today, leaders splintered-off into small reunions to discuss matters of state. Since Reyald was consulting with Bain and his interior ministers, Ardatha talked with Eniecia about her trip. After the fist-clenching dance recital, she was having a lovely time and had made several new friends among the guest families. People didn’t treat her like a little girl. At seventeen, she wasn’t. Shurran would eat here and wait for Reyald to return. Nag Kath moseyed back to Dornlas’ and told him about Mordor. One didn’t get stories like that from anyone else.

The next day was also divided by region and age but for merriment. Shurran was invited to Prince Elfwine’s groomsmen’s dinner. He had met Tilli once when they were both small but being almost neighbors made him almost family, that and he was easy to like. All of the young men got along well, told slightly embarrassing stories and, surprisingly, did not punish the ale very hard. 

Then came the day before the wedding. Nag Kath figured if any of the nobles wanted him, they were waiting until after the couple was hitched. It wasn’t like renting the Mason’s Guild Hall and having to clear out the next day. The Conaths were dining at Thain Durnaldar’s residence so he knocked and was shown to a fair-sized hall in what was usually the arms ministry.

This was an old-time reunion of the Dorwinion campaign! They relived the engagement to mixed fascination and boredom, depending on the listeners. Tilli was lovely and seemed quite calm. Her brother and sister enjoyed the trip. Eniecia was excited for a woman not much older than her. One concern was that Torrold and Gerda did not come. Thain Conath might have needed them more. Reyald wished he could go home. He had said his farewells knowing this was likely. That did not make it easier.

Nag Kath thought they might have more to discuss so he bade them goodnight. As he rose, Tilli said, “I will see you to the door.” Walking just outside she paused first then confessed, “I hope you forgave my forward behavior before the battle, Lord Kath. Please do not think me un-virtuous. I cannot imagine what you must have thought.”

In other words, she was worried he might let something slip tomorrow, of all days. He smiled, “There was nothing to forgive and I do not think you indiscrete. As to the last, I hope you can imagine what I though. I am a great believer in desire. You have it. Tomorrow night, drag your man under the covers until he realizes his extraordinary good fortune.”

She gave him the slightest hint of a smile and they wished each other good night. 

______________-------______________

Weddings in Rohan are like everywhere else except much shorter. If anyone had something to say, they had better get it out beforehand. There are few readings, brief guest comments and the celebration starts directly afterwards so you don’t keep the guests waiting. Rohan doesn’t have a lot of servants either so troopers carried out the tables and benches as soon as the congregants cheered the wedded couple. 

Nag Kath saw King Bain with his fiancé and walked over to bow. “Please accept my best wishes for a long happy life together, My Lord.” That was gratefully received. The Elf did not recognize the young woman but she was very much of a type with those in Dale. He did say he accepted their invitation and looked forward to seeing all of his friends. Xondra was a confident lady and thanked him for that too before asking after his friends.

“Well, I know a number of folk in his Lordship’s service and my son is Brenen Fal who has uncounted grandchildren.” She held her hand over her mouth before saying she had long known his two girls and that they were invited. Nag Kath left thinking the King had done very well for himself. During that quiet interlude, the rest of the great hall was a frenzy of well-wishing and ale consumption. There were toasts and honors and more toasts in rapid succession. Then the royals seemed to vanish except for Éomer, Éowyn and Faramir. Alphros of Dol Amroth was in demand as well but since he was already married, the ladies knew better. 

Gimli was in good form. When Nag Kath went by, the Dwarf did not mention the ale drinking contest in this very hall, which was fine by the Elf. Shurran had attracted a few lovelies but he also excused himself to give his best to his King and future Queen. Ardatha was asleep on her feet. Reyald took her and their wide-eyed daughter back to their quarters for well deserved rest.

The day after the wedding Nag Kath got his summons. He approached the reception room to the side of the throne dais earlier than the scheduled eleven-bell along with several lords he had spoken with just last night. This was new to them too so the meeting must have just been organized, perhaps not for his information at all. 

As folk trickled in, the Elf found Gimli sitting alone in a corner. After their initial encounter, the Dwarf had always been fulsome and hearty but today he seemed introspective. Nag Kath pulled him from his reverie with, “Good morning, My Lord. A groat for your thoughts.”

“Ah, Nag Kath. Did you have a good time last night?”

“I did. I especially enjoyed all of the young people seeing two of their own tie the knot. My grandson and granddaughter both met folk their own age.”

“You’re not so old yourself.”

“Thirty eight. The same age as Lord Alphros.”

“It might be a moment before the others come. Sit with me, Nag Kath.” The Elf did. “Aragorn told me about the ring.”

Nag Kath betrayed no emotion, “He said you deserved to know.”

“And you tossed it into Mount Doom?”

“Such as is left of it.”

“I want you to know I do not hold that against you. Some may, but those rings always brought dragons or war or Balrogs, something foul for having grasped too much. I don’t suppose you knew which one it was?”  
  


“Nay, sir. I did see the markings but they weren’t from your runes. Possibly they were Sauron’s mockery of Durin’s script. I only got a glimpse. If your scholars knew how they were engraved, I might recognize a match.”

Gimli looked around the room as Éomer and Faramir entered saying, “We can worry about that later. I need to decide a few things myself first. Thank you for your pains.”

As it happened, Nag Kath was the first speaker. He was asked to give a full account of his adventure in the east. He did not include the ring or the orc/man. The Mordor stories were interesting but most of the folk in the room wanted details on Rhûn and Khand. They asked quite a few questions; answers to which revealed a good deal more sorcery than most in the room knew him to have. No one wondered about the warags.

The general theme of the group was whether to make overtures to the eastern rulers regarding trade and official cessation of hostilities, perhaps even embassies. When asked his opinion, Nag Kath said he thought they were ready but that both rulers should be approached in plain sight of the other. 

When Aragorn asked if there was anything else he wanted to add, the changeling's ability to surprise shone through; “Do not forget the northern orcs for consultation.”

There was an instant din in the room as people laughed or were outraged or insulted. Éomer was lord here and pounded a small hammer on the table. All were quiet and looked to him as he said, “Would you explain that, Lord Kath?”

“Aye, King Éomer. It is five years now that we negotiated for them to stop aiding the Easterling rebels. Of all the groups, they were the most reasonable.”

Someone in the room cried, “That is because you deal with your own!”

The King banged his hammer again, “Pray, continue.”

“I am not inviting them for Syndolan dinner, but I think it would pay to keep a close eye.”

The Daleans would hear more. Their lands were closer to the northern wastes than most here. Gimli was clearly waiting too. His fief was the Glittering Caves but they were under the lordship of Erebor and that was the orcs back garden. Nag Kath gave his next remark considerable thought. “There is still dark sorcery there. The threat in Mordor was real. I killed a Barrow-wight changed to flesh the same year, long after the One Ring was unmade. The Wild Huntsman may still patrol Dunland along the Mournshaws."

He passed into his Elf-Lord visage, “Three years ago I passed the Dead Marshes. Those soldiers should have rotted. Something preserves them, keeps them from peace. All these things were closely tied to the Witch-King of Angmar. My Lady Éowyn killed him with her own hand but his spells last, even after Sauron’s have turned to ash. The orcs will be the first to know if dark powers rise where we cannot see. I think we could bribe them to tell us. The dark ones have done them no favors, but they are more likely to remember that when they aren’t hungry.”

As noisy as the room was after his first opinion, it was quiet as the grave now. Obviously, there was only one person who could undertake such an embassy. King Éomer said, “Thank you for coming, Lord Kath. I hope you can stay as we consider your counsel.”

______________-------______________

Four days later, King Elessar and his train made for Annúminas with the Arnor contingent and the Hobbits. The King did not go last year because of the succession in Belfalas. The Gondor contingent left shortly after but family from Dol Amroth stayed several more weeks before returning to Minas Tirith. Nag Kath wondered why they just didn’t have a ship waiting at the Greyflood harbor. 

He and Shurran traveled north with King Bain and Thain Durnaldar as far as the Celebrant. The King’s entourage of twenty pressed on but Nag Kath parked his grandson at the same inn as on the way down and went to Caras Galadhon for another look at the mirror. He was challenged and admitted the same as before but then almost completely forgotten. There was no sign of Elf-keepers either. 

He brought a bag of the fine river silt craftsmen use for polishing metal and gave the mirror a good shining before cleaning the grit and adding water. Nothing came. He got no sense of power from the bowl. Had he used the last of it with Elvish magic in decline? He would try again but he would not make a special trip.

With grand-da visiting the Elves, Shurran managed to eat mutton two days in a row. Northmen need their meat. The Drimrill Dale and Gladden marshes were the worst footing of the trip so they took their time and ate Nag Kath’s counterfeit Lembas. Shurran would have to get used to that because they stayed at the entrance of Rosghobel for eight days hoping for a glimpse of Radagast. 

Shurran noticed differences in the Elf. In town and with people he was friendly and sometimes seemed a little dim, some said shy. In the wild he was something else. Nothing escaped him. He never dropped anything, he moved without breaking sticks, he sometimes stopped dead still for a few moments listening to things no one else could hear. When he didn’t hear any wizards, they doubled-back to the Old Forest Road and headed for Dale. 

Mid-July was a glorious time to see the city. Not as hot as the southern lands, flowers did not need to hide in the daytime. Shurran could have used his family apartments inside the palace gates but he elected to stay with Uncle Nag, at least for a little while. 

Uncle Nag made his usual visits. Brenen and his family were exactly as he left them. So were Bard and Burry. Tella and Gorander had another baby boy. On their third day after making town, they both rode to see Mrs. Borenne at her home on the Lake.

She was frail and needed a cane after a fall in the winter. The woman said she was getting better and might not need it soon. She marveled at her great grandson, such a fine man now! The old lady was still sharp and asked about everyone in the family. Nag Kath gave her a sketch of them drawn at one of the camps on the road to Edoras. Even she saw her resemblance with her sweet Eniecia, now a woman. The boys would make for Buhr Austar before long but planned to be back well ahead of winter.

Before riding back, they strolled to the tower rebuilt in the same place where Bard slew Smaug all those years ago. Up top they imagined the angle and the shot needed to hit a creature that large and fast with only a tiny target, a shot that changed the world. 

Back in town, Shurran wrote a note to the King letting him know he was here and at his Lord’s command. He sent a separate letter to Queen Delatha wishing her well. When they dropped the letters, the gate guard allowed them to go to Shurran’s family apartments. He rummaged through his things but except for socks, he had outgrown all of his clothes. Ransacking Reyald’s dresser yielded better. 

Uncle Nag realized that the lad didn’t have a privy pot to his name. For the next week he walked him around the better shops of Dale for fitted clothes, boots, kit and other things a young gentleman about town would be expected to own. Ros found them another cook. Shurran also renewed his acquaintance with Brenen’s son Gerrulth the jeweler. After three weeks of repeating old stories, they made for the Buhr using the Dwarf Road. This was high season for merchants and they occasionally had to wait for wagons to avoid stamping through the marches. 

Thain Conath’s lodge was north of town so they stopped there first. Torrold and Gerda came out to greet them. She was as welcome as a good woman should be and had gently taken the household reins. The servants were the same, if a little slower. In the main room, Field Conath, Thain of Buhr Austar, was sleeping in his favorite chair with his cane by his feet. Seeing him so peaceful, the two stepped lightly trying not to wake him until Torrold firmly gripped his shoulder saying, “Look da, Shurran and Nag are come to see you!”

The old boy shook his head and grinned. They doubted he could see that far but he said, “Good lads, both of them. Come here and tell me of your adventures!” He dozed-off a couple times so they just kept the story going for Torrold and Gerda. When the Thain woke, he enjoyed it until dozing again. He did not seem to be in pain. At eighty four, the man thought he had a good run.

A runner was sent to Shurran’s sister Haldiera’s home in town, Eniece and Nag Kath’s in another life, and returned saying they would be out tomorrow with their children. Gerda and cook would see to fine meals. Gerda’s daughters and their families would visit the next day or perhaps the one after that. There was no rush. Uncle Nag would be here a month and Shurran might stay the winter. Everyone marveled at how much the young man had grown and how much he looked like his da, Torrold too since they were hard to tell apart except for Reyald’s broken nose. 

Days passed pleasantly. The Thain told the tale of Nag Kath missing the target but forgot it was Reyald’s wedding, not Torrold’s. Haldiera’s boy was now eight and looked like a proper Northman. Mother and daughter did too so great grandmother Borenne only reappeared every so often.

Two weeks after they arrived, the old Thain had a fit of laughter when one of the grandchildren told a funny story. He had a hard time getting his wind afterwards and needed help back to his room. It was a large space near the kitchen since he stopped using the stairs years ago. Gerda settled him in and he wished her a good evening. The next morning Brende took him his tea at the usual time. 

She returned to the main room a minute later still holding the mug. 

The old Thain wouldn’t have wanted his funeral to be too dignified. He was buried next to his dear Hadista in the little plot overlooking the meadow. That was followed by a wake that ran through most of the beer in town but without any fights. Then the family rode back to the lodge and had a quiet meal. Shurran debated in Rohan if he should return to Minas Tirith or come here. He could not have been more right.

______________-------______________

Good afternoon, Your Highness.”

“Hello Nag Kath. I am sorry about Thain Conath, though I am glad he had a long, happy life. His lands are in excellent hands.”

“Thank you, Sire.”

King Bain was sitting with Chancellor Rosscranith and a Dwarf Lord in his personal office. It was the first time Nag Kath had been in the room. The Lord of Dale said, “Please, have a seat.” The Elf did and poured himself a mug of cool tea.

The King said, “Nag Kath, may I present Prince Frór.”

“I am honored, my Lord.”

The Dwarf replied in a low, rich voice, “The honor is mine, Mr. Kath. My father thinks highly of your audacity.”

“A habit I have not been able to break, sir.”

Bain said with a small smile, “Speaking of same; you raised some eyebrows in Rohan.”

Rosscranith added, “You did that with the Easterlings too. That seems to be working. What think you of the north?

That the Dwarf was here meant this was important, and that Stonehelm probably knew more than he had mentioned. Nag Kath eased into the subject, “There are things I know, suspect and those beyond me. In my travels I have found remaining sorceries, most amount to little.” One of those was the Dwarf ring. “But the blackest seem to follow the Witch-King in his long predations to the south; Dunland, the Dead Marshes and the Barrow Downs. They may simply be losing power too slowly to detect. They may also be fed by residual humors not tied to the rings.

“Were I a dark servant, biding my time and accumulating power, Angmar is away from prying eyes. Who of us knows what the fell Lord left behind? What I do know is that the orcs will be the first to sense the rise of darkness. It did them no favors the last time. Men of the west have the strong hand now. If that strong hand also makes their lives easier with the occasional wagon of whisker-fish, it will be harder for the enemy to seduce them.”

Frór asked, “How do you know they would not play us false?”

The Elf responded, “I expect that, Master Dwarf. But knowing folk reward those who report such sorceries, the hard part will be parsing genuine news from the rubbish.”

The King asked, “You seek alliances?”

Nag Kath smiled, “Simply to bribe the spies. But I only know of one band and they are east of the crescent. We also need ears on the front porch nearer Fornost. Elessar Telcontar will certainly be interested.”

Ever practical, Rosscranith wondered aloud, “What needs to be done?”

The Elf knew this was the question they had planned from the outset. “Nothing complex, sirs. I would take a wagon-load of food to the same place as last time with a note we wish to parlay. I can speak their tongue but I cannot write it. I expect they cannot either but we can make ourselves understood. If they agree to meet, I suppose that makes me the negotiator.”

He grinned his worst grin, “Sire, might you know where we can find a wagon of dried hakuun fish?”

King Bain’s quartermaster happened to know a few fishermen and the wagon was taken to the Iron Hills Road. Nag Kath told the soldiers to stack the crates under a gaudy, red tent. With the whisker-fish was a note he crafted in the common-tongue with pictures of orcs and men meeting, his way of specifying no more than six guards should accompany the negotiator. If the Lugnash agreed, bringing a shield back to the site meant they should return two weeks later to negotiate. Nag Kath picked an area three leagues to the east that could not be surrounded in stealth.

Bringing the load and waiting in the cold to see what happened was no trooper’s favorite assignment. They could not see at night and nothing would happen in the day, but three days after they piled the food on the ground, it was gone and a buckler shield was left behind. The orc in charge of the party had enough authority to agree to a council. Whether anyone showed was another matter.

Two weeks later, Nag Kath rode up with six men. One of them was Shurran. That was a needless risk but he was a soldier of Dale and his fathers had done braver things in the service of the King. They camped out in the open so as not to be trapped if a large force came with menace. The horses were kept saddled. 

That night they made a large campfire and cooked half a pig. Nag Kath winced at the smell but it would be mouthwatering to orcs who would certainly approach from downwind. About the nine-bell a harsh voice called out in Westron, “You, talk?”

Nag Kath rose and cupped his hands around his mouth and in the Black Speech shouted, **“We come to parlay.”** There is simply no way to project that language and not sound threatening. The men were prepared. He followed with, “_**Approach and be recognized.**_”

There was a company several hundred paces away but only the leader and six soldier-orcs came within the light of the fire. Orcs have no problem with fire. Only sunlight vexes them. The Elf said, **“I am Nag Kath. We have dealt before.”**

Usually; the larger the orc, the higher the rank, but one of the shorter ones came a few steps closer and said in the Black Tongue, **“I am Ghoushorr, Captain of Lugnash Khuundur.”**

The troopers stood ready. Their horses were upwind but still nervous. Nag Kath told the Captain, **“Sit, we will talk here.”** The men watched for hand signals because they would not understand anything said. The orc Captain turned to his guards and grunted. The negotiators sat close by the fire and the guards sat ten feet behind them with their swords at the ready.

The Captain said, **“We are here. What do you say?”**

**“We wish to reward our friends who showed such good sense five seasons before. We offer a full wagon of fish in exchange for news if dark lords return to take your lands.”**

**“There are none.”**

The Elf said, **“Good. Do you know of Angmar?”**

**“No. Gundar orcs there. They stay or we fight them.” **

Nag Kath appeared to consider that carefully, **“Would Khuundur like a full wagon of fish every season to watch for dark usurpers who would steal his land?”**

Not Dukks players; these northern orcs. The captain immediately betrayed his position, **“Two wagons!”**

His expressions would not mean anything to these creatures but Nag Kath acted shocked at the exorbitance and turned to Shurran. “Shur, do we have the authority to give these hard bargainers a Florin’s worth of whisker-fish?

In the same solemn tones Shurran replied, “Only if they throw in tribute women, Uncle Nag.” One of the troopers stifled a laugh. 

As if thoroughly defeated by the better negotiator, the Elf said, **“Two wagons, yes, but for that, we want to know of eastern clans also. If they have dark servants, you will need help or they will take your lands. Bad for us. Bad for you.”**

His diplomacy a success, Ghoushorr grunted, **“We agree.”**

Nag Kath broke into a grin and called, “Boys, let us share our meal!” The troopers thought this the most revolting part of the hair-brained scheme but they stood slowly and handed portions of the pre-cut pig to the orcs around the fire. Dry fish will keep you alive but this; this was orc heaven. As was always said of him; Uncle Nag knew how to throw a party!

As the orcs wiped the grease on their coats, Nag Kath told them how to send word every year through the Dwarvish post directly behind the Lonely Mountain, that the messenger should wear white and what to shout. They would send someone who spoke the common tongue, a favored position in their ranks and worth practicing. He was also specific that they did not need false witness to appear they were earning their fish. No news was good news. When something important happened, they would bring one of the copper medallions he gave them so all knew it was from the Lugnash. With what he thought he heard of the Captain’s troops and the Colonel’s behind the Iron Hills, Nag Kath put the clan’s overall strength at around two thousand fighters.

Business concluded, Nag Kath invited their guests to take the carcass back to the soldiers waiting in the bush. Troopers stoked the fire high and no one slept a wink. 

______________-------______________

There is a certain exhilaration that comes with surviving a dangerous assignment. These men were all volunteers, King’s Men of the professional army. Nag Kath explained his conversation on the way home. Another wagon of dried fish would be brought before the snows with a roasted pig thrown in for good measure.

They stopped at Erebor first. In Dwarvish realms, one is taken through the ranks. From soldier to sergeant to officers to Frór took five escorts. The crown prince was sitting with his father in the King’s private room. Nag Kath bowed and waited the proper distance from Thorin III. He was nearing two hundred years old which was still prime for these long-lived folk. The King called, “Approach.” When the Elf reached the table he added, “You are surprisingly alive, Nag Kath. We have terms?”

“After a fashion, My Lord. The best hope is that nothing comes from this.”

“I understand you lost the charm I gave you.”

How did he know that? “I did, sir. It was used to trick the head of the Visitor cult. It may be a while before they trouble your borders again.”

“And it was lost in losing another treasure of my Kingdom?!” That was asked in furor he could barely contain. So, the word was out.

No matter to the Elf, “Aye, Lord King. Men and metal met their ends in Mordor.”

Frór did not seem to be expecting this. He glanced at his father to gauge the direction of the exchange. Thorin shouted, “Think you to destroy precious heirlooms of my people?!”

Such an outburst from a King would shrink most people in fear but not the last Uruk-hai. He said in his Elf Lord voice, “Sauron’s rings and, if need be, the hands that bear them, unless you think such rings will have grown wholesome after long confinement in Barad Dûr.”

A hundred oaths nearly spat from the bearded mouth after such an outrage. All Thorin could manage was, “Leave! You are forbidden Erebor in my lifetime!” The Elf bowed deeply and made for the door.

On the short ride to Dale Nag Kath did not dampen the soldiers’ spirits. They had done their jobs and done them well. Rosscranith’s sensibilities would not need to be spared.

“Kicked you out, did he?”

“Like a bead-peddler, Davet. Even called it precious. It might have been worse but Frór was sitting there and we were successful. Is it wise to have the orcs send word through their north garrison now?”

Rosscranith considered that. “Nothing for it. Good work. King Elessar should know. I’ll have a messenger waiting for your letter with one or two of ours. When I get the opening, I will confer with Frór. It was said Thorin was a good son but as King, he has been difficult. He works his people very hard.” Muttering under his breath, “Greedy dougsh!”

In Sindarin;

** _My dear King Elessar,_ **

** _My embassy to the northern orcs was successful. They accepted terms, though it remains to be seen if they honor them. They are at odds with their kin inside the Angmar Crescent making them more likely to mention if foes can summon dark forces. Their counterparts on the Fornost side will have to be contacted separately._ **

** _My report to Stonehelm went poorly. He berated me for destroying the ring. I gather from wiser men he is falling into Dragon Sickness. It makes me all the gladder he will never wear the band. Who knows what new malice Sauron imbued in it while in his care? The King did not interfere with the quest; methinks to learn more of orcs still in Khazad Dûm. _ **

** _I am now forbidden the Dwarf realm and hope this does not cast a pall on your dealings. For what it is worth; the orcs get two wagons of fish and a roast pig every year for their supposed eyes on dark restoration. NK_ **

Practical men would examine current affairs. Nag Kath was starting to think like an immortal. This might be the first crack in the post-war alliance. Imhrahil and Bard were dead but replaced by sons very like them. Thorin could live another hundred years wielding absolute authority. How might this affect the Glittering Caves or the Dwarvish enclaves to the west?

Aragorn would have the same conversation with his learned folk. The more Nag Kath knew of the King, and of himself, the more he noticed they thought alike. Consider the aqueduct; almost every man involved was worried about cost. The Elf and King considered the outcome first. Aragorn decreed it would be done and saw it through. Nag Kath never asked the final expense because it did not matter.

How Stonehelm learned of the ring’s unmaking hardly mattered either. The story was going to get out and Nag Kath would do as he had every time. He hoped it would not harm his friendship with Gimli. His Dwarf friends would probably never learn or care; especially if Thorin was driving his own like orcs.

______________-------______________

The next day Shurran collected some clothes at the tailors and stopped to look at the large statue of Brand glowering in the square. It was a striking resemblance. People wandering by looked at both before going about their business. When he got home, he told grand-da, “Nag, I would like to see Lord Carstors.”

That would be the Carstors of the pivotal wedding portrait. Brand had three children. His older daughter bore Lord Carstors at nineteen during Brand’s long time as heir-apparent. His son Bard II was eight years younger than his sister. He took the throne at Brand’s death in the Ring War and was father to the current King Bain II, reliably thought to have been conceived on the day of Carstor’s wedding. Ardatha was born at the start of Brand’s regency as old Bain I entered a five year decline. Her son was Shurran. There were thirty-seven years between the oldest and youngest of Brand’s three grandsons.

Shurran, in his fine hand, wrote a letter to his cousin who lived at his hunting estate on the west side of the Long Lake below Esgaroth. When it arrived, it took the household a few hours to discover who the young man was. That settled, Lord Carstors wrote a reply himself saying he and his staff were welcome to visit for as long he liked. He wasn’t sure what the lad wanted but Devoran Carstors was a kindly fellow and liked company.

Lord Shurran’s staff turned out to be reliable Uncle Nag. New clothes were stuffed into saddlebags and the two took the Merchant’s Road south. The Count’s property was about five miles south of the Forest River mouth after it cleared the marshes. They owned eight miles of lake frontage and a swath about that wide going west another four miles towards Mirkwood. The road actually ran across his lands with a royal easement.

Lord Carstors estate was well away from traffic and the commercial lake property that paid his bills. Climbing slightly after turning right, they arrived at a beautiful group of homes that had considerable Elvish influence, both for the buildings and the grounds. The largest of them was a two-story house with banks of real glass windows overlooking the lake. A groom was there before they dismounted to take the reins and bags.

Nag Kath and Shurran visted Mrs. Bourenne on the way and rode at a good pace to get here before the sun went down. Still, they took a moment to appreciate the place. A liveried servant took them to a very comfortable room getting the last of the western light. Carstors rose from reading and walked over with a hearty smile.

His Lordship was actually expecting other guests today but he adjusted quickly and said, “You must be my cousin Shurran Conath.” They shook hands. Then he looked to the Elf and within a few seconds recognized him as the Elvish artist who captured him and his beloved wife on their wedding day. Nag Kath offered his name in case the man had forgotten. He had or he would have attached considerably more importance to the itinerant portraitist from later deeds. Carstors said, “Now how is it that you two know each other?”

Shurran replied, “Nag Kath is my grandfather, Lord Carstors. It is a long and happy story.”

“Splendid! Let me just get Tillith and perhaps a glass of wine to savor the sunset.” The man nodded to the servant who brought them in and showed his guests to comfortable chairs around a low, polished wooden table. They hadn’t even sat before a pleasant, matronly woman came in to receive bows. Royalty first, Carstors said, “My dear, this is my cousin Shurran Conath of Buhr Austar. And by a tale yet to be told, this is his grandfather Nag Kath who captured us on our wedding day.”

She focused on his face for a moment and put her hand over her mouth before removing it and saying, “Yes, yes it is you. Oh my, that was quite an eventful day for everyone, wasn’t it?”

The Elf modestly said, “Yes, My Lady. A day of many beginnings.”

She said, “Please, take your seats. Lord Shurran, your things have been taken to your rooms.”

Shurran smiled and said, “Lord isn’t necessary, ma’am.”

Carstors laughed and said, “Quite right! I’m Dev and this is Lil.”

Wine arrived in a beaker with exquisite glazed cups that looked Elvish. Lord and Lady Carstors were well set-up. Nag Kath had a rough count of five interior servants not including whoever was cooking and a bunch more keeping up the grounds. Miles of lakefront along the main road with tenant farmers will do that for you.

When they were seated, Carstors asked, “Shurran, how old are you?”

“Nineteen, Dev. Father took the embassy to Minas Tirith three years ago so I have been there until Nag and I returned to Dale this summer after Elfwine’s wedding.”

The elegant man said, “Heard about that. And sorry to hear about your third grandfather. I only met him once but he seemed a merry sort.”

“Aye sir, and with a long life well lived.”

Lil excused herself to prepare for guests yet to arrive after telling the men not to stand. Carstors knew a great deal about Dale from his retreat. His younger daughter and her family lived in their home in Dale but there was plenty of room for his and Lil’s occasional visits. He had also heard many variations of the Nag Kath stories and assumed at least one of each was mostly true. The creature had settled the Lings right proper twice. The man took a sip of a truly superb wine and said, “I would imagine you would like a little history on your visit, young man.”

Shurran only needed to smile. His Lordship continued, “Well, the day we met your spare grandfather defined our lands today and completed the old ways for much the better. Brand was a hard man. Future King Bard was only eleven when I arrived as second heir, and a full ten years before Brand finally got the crown, thought he had been regent five years through poor old Bain’s dotage.”

He had another delicate sip of the red wine and said, “With no more sons likely, the suspicious King worried others might seek to elevate me. He looked knowingly at Nag Kath and added, “That seems to be a theme in court life here. My father, a wise and patient man, thought to remove his family from such intrigues and we returned here where he was Thain of what used to be South Lake. At his death, that was folded into the crown but these personal lands are ours in perpetuity for either male or female heirs, which is good because our family throws mostly girls. We went to the city for important events but Brand’s spies must have assured the man I was no threat.”

Carstors looked into the last of the sun and cleared his throat for a more difficult part of his narrative, “Then came the Easterlings. I was subaltern to Prince Bard at the gates when Brand was slain, and Dain beside him. We routed them, thanks to events in Mordor, and King Bard took the crown. He was a good and decent man, telling me I could live where I wanted and marry who I wanted. But wouldn’t you know it, I was happy right here! I met my true love and raised two fine girls. I am still next in line, with you, Shurran, behind me. Hopefully our new King will add a few heirs of his own. Don’t know the girl.”

Shurran said, “I had not heard much of Brand, the man. Grandmother kept her opinions to herself. To me, he has always been the fierce warrior under pigeon droppings.”

Carstors had a hearty laugh, “Serves him right! Both of you; follow me.” He rose a bit awkwardly but walked well to an alcove in the room with the wedding portrait. He said more softly, “We took your advice, Nag Kath, and kept it from sunlight. Both of us look at it every day.”

Nag Kath said, “If you have time, Dev, I should make one of you now to go alongside.”

Carstors took one of Nag Kath’s hands with both of his and said, “Oh, would you?! I can’t think of anything more splendid. I hope you both can stay for a while. We should probably go where the lamps are being lit since the Urbans and my daughter’s family will be here any time now.” The man poked his head into the hall and a servant was there instantly, “Cardel, please take these gentlemen to their rooms to dress for dinner.” To his guests he said, “We eat late, on the seven-bell, but there will be good company and more of that tasty Dorwinion 25 beforehand.”

The rooms were small but had real glass windows and everything needed; fresh water, clean towels, even tooth twigs with the bark removed. Nag Kath promised himself a nice walk around the grounds tomorrow.

Both guests left their rooms after hearing a clear chime at what must be the six-half bell. At the foot of the stairs was a lovely old water-clock, the kind that slowly pours into a counterbalanced cup. When it fills to the right level, the cup drops to empty the water and rings the bell. When a second cup empties, it rings the louder hour-bell. Nag Kath had seen them being made in the Khandian capital and this one had a rune on the beam-weight in that script.

They made their way into the main room and were introduced to second cousin Lillith and her husband Maurid Vontris. The woman favored her mother, a good thing. He was from local gentry and had smooth hands to prove it. Neither said much. As Shurran was searching for something eloquent, Lil introduced Captain and Mrs. Urban. Recognition took a few moments but the Captain was the poor young trooper who had to carry the Northman’s head wrapped in a jacket after the Lings attacked on the Dwarf Road all those years ago. Neither of them said anything until his wife, not a woman to be left in silence, sounded, “It seems you two know each other. You can tell us all about it at table.”

The soldiers thought to themselves; probably not all, or even most, with ladies present. Nag Kath managed, “Captain, Mrs. Urban, this is Shurran. Ma’am, he is the grandson of the lady your husband and I once escorted to the Buhr’s.” Since her face didn’t go white, Nag Kath and Shur assumed she hadn’t heard most of it from him. One of Reyald’s favorite stories was of Ardatha, at half-term carrying Haldiera, trying to recognize the head on the stump.

Dinner was graceful. Mrs. Urban was oblivious to her husband’s subtle eye movements not to pursue military history during the main course. The two old soldiers were able to shift that story to the Dorwinion invasion where Nag Kath fought beside Shurran’s father. For his part, Shurran told stories of Minas Tirith and the royal wedding this summer. It is hard to go wrong discussing the marriage of Princesses at dinner with females. Nag Kath thought he might be as good a diplomat as his da.

Mrs. Vondris was pushing thirty. At times she had a far-away look in her eye but then quickly came back to the conversation with a lovely, soft voice. Her husband was a squire of some sort with property just south of Carstor’s on the lakefront. They lived in a large home two hundred paces from this one during summer and fall hunting seasons but returned to the lake when the weather turned. He was perhaps ten years older than her and they had a four-year old daughter playing with her governess two doors over. 

In the company of military men, civilians sometimes feel the need to stress the importance of their own contributions. That was fine. He seemed an agreeable man. It was Nag Kath’s policy to be an excellent dinner guest and make people comfortable. He figured he would live forever so he could listen attentively to just about anything for a couple hours. Most of the interest was in the young Lord anyway. They needed to marry this one off! Alas, the fisherwomen of the South Lake did not have the right pedigrees. He simply must visit sister Lilac when he got back to Dale for introductions. Brenen’s ladies knew every eligible girl in town and were probably already conniving. 

It was likely this dinner would be repeated at least once more over the long, country weekend so they were not pressed to exhaust every available topic. The Vondris’ left after dinner but not before little Tallath came in to wish grand-da and grandmother goodnight. The child reminded Nag Kath of Meaglie, the farmer’s daughter, just west of Orthanc. She curtsied to the strangers with a shy smile and hugged her nanna before servants led them home by torchlight.

The Urbans were staying here in the big house so the hosts and their four guests went back to the comfortable room with the portrait for another cup of wine. A bit more at ease, the Captain said to Shurran, “Do your parents like the White City?”

“They do, sir. They went back after the wedding with Prince Faramir. Nag Kath and I continued here to visit family, though this meeting wasn’t planned.”

Urban said gently, “Sorry about the Thain. He treated us fair at his lodge. I was very junior at the time but we got as good as he had.” Nag Kath wondered about that. Troopers and Captains come from different folk. Urban must have shown considerable skill to retire as an officer.

Shurran put him at ease, “We were there. He died in his sleep and rests next to his beloved wife.” The young man smiled and looked at Uncle Nag, “Last thing he said to you was a chiding for missing the target!”

Captain Urban said softly, “Not by much, I dare say.” He remembered the Elf spitting that Ling like it was yesterday. 

______________-------______________

Carstors told them they had the run of the place and he liked to sleep late so Nag Kath dressed at first light and wandered out into the dew. It was getting cold. He visited the stables. Those were luxurious as well. The Urbans arrived by carriage. Their horses, Nag Kath’s and Shurran’s were on one side of the barn with another half dozen in stalls against the far wall. The Carstors had a two and a four-wheeled carriage plus all the saddles and tack one might need. 

A room off to one side held considerable hunting gear for beaters, riders and an area for dressing game. The bows and arrows were kept in the house away from the damp. The next building over kenneled the hounds. They had been quiet during the night but gave the Elf a boisterous greeting as their first visitor that day. That was usually the man who fed them so their enthusiasm was understandable. There were two large protection dogs loose at night but they didn’t seem interested in anyone who looked like they were guests. Dogs generally weren’t aggressive towards Elves but not overly submissive either. Cats treat them with the same distain they show everyone.

Carstors said he didn’t hunt as much as he used to. Nag Kath guessed it was the game hip he showed rising from his chair. He could offer relief and made a mental note to ask. Back at the house, Lil was up and about seeing to the perfection of her home. The woman enjoyed helping the cooks and did much of the baking herself. The household also canned jellies and produce in waxed, glazed jars in season both for taste and when they were snowed-in place. 

The Elf saw her at the clock and after bowing and bidding her a good day said, “I saw these being made in Khand. The makers fire the large bowl with a wire through the side. Then they fill let it dribble into an exact bowl to judge the size of the catch-cups.”

She brightened even more and said, “Oh yes!” Opening the door under the stand she produced another clay bowl saying, “This came with it. On Syndolan and high summer, Cardel measures it and adjusts the little weight if needed. If it doesn’t betray any great secrets, Nag Kath, Khand is quite some ways off.”

“Indeed my Lady. I was there for diplomacy.” He supposed fomenting wars counted broadly but it included some measure of peace afterwards.

She gave him a canny glance and concluded with, “This is a very clever device. I am sure its makers were of great craft.”

Breakfast was a banquet. Even declining meat, Nag Kath’s plate was piled high. New apples had been squeezed into pulp served in tea mugs. Carstors was still a thin man but he punished his eggs and sausage like a trooper at mess. The Urbans came down a little later at no risk of missing the fare. 

Carstors held court; “In his day, father would fill the hall with guests before fowling or hunting deer. Sometimes we would go after turkeys and occasional boar, though both are too smart to be caught by noisy townsmen after a night of wine.” Urban and Shurran were hunters too and they told of merry gatherings in their times.

It was unusual for Nag Kath to mention sorcery. He only showed it at need, even among friends. If he wanted something in another room, he rose and fetched it. He didn’t cloud vendors’ minds for a better price. And the fast was only for danger. Nag Kath even surprised himself when he said, “The Huntsman said the same. He traveled with eight huge wolf-hounds. His guests would hunt and then return to his halls for feasting. I wonder what happened to him.”

Mrs. Urban thought it might be someone they knew and asked, “Which Huntsman is this, Nag Kath?”

“One of the Maiar, an immortal patrolling the Mournshaws.” With a smile, “He came to hunt me but we reached an understanding. Good thing; that. He stands as tall as the ceiling.”

For a moment no one breathed. Shurran had seen the sketch and Captain Urban knew the Elf was more than he seemed. There wasn’t much unsaid about him over the decades but most people dismissed it at the time and it was quickly old gossip. The ladies were too cultured to declare him a boor and hoped someone else would make the next comment. Urban obliged, “The Wild Huntsman?”

“Aye, Captain. He said he was Maia to Oromë. I wondered that his quest had not ended with the ring but he was still in Dunland. Dev; that was only a few months before we met. I was there five years ago with King Elessar. The Huntsman knew him as a Dunedain ranger and they did not care for each other so we tried not to wake his hounds. Like yours, they find the prey. Next time I am there I will see if he remains.”

It was a good thing breakfast was over because there aren’t many conversations that could follow. 

There were no scheduled activities at the Carstors’ estate this weekend. Guests did as they liked. Nag Kath asked if he could browse through the bookcase in the pleasant room they first visited with good morning light. Shurran and the Urbans walked off their breakfasts. 

Dev read occasionally. Like most libraries of the wealthy in Dale, there were more shelves than books. Impossibly rare; volumes and manuscripts were spread thin. Owners often included works in tongues they did not even speak to fill the space. In the collection was one of the Elvish documents the scholars sold from Nag Kath’s Orthanc gleanings. He chuckled thinking he would keep that to himself.

There were two works of note. In the same fine leather box was another sheet with pictures of the three Elf rings from different angles with notes and measurements, perhaps the study made by the smith for casting. The original would have been written in Quenya so this was probably a much later copy. Gandalf said Elves updated everything because their languages changed so often among the sunderings.

The second was a thin book by the Elf Lord Elrond on healing. It seemed to be a rough draft with corrections or entire pages lined-through and referenced to pages at the back of the bound volume. This was priceless. The most famous of all healers must have taken the completed version with him because there was nothing like this in Rivendell. It would take a long time to make sense of what Elrond meant to keep and then copy that precisely.

Nag Kath was poring over the text so intently he didn’t hear Carstors approaching on the soft Khandian carpet until the man said, “You seem to have found something interesting, Nag Kath.”

The Elf looked up from the table and said in awe, “A treasure, sir. A treasure.”

The man walked around the table to read the book right side-up and lamented, “Glad someone can make sense of that. What does it say?”

“It is a book on Elvish medicine by the greatest of their healers. He was the Lord of Rivendell and the father of Queen Arwen. This looks like his notes that were condensed later, but still the only work of its kind on this side of the great sea.” Nag Kath smiled, “I confess, my Elvish is not very good.”

“You seem very much an Elf to me.”

Nag Kath smiled again at having explained this so fruitlessly but he kept trying, “I am only part Elf and just turned thirty seven years old. A man had to teach me what little I know.” 

He flipped the single sheet with the rings and said, “This is interesting too. The ring in the middle was Gandalf’s. He let me wear it once. He said it was losing its power now that the One Ring was destroyed but it was still a thing of beauty. This one belongs to Elrond, who wrote this healing text and the other is worn by Galadriel of Lorien.

“That reminds me, I am a healer, of sorts. Would you like me to look at that sore hip?”

“Yes! It is worse now that the weather is turning.” They shut the doors so Carstors could lower his trousers privately and Nag Kath applied a deep bone spell. He explained it could not repair much damage but it would feel better for a few weeks. Another application in two days would increase that. It only took a minute and then the Lord of the South Lake walked across the room and back, pronouncing it improved.

The Elf said, “We may have missed the best light but if the weather holds, would you and Lil like to sit for that second portrait about the ten-bell tomorrow?”

“That would be just fine. Thank you for that and my leg.”

“Glad to help. I will try to copy this work without being in the way.”

Carstors waved his hand casually saying, “Oh, just keep it. I can’t read a word.”

“Are you sure, Dev? This is beyond price.”

Dev chuckled, “By my count, you’ve saved me from being King three times. Now THAT is a gift beyond price.”

______________-------______________

Dinner was just the houseguests and the Carstors. The Vondris’ would join them again tomorrow night. Dev and Shurran talked more about the succession. It was complicated. Kings of the Northmen had been refined from rude clans of the forests but kept many laws passed down from those chieftains. Only a man could rule. Grandsons borne of the King’s daughters were in line but not great grandsons borne of a daughter’s daughter unless there was Lordship on the father’s side. There could be challenges at the investiture, though that hadn’t been done since well before Girion. Of course, if the challenger arrived with a much larger army, he made his own rules. 

Carstors also explained the paperwork of succession. That was all within the last four hundred years since even fewer Northmen than now could read. Shurran said that Eniece, Nag Kath’s first wife, and King Brand had signed what were called the Articles of Union which was considered better than half of the marriage process since it dealt in property rights. Those disappeared when the strategic opportunity overcame Brand’s lust.

Dev said, “That was Brand, for you. He always treated me well to my face but father knew of his mistrustful nature so the King didn’t see my face very often. He was fifty, I think, when he was crowned, but he ruled the land when Bain, the first Bain, became senile. I remembered Bain as a kindly old cove, wandering about the palace under a pile of robes, talking to anyone or himself when alone. It was not all bad, though. Brand was a fair to good King and kept our forces fit when the Lings came in force.

“Mother died in childbirth when I was thirteen and father was killed getting people inside the gates, not a week before Brand himself was slain. I was a junior officer to Bard on the right. When we broke out of Erebor, ours was the task of flanking the Easterlings where the orcs dropped but we could not rescue the center before our front line fell. Brand and Dain both led from the front.”

Shurran’s folk weren’t there. The Thainholds harried the Easterlings on their way to Dale and inflicted more serious damage on the retreat. Fast riders were sent along both roads to warn everyone that Sauron’s allies were making for the capital. Even those few days’ notice saved many.

The next day was cold and rainy but the light was good enough for Elf eyes to draw the second picture. Nag Kath put the first alongside his paper to keep them similar. The first showed the young couple’s optimism for life together. The second showed their optimism fulfilled. Even he thought it remarkable. 

That opened the dinner conversation but the ladies quickly shifted back to Shurran’s prospects for matrimony. Da’s diplomatic skills shone-through and he was convincingly bashful enough to avoid any direct entanglements, even floating a vague understanding his parents had to the south with a count of some sort. The young Lord would follow-up with cousin Lilac in Dale. For a subject and successor of the King, he knew little of the capital. And as congenial as Uncle Nag was, Shurran neither wanted to be in the way nor depend on the Elf for introductions. Chances were good that Brenen and Bard’s broods knew most of the same people Lilac did.


	28. Scars of Love

** _Chapter 27_ **

** _Scars of Love_ **

They were on their way after Carstor’s second hip therapy. The Urbans were staying a few more days. Of all the many offers to return Nag Kath had received over the years, he would definitely remember this one. On top of the excellent company, he had his book and the Carstors had the second picture. 

Last night’s dinner gave Uncle Nag food for thought. He was traveling with a healthy young man of considerable station. He did not know if Reyald or Ardatha had thoroughly explained how complicated that could get when it came to females. A country boy; Shurran knew the basics. It would be a long ride home so Nag Kath just asked, “Shur, did you take them seriously about a lady-friend?”

“Sure. I might not wait as long as cousin Bain but I am in no hurry.”

Without taking his eyes off the road the Elf continued, “I was thinking more of the meantime.”

Shurran cracked a large grin and said, “I’ve considered that too. To be honest, Nag, I don’t meet a lot of women who think in those terms. They want to be wives, or mistresses at the very least. And Dale is a small place compared to the White City. Everyone knows everyone’s business.”

Nag Kath offered, “My own love life has had ups and downs but I learned a thing or two. If you want to talk without a lecture, let me know.”

“Thank you. There is other meantime business too. I have tried not to look like an anxious heir. I think the less said about that the better.”

“I noticed. No need to ask for a tour of the counting-room. I would have warned you against any of those arranged marriages looking too much like an alliance but you seem to have that in hand. Twas good you went with me to the orcs, though. A man of Dale is a soldier of Dale and that may count for something years hence. Have you seen Queen Delatha?”

Shurran replied, “Not since I was a child. She and mother get along well, being lasses of the Buhr.”

“That is an exception I would make in your royal education. Without being too obvious, try to sit with her. Her experience is vast and she is a lovely woman. She will appreciate your situation.”

Shurran asked a wise question for someone so young, “Should you be there?”

“I think not, unless it just happens that way. I have been of great use to the family but they have never known quite what to do with me. Old Uncle Nag is a dangerous fellow, making him a servant of last resort. I keep that quiet. Of course, that makes me handy to be near you. Have wine with Rosscranith too. I can arrange that innocently.’

Nag Kath thought a few moments and said more gravely, “We learned a few things this weekend. One is that you are probably an excellent successor to be waiting in the wings. You do not have the political contacts to organize a coup of your own or obvious ambitions, a bit like your cousin Dev that way. Without embarrassing you, you are a good age, size and temperament for the job, like Brand without the pigeon dougsh. 

“Carstors will certainly abdicate to you should he outlive King Bain so you need to think of yourself as next-in-line. I should think to stay for Bain’s wedding and make a life in Minas Tirith as if you might never get the sealed letter. Chose friends carefully, which you already do, and let your da know if anyone takes untoward interest. He has a horse in the race. So does your little cousin in Austar.”

Changing the subject completely, Shurran said, “I think I know who thumped you for Eniecia’s affections, poor Uncle Nag.”

The changeling smiled before guessing, “Cal? And we had her dance with the man! Aye, I wouldn’t doubt Talereth had a hand in that. Your sister is too young but in a few years that would be Tal’s best match ever. Stay close to him. He will matter in this world of men. You will too.” 

Shurran wondered that Uncle Nag did not include himself. Was he already other than of the world of men? The last wizards were, thought that was by design. It sounded like they both needed a woman.

The coming of winter meant Syndolan. Nag Kath organized his party in the usual style. Lorens Brightens did not have children but Lotold had three and they were now adults, even by Hobbit lifespans. 

The Elf’s Dwarvish friends showed no signs that his disfavor with Thorin affected their outlook. The old King might not want that widely known after Nag Kath’s recognized service to his halls. Erebor had too much gold and it had been lain-on by the worst of all dragons for nearly two centuries. Nag Kath did not know if the sickness could infect the metal itself but it seemed both Thorins had that malady.

One overdue chore was replacing his old bow. They look good forever hanging over a mantle but a bow is a living weapon and does not last forever. They best bowyer in the city now was Tunverid who had apprenticed with Fridth before opening his own shop. The man recognized the craft of the weapon Nag Kath brought with him. This one had history too. Men who make these watch their babies. 

He looked down his spectacles at the wood and said, “This one still has life but you are right to come. With a Dun Breathen or Dun Aouwen pull, one day it will snap in your face. You are in luck, Lord Kath …”

“Just Nag Kath.”

“I have one half done for a man who realized he had no business trying to draw it. Here, have a look.” He brought back a weapon with the wood already curved but without the center assembly. It was fine work.

Nag Kath gave it a quick inspection and said, “This will be excellent.”

“I can have it ready in a week. How are you set for arrows?”

When Nag Kath thought of arrows in Dale, he thought of Burry. The Elf went by his house after seeing the bowyer and caught the Sergeant returning home after helping his oldest boy repair a broken chimney grate. He was clean enough that the Elf suspected a supervisory role. “Oh, hey Nag! Heard about the fish.”

“It went well, old friend. Orcs are easy to bribe. We threw in half a pig to sweeten the deal.”

“You’ll spoil them. Why the bow and no arrows?”

Nag Kath looked at his reliable weapon and said, “I saw Tunverid for another. This one has seen thirty-some years of mud, rain and trouble. Made a few good shots with it, though.” He handed it to his teacher.

“Yes, I remember this well. If you can stand to part with it, Corporal Danthor needs one with this flex but can’t afford it.”

“Give it to him then. I won’t need it before the new bow is done.” He looked at it in his teacher’s hand with reverence, “If it could talk ... How is your flock?”

“Four grandkids now. All boys. Lola is nanny oftentimes. Oh, Al Dedlan died. You remember him from archery? Dead a year but I just heard.”

“He got his time in then. I remember him ready to throw me out of his tent when I came to learn.”

Burry smiled, “Aye, got me a smack in the tenders too. Are you back for a while?”

“Through the winter and the King’s wedding. Shurran is staying too and his folk from the Buhr will certainly come. Old Conath died so Torrold is Thain now. He is a good man. But sooner than that, Lola will need her dancing shoes!”

Rosscranith was his usual self. The big Northman, even bigger in fur-lined robes, saw Nag Kath as soon as he presented himself. The Elf asked, “Any word from Frór?”

“Haven’t seen him, which is odd since he is as close as we have to an ambassador. The King under the Mountain hasn’t left it since Bards’ funeral. Other friends have said Thorin is still seething. Our local Dwarves don’t seem the worse for it.”

Nag Kath mused, “Makes you wonder how many of those rings survived. If that was Thror’s ring I melted, I’ll have to be immortal to outlive their wrath.” More seriously, “Davet, if you need to put distance between Dale and me to stay in their good graces, do it. I can be the orc from Orthanc again. Your people needed those walls and might still.”

Rosscranith shook his head, “It is not you. Thorin has the sickness. He was Ambassador here before the war and a good friend but with the crown he became a poor neighbor. They don’t buy as much food as they used to, or ale, because he can’t stand to pay any of that mountain of gold for his people’s sweat. Thank you for your offer, but Bain would never agree. He is a better sort of King. Are you still staying for the wedding?”

Nag Kath brightened, “Wouldn’t miss it. After that, Shurran and I are back to Gondor. Since I am in your good graces, you need to come to my Syndolan party this year!”

“I am getting too old for such entertainments. Those are for younger people, if you can drag them away from the pleasure houses.”

Those had always been here but it was unusual for the King’s minister to mention it. Rosscranith belonged to the age when men married early and only used such places for what they did not enjoy at home … or special appetites. Nag Kath played the innocent, perhaps this was an opportunity to further Shurran’s education, “That is news to me, not blessed unions I should think.”

“Aye, and not putting future soldiers to suck either.” The big Northman laughed, “And it is all your fault! With exotic females from the east, lads aren’t driven to the marriage bed. Still, I suppose it is better than spearmen on hairy horses.”

______________-------______________

Nag Kath said hello to everyone but spent most of his time making sense of Elrond’s notes. A few medicine and spell combinations were left as-written. Some had corrections but were not reentered. About half of the book was abandoned. Of that; half was substantially altered and rewritten on pages in the back. The other half must have gone to a sister volume now lost. He parsed through the discarded text just the same since it was considerably better than nothing. A lot seemed to be from much older text in Quenya so he could copy it but not understand it.

It took the better part of a week to create a working copy in his own hand, much of that time spent looking-up words he had never seen before or making learned guesses. This was a different sort of conjuring than the wizards used. He did not know how to summon the humors. It would be a long time before he could use any of this but he was that much closer. Nag Kath would ask Lady Arwen at her convenience and rummage through the usual Elvish places on the way south.

Shurran used his time seeing his friends and paying a visit to cousin Lilac. The Carstors had a very nice house “upstairs”. Since the Conath home was only a hundred paces away, he had no trouble dropping by, ostensibly delivering a letter from sister Lillith that probably detailed some scheme to marry him into society. Not the usual delivery man, the maid showed him in and took the envelope to her mistress.

Lilac Iömendel looked just like her older sister but a shade shorter with dark brown eyes. She was a half-niece or half first-cousin once-removed, not that it mattered. Shurran knew she was twenty three with a small daughter who came running in a few steps behind her. He bowed and Lilac did the same. The child never stopped.

Lilac smiled and said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, cousin Shurran.” She showed him to a comfortable couch in the great room. The girl followed shrieking in fun from a previous game. Her mother looked at the maid who clapped her hands with a face of delight saying, “Who wants a cookie?” That removed the lass as fast as feet could tread for however long it would take to enjoy her treat.

Shurran said, “I apologize for coming unannounced. My family home is just on Vue Sorotten. I can return at a better time.”

She giggled and said, “Nay cousin Shurran, or is it Uncle? It is always madness before her nap. I’ll see if I can’t manage proper introductions before you go. How are father and mother?”

“Both well. We had an enjoyable weekend with your family and the Urbans as well.”

“Forgive my woeful family knowledge but you are from the Buhrs, yes?”

“Austar, but father has been posted in Minas Tirith these last three years. The family came for the wedding in Rohan and we continued up.”

Shurran was right that the letter he delivered told he was single so when he said ‘we’ twice, she asked, “You do not journey alone then?”

“No, I am with my grandfather. By a strange twist of fate, I had four of them, though he is the last one left now.”

Trained to be perfectly polite, Lilac complimented him, “How nice it is that you spend time with him at an age when travel becomes slower.”

Shurran wasn’t sure how much he wanted to explain Uncle Nag so he just said, “He still moves at a fairly good pace, cousin Lilac. If I don’t miss my guess, he is organizing his Syndolan party as we speak. I will make sure you and your husband are invited.” The lad had to stifle a laugh. At least the Elf was out of firework powders and couldn’t incinerate the wharf.

“Then I hope to meet him. My husband is away just now but we must have you to dinner when he returns. Will you be here long, cousin Shurran?”

“Please, just Shurran. I should be here at least until His Lordship’s wedding.”

New squealing sounded from the kitchen. Shurran was sure this was not convenient so he asked to be excused for other business and was shown the door. Walking back to the house he realized he knew nothing about her husband.

_____________--------_____________

He didn’t hear back from Lilac. Oh well, one should not be hasty embracing long-lost relatives. A month later it was time to prepare for the end-of-the-year party. As Nag said, many old friends brought their grown children, or the children were coming and the old friends were watching the grandkids. It did not matter. Uncle Nag knew how to throw a party.

Brenen and Bard came with most of their children. At one time there were as many as five Hobbits. Several of Master Golord’s kin arrived early for the singing. Dwarves love to sing. It was said they knew how to play the echoes in their grand halls. A wine merchant militia man from Dorwinion insisted in bringing a small cask of the finest to go with two barrels of the local tan. The musicians were newly together but had long separate experience with the songs.

In the relative lull between the early and late-comers, a tall fellow of decidedly military bearing escorted two women inside wearing hooded cloaks against the cold. He hung those on the pegs revealing very attractive ladies of an age with Bard and Brenen’s brood. One looked familiar. Nag Kath was wrestling with a finger-food table someone sat on and broke the leg. His usual greeting would have to wait a minute.

That job was filled by Shurran who spoke with them and then approached the table, now propped on the first ale keg. “May I present Lilac Iömendel and Graciel Iömendel? Ladies, this is my grandfather, Nag Kath.”

Grandfather?! Everyone had knew Nag Kath stories, even if they were likely complete fantasy. The women had heard fewer of them since they did not frequent public houses, but even so, the strange Elf was known. For his part, he bowed and said, “Welcome to our celebration. Is that Lilac, daughter of Lord Carstors?”

“It is, Lord Kath.” He would lose the lord another time.

“Well, I hope you can sing because we seem to have lost our Hobbits.” He looked around the room for short guests and saw Bard approaching. The handsome Northman gave the other woman a kiss on the cheek and said, “Hello Graciel. You just missed Bart. Renelda is still here.” He used his height to spot Brenen’s daughter and waved her over for more cheek kisses. 

Graciel was probably in her mid-twenties, so of an age with the next generation here. She had very long light brown hair and gray eyes. The attractive woman smiled and said, “Everyone, this is Lilac. Ren, how do you know our host?”

Renelda, Nag Kath had to remember not to call her Bugs, said, “He is my grandfather.” 

The grand-da asked, “On the subject Ren, where are your ma and da?” 

“They left to watch my bairns. I’ll just collect Gemmi and wake them up. Night, Uncle Nag.” He got a kiss too.

Lilac gave a sly smile and said, “You seem grandfather to Dale.”

“Most of them are here, except for Shur’s two sisters. Shurran’s grandmother and I were married for many years.” He looked at Graciel as if to ask her relationship. Lilac caught that before it hit the floor, “Grace is my sister-in-law.” Both women wore rings of matrimony.

Bard added, “And grew up with ours. Her da had the chandlers’ concession in the Featherlight district.” Nag Kath knew Lilac was raised at the lovely estate he just visited so she was fairly new to Dale.

Graciel smiled at Bard and said, “I am sorry to have missed Bart.”

I will tell him, but Ros is just …” he looked around the room; “ … talking with Mrs. Hinnith, I think. Come, let us say hello.” As the women followed him towards the kitchen, Nag Kath looked at Shurran and asked, “Husbands?”

“Lilac said hers is away.” Most family not here in Dale were somewhere else for a while since a bad winter would keep all but the most determined travelers safe by their fires. Their escort was still standing by the door surveying the crowd. Nag Kath took him a mug of tea since he was on duty and said if any of the finger-foods went missing, no one would mind. The first wave was the rowdy one this night and everyone was gone by the twelve-bell. One of Bard’s cleaning crews would be here in the morning to assess the damage. 

Whenever he drank more than a single beverage, Nag Kath might sleep a little before his wakeful rest. Tonight he slept until he heard Bard’s folk ‘screeing’ furniture across the floor downstairs. The cook/housekeeper this year was Fern and she was preparing porridge and eggs as usual. Shurran was already up with his face over a steaming mug of strong tea. He did not drink much either but might have had an extra cup or two of that Dorwinion.

The Elf walked downstairs barefoot and sat next to him. Fern brought him tea and retreated back to the fire. Tea was not so hot that he couldn’t take a long pull before saying, “Your cousin looks a lot like her sister. Did you say she has one babe?”

“Aye; a cute little girl with an ear-piercing squeal. They live in a grand house. Don’t know anything about her man. It seems her friend knows your other family.”

“That helps at gatherings. I left here twelve years ago so those your age had not come into their own. I have gotten to know them, but a little less each generation. If they are wedded sisters-in-law, they must be married to brothers. Sorry Shur, not a lot of single women last night.”

Shurran took a long draught and smiled, “A few. Well; new year ... four months until Bain and Xondra wed. Will you be busy with your book?”

“Some, it uses healing I do not understand. Perhaps there is a scholar here who can help me with the Quenya. I will have to ask better questions on our way back to Gondor. There are a few more people left to see in town, and I need to learn that new bow ... Now, what about you, young man?”

“I thought to make myself useful at the city works office and spend time in the jewelry shop of Gerrulth. I was a bit surprised to see my cousin here after not hearing for a month. Their minder was an imposing fellow.”

Nag Kath held his chin and said, “From Arnor, I’ll wager. He would be watching Lilac if the other girl is from the Featherlight. It is a respectable neighborhood, but not overstocked with bodyguards.”

Two days after the party, a week-long blizzard arrived from the northwest burying Dale under two feet of snow. That was followed by enough warm weather to melt it slightly followed by bitter cold so the streets were covered in ice until late January. When that finally cleared the weather warmed enough for Nag Kath and Shurran to chance visiting Mrs. Borenne in Lake Town. It was only nineteen miles away and on good horses with a clear road it was a two hour ride. 

She was right. The cane was leaning against the door jamb. She still moved slowly but could get around her home comfortably and had an unending stream of friends to fill the time. They stayed two days and barely made it back to Dale before another blizzard arrived.

This one cleared more quickly thanks to a lot of warmer rain. Weather like this above Osgiliath caused fevers. That could happen here too but the drainage was much better into the River Running. On the first dry night, Nag Kath went to a soldier’s pub two blocks down for a pint and pie. Three men from his old militia unit were fleeing two weeks of their wives’ constant company. If he was interested, they said a master swordsman of Arnor was staying the winter and taught classes on his technique. Nag Kath had heard of these fellows before. They practiced very deliberately, the idea being that slow perfection could be brought up to speed without wasted motion. There was an element of mindfulness as well; perhaps something like Nag Kath’s waking rest. The next class was two days hence at the officer’s mess hall on the ten-bell.

It sounded interesting. Variags also had such disciplines and they were practiced at Hanvas Tûr by right-living folk, and not necessarily warriors. The slow, precise movements were said to bring focus to keep men from thinking of too many things at once. Nag Kath did not have time to participate then but he did watch them. In Khand that was done outside. In freezing Dale, space was reserved on Thursday mornings in the smaller officer’s mess near the Erebor gate. Not sure what to expect, the Elf brought both his Elvish blade and a wooden beater. He thought about bringing the Rohirric weapon but only polished it and put it back in the case.

The ten-bell found eight men waiting in the mess hall close to the stove. Ages ranged from sixteen to perhaps thirty-six. The quality of their cloth varied too. Several women and children were sitting on one of the table benches that had been pushed against the wall. These students had already been to the first two lessons and were limbering muscles but not saying much. Nag Kath did not recognize any of them and they didn’t seem to know him. His hair finally covered his ears, even if he still looked like a Puklak pony. 

The instructor arrived right on time with a grim nod and looked for a moment at his new student. Nag Kath put him at nearly fifty with hair and beard more white than dark. If he was from Arnor, he wasn’t of the tall, northern folk but he looked fit and moved like a cat. The man walked over without introduction and said lessons were four groats or six for two tenners. The Elf pulled a silver from his vest and handed it to him wordlessly. Names could wait.

So could preliminaries, it seemed. The man growled in the language of sergeants everywhere for the men to take one of the beater swords from a bag in the corner. Nag Kath pulled his since he knew the weight. The instructor told them to assume the neutral position from last week with the dominant foot back and sword held at the ready from the center of the body to as far as the sword armpit. The Elf could use either side but generally worked right-handed since most people did.

As the students held their pose, the man walked among them to adjust elbows, knees, foot spacing and sword angles. Two looked like they had never held the weapon before. They were more-or-less in the right position but their muscles were frozen in place. The fellow did this for a living so he softened from the pure drill sergeant telling them to hold the pose with as little effort as possible. Burry would have done the same against needing them fit when the Lings came over the wall. When he got to Nag Kath at the end of the line, he pushed the sword to either side and said, “Hummph.”

“Aw right!” All sergeants say that too. “The reason to hold the weapon in this position is not so you can leave it there. It is here so you can raise, parry or slash quickly. Sometimes you will go in already decided but we are talking about individual combat with an unknown foe. He may make a mistake and you will only get one chance. This week we will work on the raised defense. In the best of worlds you would be moving forward but that is not always possible. First I will show you the move and then we will slow by breath.” The man put his right foot forward and then rapidly drew back a step as he gripped the sword with two hands and raised it parallel to the ground forward and over his head. That was the whole motion. 

He did it several more times at speed to show the start and ending and then brought his feet together to explain, “Aw right. Now I will do this in steps. If ever you can, you want to be breathing in on the motion because you want to exhale for the strike. That is not always possible and you can’t give your opponent an opening gasping for air at the wrong time. The man repeated his motion much slower starting with the inhale. “Aw right, you do it.”

Students gave themselves space enough and started waving their beaters around much too fast. One student who looked like he had swung the sword for real and Nag Kath were as slow and deliberate as the master with their legs ready for the forward thrust. The man looked at them and then started taking the other five through it again. They all did the same move about twenty times until everyone showed some fluidity in motion. 

Doing something that slowly taxes the muscles. In olden lore, tales of heroes fighting for hours make the legend entertaining. In a real sword-fight, even hardened veterans lose speed in fifteen minutes. They can still rely on power and stamina but they will not be as fast when the muscles are howling and the blood rush of the first attack is spent. The instructor walked over to Nag Kath and said, “Show me.”

The Elf repeated the motion with a minimum of effort and held the raised position. The man walked around him shaking his back knee and pushing his thumb into the both sides of his back thigh. A quick nod was approval and then he was back to the greenbottoms who were holding their pose with great effort. Seeing they were tired, the man ordered, “Break. Good work. Loosen those limbs and we will try again shortly.”

As the men straggled over to a water jug, Nag Kath tried one more move and followed behind. The instructor walked over and said, I’m Khellandar, Kurd Khellandar. You’ve swung a sword before or I’m a fool.”

The Elf reached his hand saying, “Nag Kath. Swung one many times.”

“Kath … Kath of the Celduin?”

“The same.”

Khellandar said cannily, “You’re not here for militia practice.”

“Nay, I’ve always relied more on speed than technique. My footwork needs attention.”

“Hummmph.”

A few minutes later the men were threatening the mess hall again. Khellandar took them through a more offensive version of moving the lead foot forward rather than the power foot back until he thought arms might fall off. Then with high praise he dismissed everyone until next Thursday. The trainer was not the sort for ale at lunch. He collected a woman about his age from the viewers and walked out.

_____________--------_____________

Next week’s sword practice only had seven of the last week’s eight but both greenbottoms were smiling and ready. Khellandar had arrived early to work with another man individually and he took his place in the line at the ten-bell. This lesson built on the last by adding a downward slash. For a right-hand attack against a right-handed foe, getting there first was of the moment. The Arnoran was less pedantic today with fewer repetitions, concentrating on breathing correctly for the stroke.

Nag Kath and the other soldier did well and the others improved. Students were expected to practice during the week and they had. By the eleven half-bell everyone was tired but that much more capable. The sixteen year-old’s father was on the bench this time and clapped him on the shoulder before going home.

The Elf’s third week started about the same as the first two except from the basic position they would work on the parry. Again, epic campfire stories are replete with the good and bad wading in for what seems like individual combat. In a melee, you look for gaps in the back of enemy armor and finish men or orcs when they are down. When your mate is cleaning-up, you have to watch their back. Either way, you may need to buy time.

“Aw right. From neutral you need to block an incoming blow. Maybe you can deflect it but you have to slow it, and better with your sword than your face.” Khellandar went through a series of three defensive two handed positions; one high to protect from an overhead slash, one center for the chest and face and another if someone tries to hamstring you. 

These motions were designed for use with the long infantry sword of Gondor and Arnor, the same weapon King Elessar carried. Straight and double-edged, they had a large hilt guard designed to stop a sword slash that ran down the blade towards the wrists. Nag Kath’s Elvish and Rohirric swords were essentially cavalry weapons without pronounced guards. He would have to flick an enemy weapon away in the motion, not that it mattered much at his real speed. Khellandar only used the wooden beaters in his class. There may be more advance training elsewhere, but he wanted everyone’s ears kept on the sides of their heads. 

Two women joined the viewers half into the class. Nag Kath only noticed them peripherally since this was eyes-forward training. Khellandar tested their positions. Warriors might have to use any of the parries without notice. The man came at them at something less than full speed to make them react. The wrong response only netted a mild tap. The man wanted students to recognize the most likely point of attack. “Now listen, I am not being fair because how you defend depends on your armor. With stout greaves, make sure your arms and body are protected first. If you carry long shields, block with those and thrust through the gaps.”

He kept testing each student individually for the first actual contact Nag Kath had seen. Beaters are made of good oak, cut so the grain is parallel to the imaginary blade and often hardened by fire. They make a distinctive report for a telling strike. Even when fooled, he had no trouble blocking the tepid attacks.

Dismissed, Khellandar stayed with Nag Kath after the others collected their coats and viewers. “You parried low even after you flinched up to start. Take me through the rise and then the three defenses.”

The Elf did so very slowly, concentrating on his breathing.

“Now; do it live.”

Nag Kath did not use the fast but even his Elf speed was nearly a blur. 

“Hummmph.”

Läis Owans, one of the older men in the class was talking with the two women who arrived during drills as Nag Kath walked over to the water jug. As he got closer, he recognized Graciel Iömendel at the same time she saw him. The Elf bowed and said it was nice to see her again. Owans introduced his wife Bettild who had brought her friend to watch her heroic husband work up a sweat. It being just past elevenses, in Hobbit dining, they would get a meal at the Brave Navigator along the high street.

Seated, Nag Kath said, “He doesn’t say much, does he?”

Läis agreed, “Khellandar? No, but it is easy to tell his meaning. Northmen are often of few words but men of Fornost make them seem blathering. Now what about you, Nag Kath? You don’t need to be told anything twice.”

“I was hoping to learn the very slow motions in perfecting the basics. In Khand, groups of our size or greater work in precision as warriors and to clear their minds for the task at hand.” He chuckled, “I do not think our lot is there yet, but we get closer every week!”

Bettild said, “Khand? Was this a troop come here to parlay?”

“Nay, good lady. I was there to parlay, almost a year and a half all counted.”

Graciel smiled sweetly and asked, “Was that of your grandfatherly chores?”

The Owans wondered about that so he quickly brought them up to speed with Shurran and Brenen. Bettild raised an eyebrow prompting the rest of the explanation.

He said, “I went through Rhûn to talk with both rulers about troubles to their west. That went well and I returned last year.” No one mentioned the Celduin fight. That had been the talk of the season but seasons come and go. Lunch was tasty they said goodbye until next week.

_____________--------_____________

Shurran stayed busy at the city office. The works architect had four projects for the new King, including a monument to Bard. Dale did not have sculptors experienced in that scale so it was taking a long time to decide on the stone and how to get it there. It was too bad Timalen was so far away. The city also had to repair one of the little aqueducts feeding the upper eastern levels of the city. Uncle Nag lent a hand.

At next week’s sword practice, the Owans were not there but Graciel came by herself. Good looking women seldom attended soldiers’ training unescorted, but this was during the day in a public building. They worked on a series of movements more like the ones Nag Kath saw the Variags do. The northern version was less artistic than the near-dance of the east but moving to the flow of the group helped the individuals. Afterwards, Graciel approached and gleamed, “You must practice often.”

“I do, the hard part is how to not need to think first and lose time in peril.”

They left the building together in a light drizzle that became a torrent not forty feet from the building. Graciel flipped up her hood and cried, “This way.” They hurried another fifty paces and she unlocked a door leading to an upstairs apartment. The fire was nearly out so she hung her cloak on the door-peg and added kindling to build it back. She looked at his riot of wet hair and got him a towel from the bedroom. There were two small rooms with a glass window in each. Modestly furnished, it was clean and cheerful, or would be if rain wasn’t blocking the sun. They sat close to each other to hear over the din.

For lack of something interesting to say he thanked her, “Fortunate you are here or I would have gotten a good wetting!”

She looked at his wild hair and smiled before saying, “Just give me a minute.” Graciel went to the stove and added larger pieces of wood from a bucket alongside and then put an iron kettle over the grate. While she was busy, he noticed the masculine elements of the main room. There was a sword hanging from a traditional wall mount, a man’s coat next to hers and a weed-pipe on its stand next to a leaf canister on the kitchen table. He also noticed that Graciel’s damp dress revealed a very attractive shape. She had offered him kind protection from the storm so he would mind his manners. Graciel walked to the window and looked up into the gray before sitting. “The tea will be a while.”

“I do not mind. Thank you for thinking of it. I did not get details on Syndolan but you are Lilac’s sister-in-law, right?”

“Yes, her husband and mine are brothers. She is from the lake and only married four years ago.”

He paid her a compliment, “You cannot have been married much longer than that.”

“Five years, well, five years in May.”

“Does your husband work close by?”

Her face fell slightly. She collected herself and said, “His business often takes him away.”

“With the winters of Dale, that can get you a freezing as well as a soaking, or tall waves sailing the Long Lake.”

“Yes, I do worry sometimes. The lake is a harsh mistress.” She looked at the kettle but no steam was showing yet. The fire was doing its job as the small rooms warmed enough for Nag Kath to remove his sweater and put it on a chair to dry.

There was tension building, a good tension. He said, “Shurran and I were recently in Lake Town. His great grandmother lives there as she always has, in her eighties and still quick of wit.”

Glad of something safe to say, Graciel replied, “And you said you saw Lilac’s people further south. I only know her from here. I confess; I do not travel much, Lord Kath.”

He smiled and said, “I do not wear Lord well. Call me Nag Kath. May I call you Graciel?”

“Or Grace.”

“Grace it is.”

The kettle started rumbling. Grace grasped it with a large, padded mitt and poured two mugs through a wicker strainer. She returned to put them on the low table sitting as close as she had when it was raining harder. The young woman smiled and asked, “Are you part of the Kingly wedding in April?”

The tea was too hot to drink so he set his mug down and modestly said, “I will attend, but I have no part to play. Shur will be seated near the throne, probably with Lilac’s da if he is here. I think Brenen is planning a party at his home.”

“That is right! You know Bard and Bart. We lived close to them when I was small.”

“Will you and Mr. Iömendel attend?”

This time she could not keep her pretty smile. Nag Kath’s first instinct was that they were not invited and he had embarrassed her. This wound was deeper, much deeper. In barely a whisper, “I do not think Geordon will come.”

His eyes had tricked him. He saw the sword and pipe and dry coat but not a stray shoe or clothes or smell of meals lovingly prepared for two. All he could say was, “Forgive me. I did not … “

“It is not your doing, Nag Kath.” Her sweet smile returned, “Though, this is.” She removed her own sweater, “I came to watch you move slowly this morning.”

_____________--------_____________

The neighbors probably didn’t hear anything for the rain. He held her close in the small bed, her head on his shoulder as he looked at the ceiling. It had been a very long time, for both of them. She wasn’t sleeping but was very still, a dozen thoughts unable to dislodge the feeling. He enjoyed a woman’s fulfillment, the way they breathe, they way they radiate afterwards. 

The rain had stopped, or slowed to dribbles off the roof tiles. Nag Kath rose and wandered over to the window. It would be about three now. He climbed back in bed and kissed her. 

He wondered what happens now. She was not Flor; inexperienced and unsure how to take what she needed. Nor Eniece; just emerging into life after long healing. Grace seemed very close to Tal, the only difference being how they had been left alone. Kataleese? Whilmina? No, but the thought had him roll over for more affection.

They dressed for early dinner and found their way to a small restaurant she knew. No one there seemed to know her. He thought eating out might not be in her budget, or anyone else’s in the neighborhood, since they had the room to themselves. This was probably a place for ale after work.

Grace was distracted, in the best of ways, and said, “I suppose I owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I am curious though.”

“I married the elder son of Vordon Iömendel. My father was a respected businessman of the quarter and it was a good match. Geordon is a handsome, charming man who understands a woman’s heart, much as you do Lord Kath.” She smiled having said that on purpose. “It wasn’t until after we married that he discovered my father’s partner owned most of the interest. 

“Geordon drifted back to his first love, now a widow of independent means. She’s thrown him out a couple times and he crawled back to me swearing undying devotion.”

With genuine interest Nag Kath asked, “Why do you not divorce the man and have done with this?” He had forgotten he was not in Minas Tirith.

“Money. Father suspected the all too solicitous bounder so he left me his estate as a trust to be paid to me at thirty. The trouble is; I cannot gain it to pay for a divorce and as long as Geordon is still my husband, he can lay claim to it then. For now; I get a silver a month and I work in a shop two days a week. It is enough.

“Now, you seem very mysterious, grandfather of Dale.”

“I am indeed. Here you see a wayward Elf allied with both Dale and Gondor. I am warrior, diplomat and healer, depending on who you ask. I confess; it had been some time since I held a woman close. That was wonderful.”

“You seemed to remember most of it.”

He chuckled, “Perhaps you can show me what I forgot?”

“Yes, I hope so”

He held his chin, usually reserved for momentous thoughts, “I have a few chores tomorrow but would you join me for dinner on Saturday?”

“You are not worried about being seen in the company of a married woman?”

Nag Kath showed the infamous grin, “It could only help my social standing.”

“Shall we say six?”

He walked home without noticing the drizzle. Fern made fish, which Shurran largely devoured himself. On a different day, Nag Kath would have reminded him that Northmen and limitless food were not good company. 

When a man has been deeply satisfied, the men around him can tell, even in the absence of smells and complexion and occasional fingernail scratches, but they have to know that of themselves. Shurran didn’t give that sense. The young man fiddled with a drawing of the water trough by lamplight without once betraying a hint of understanding. This was more a White City sensibility than the forest clans of Dale, but at nineteen, it seemed to Uncle Nag that Shurran needed to learn more than bearing-loads. What had Rosscranith said; eastern lovelies were in supply? 

In the morning he strolled to the scholar’s quarter. His two experts had passed on but one sign was promising so he knocked and waited until a crone opened the door and stared. Nag Kath suspected staring with those eyes did not yield much so he said, “I have to come to see if Master Leddifur reads Elvish languages.”

She shook her head meaning either he didn’t or she didn’t know. Closing the door without a word, it was reopened by a man of about forty who had not understood his mother’s account. Nag Kath took the lead, “Good morning, sir. I came to see if you read Quenya or can recommend someone who can.”

He shook his head too, saying only, “Your best chance is with Scholar Welshorn. He has a little Sindarin. That is as close as I can get you. Third door on the other side of the street.”

Welshorn, it sounded like a Hobbit name, was having a late breakfast before visiting his students for tutoring. He was sixty at least so of an age when there were still Elves here. The man was dressed to leave but listened patiently as Nag Kath explained.

After thinking a moment he said, "I know a little Quenya, or I did. What do you need?”

“I need you to do some translating, sir. I should like to retain you to help me decipher an old text that has come my way. That would include your normal charge and expenses.”

Scholar Welshorn did not get a lot of cash offers. Nag Kath gave him a card and the man said he would come by after his two-bell student.

Welshorn arrived just before the four-bell. He puffed to the door and Fern let him in. The man carried a satchel like Nag Kath’s and looked around the main room before the Elf walked down the stairs to shake hands and show him to a chair at the table. Welshorn waited as the blonde man presented an old book with no outer markings. Nag Kath flipped through several pages before turning the book so the scholar could see. Then he said, “I came by this recently. I can read the Sindolan, not the Quenya. Some of the words seem the same but I have no context.”

The scholar was at home with old books. He glanced through most of it and returned to the page his benefactor showed him. Without saying a word, he rummaged through his sack and produced his own notebook. Finally he said, “I do not mean to cheat you, Mr. Kath. What little I knew of that tongue is hidden in the recesses of my poor mind. In the days of Elves, I made these pages that gave Quenya words along with the Sindarin or Westron equivalent. The structure is the issue. It may take me quite a while to make sense of this, if I ever do.”

Nag Kath considered that for a minute and said, “That is the best offer I have gotten.” He slid his own notebook over to the scholar and said, “This is what I have made of it and I believe the Quenya is fairly rendered.” Then he slid a nipper alongside saying, “Take as long as you need.”

The scholar’s only problem was how to make change on that coin without his shrewish wife’s knowledge. The man was leaving as Shurran came home from the city architects. Recognizing the cap he asked, “Can he read it?”

“A little. I am running out of people to ask.”

Fern did not live-in. She arrived early for breakfast, did light housekeeping and made the evening meal before washing and going home. Nag Kath told her he had other dinner arrangements tomorrow. Shurran gathered he should make his own too.

Graciel arrived well before six. The former tavern he converted to his home was different without forty people all talking at the same time. It featured a large great room that took most of the first floor with the sleeping and storage rooms upstairs. After she was seated on the couch he asked, “What kind of food do you like?”

“I love lamb.”

Not the perfect answer, but Millikens served it along with things he could eat. He helped her back into her coat and they walked a block to the little restaurant. It would get busy in half an hour but they got a table right away. He ordered wine for two.

The woman gave him a long appraisal and said, “I have inquired about you. Did you know you are famous?”

“Here and other places too, though for different things.”

“That was you in Dorwinion?”

“Guilty as charged. I was on the Gondor front. Shurran’s da and the Buhric troops closed the trap from the north. It could have gone the wrong way. Enough about me, I want to hear more about the lady from the Featherlight.”

“There is not much to tell. I am a merchant’s only child, born to my parents late in life. They were a loving couple and died within a year of each other. I have friends, no enemies and I work at Fedro’s Linens on Mondays and Tuesdays, nice folks.”

Their wine arrived and he held his cup up in a silent toast. Her cup tapped against it with a dull click and they sipped. She said, “Back to you. How old are you?”

“Thirty eight.”

“A bit young for a grandfather.”

“I was born in the service of the dark wizard Saruman and became an Elf in the war, full grown but too late for them to claim. I travel around the world exploring, sometimes in peril. I think it a good life. My step-children are older than I am.”

She guessed he would not answer and teased, “And what does a girl make of you?”

He did not take the bait, answering softly, “I have been married twice; once to great joy and once to sorrow. As you know, I enjoy the company of passionate women but cannot give them children.”

Their food arrived. She had not had lamb in two years. He ate very little but told her he wouldn’t so she could enjoy her dinner. Somehow it came up about her estranged husband being brother-in-law to Lilac of the South Lake. Grace wasn’t offended. “If you can tell me you were a dark servant, I suppose I can say that Lilac has the same trouble with her man that I have with mine; greedy boys, very good looking. Fedrandol thought Lilac’s da might be the King of Dale with things coming his way. Now Bain will marry a fertile Northwoman and the Carstors girls split a home on the lake in twenty years. I think Fedrandol casts a wider net than my Geordon. Haven’t seen either of them in four months.”

“So she needs a gentleman for the wedding or has to tell da?”

“Fraid so. Lillith probably knows. I met Lilac through the brothers, ordinarily too lordly for my lot. But we like each other and it is good to have someone to cry with.” Graciel was trying to be tough but that was the threshold. She daubed her eyes with her sleeves and said, “Forgive me. I keep asking you that.”

“Do not fret. We all have troubles. The King of Erebor is enraged with me. I hope he does not start a war before the wedding.”

The man simply would not be serious! She slowly laughed at his jest. He meant it, but it was good to hear her laugh.

The next morning, Shurran was having porridge and Fern was humming in the kitchen. Nag Kath wandered down with his hair in more disarray than usual. Shurran asked, “Have a good time?”

While the Elf considered that, Graciel followed wearing his heavy socks and towel robe. Shurran didn’t stare before rising as she sat at the main table. She looked tousled too with a pleasant smile. Good for you, Uncle Nag! Fern walked out as if this happened every day and asked if the lady would like breakfast. She would, so extra eggs were scrambled directly.

Grace stole a look at Shurran. Lilac said he was the one to pair, not for Grace but some hill maiden with no current husbands. The Elf did not figure into the calculus at all. Strange how that works. Eggs were a luxury for the poor girl. As she made short work of hers, Nag Kath wondered once again what he had gotten himself into. He decided he had gotten into exactly what he liked most and devil the rest. He still planned to go to Gondor in May and would see what happened with Graciel. She would know everything about him first. The woman went back upstairs to dress. Shurran watched her closely. When Grace returned, she gave Nag Kath a soft smile and went home. The plan was to have dinner again in two days.

There was no food left on Shurran’s plate so there was no reason for him to study his reflection so intently. The Elf had not spent much time worrying about the young man’s needs. He was pushing twenty and had been in the company of well-off lads his own age in Minas Tirith, no bastion of country values; Minas Tirith. Throw in a couple Feasts of Tellarian and he might have learned a thing or two. Nag Kath said, “Shur, you look unwell.”

Shurran snapped out of his reverie, “Sorry Nag, I am fine, too many thoughts at the same time.” 

“I know the feeling.”

_____________--------_____________

Reyald and Ardatha might not forgive him any sooner than Thorin Stonehelm, but since the young man was in his care, he would see to his continued good health. Nag Kath took a stroll to an area of Dale where Khandian immigrants had been settling. It was not the habit of those people to put signs in front of their businesses. What sensible person would not know what they did? He found what he was looking for and went in. 

This was a depot, of sorts, servicing merchants plying the new trade routes this very Elf had expanded a few years before, not that they knew or cared. In the common-tongue, he asked a porter at the desk to speak to the Dulpachur. The man offered a truly insincere smile and said there was no such person at this humble establishment. Nag Kath leaned in and murmured in Khandian, “Perhaps my friend in Ûbésêsh was mistaken.”

The smile stayed glued in place but the eyes reconsidered. “I will see if such a person is known here.” He disappeared through the door into the go-down. A few minutes later he was back and said, “Please follow me, best of sirs.”

They walked through the usual storehouse hallways until reaching a strongly reinforced door. His guide gestured for Nag Kath to go inside. The door was unlocked. The interior was much better appointed with tapestries beside glass windows above the street level and thick carpets. There was a table with chairs on one side of the room and the deep sitting pillows favored further south than Nag Kath had been. 

Sitting at a desk in-between them was a thin, soldierly man in ordinary dress looking through papers. He seemed about forty with short black hair and a thin, trimmed beard. The Khandian looked up without expression and then rose to come within eight feet and bowed. Nag Kath did the same. The fellow said in heavily-accented Westron, “The porter said you were looking for a government official of lands beyond the Rhûn. Of course, there is no one here in that capacity.”

Nag Kath replied in Variag, “That is of no moment.” He handed the non-government man a fine, sealed envelope saying, “This is a note for Juegesh, Chamberlain of Khagan Yigresh. It is not urgent or secret. I was hoping someone might take it to him in your normal course of business. I do not need to be paid. This is just tying up loose ends.”

The letter simply thanked the Chamberlain for receiving the Broric embassy and that troubles to their west had been resolved to the benefit of his Excellency. They already knew that, but the Variag here was well down the ladder from the palace. If the tall barbarian wanted to send a letter to an esteemed person, he could manage that. He could also invite him to sit for tea.

Nag Kath would like to have tried the soft pillows but he was taken to the table for fresh Telandren, instantly brought. To reinforce how important this unimportant message was, the Elf took a nipper out of his vest pocket and gave it to the gentleman saying, “I know the long and dangerous road someone must take. Perhaps this ensures their safety.” They both knew whoever would take the letter would do so with whatever else they were taking home for considerably less than a quarter Florin. 

That bought an introduction, “I am Jealhouz. You are wise to insist on secure transportation.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jealhouz. I am Mr. Solvanth.”

“Very good, Mr. Solvansh. It seems you have experience of faraway places. Are you a native of Dale?”

“No Mr. Jealhouz, my business brings me here but I keep households in the south.”

Household did not mean the same thing in Dale and Khand. A Northman could only marry one wife, have no concubines and endure shouting brats under the same roof, an intolerable situation for a civilized man. This Solvansh would know that. Jealhouz offered understandingly, “It can be hard to find life’s necessities when one travels, yes?”

The tall blonde man considered that carefully before saying, “It is good to find one who understands that health is essential for successful business. Where might a man inquire after such necessities?”

“Pelighur, seventeen, Alley of the Arrow. You might say Ostren referred you.”

Nag Kath rose with a bow, knowing a handshake was offensive, and said, “Thank you, Mr. Jealhouz. Blessings grace your day.”

Mr. Solvanth ambled to the furnishings district and looked at wares. That carpet in the non-government man’s office was much nicer than anything he had ever owned. He paid quite a bit for two comparable rugs to be delivered to his house later in the day. Nag Kath also stopped by a modest building with a Dalish seventeen painted on the door and asked a young man for Mr. Pelighur. The fellow nodded and retreated into a back room. Less than a minute later, a Variag of about fifty came out with the young man and said, “How can I help, best of sirs?”

The Elf answered in Westron, “Mr. Ostren recommended your services.”

Pelighur considered that a moment. Nag Kath supposed that ‘Ostren’ was the name to be given for the most important referrals, the sort that paid well and should have no comebacks. There would be different names for lesser clients. The man told his clerk in Khandian to attend something in the back. Just then, a very attractive young woman came downstairs with a pleased-looking Northman and showed him to a side door.

Western men were supposed to eschew such impulses, not that all did. The Elf knew Khandians viewed them as normal and that constraining them brought trouble.

Pelighur asked, “Sir has special needs?”

“Quite ordinary. A healthy young man I know needs seasoning. I am reliably told that this is the right address.”

“A friend of Mr. Ostren can expect the best.”

“Can you have the right lady visit this address tomorrow at the late five-half bell?”

The fellow looked at the otherwise blank slip of paper and said evenly, “I believe so. The right lady will be rigorously selected according to our strict standards. For such a talented person, the cost is a mere two silvers.”

Nag Kath had expected this. He did not know a great deal about such economies. That was an exorbitant sum compared to tending soldiers on payday. It might be that haggling was part of the process but it was also possible that the highest references meant he would not be gouged. As usual, the Elf figured that he really didn’t care and this was a one-time expense. He took three coins from his vest pocket and handed two to the man. Then he held his finger alongside his nose before vanishing into the market crowd.

Before Shurran returned home, Nag Kath walked into the kitchen where Fern was preparing the evening meal. She was a spare woman, nearing fifty, who had been a servant since she was fourteen. Fern was in Rosalin’s pool of reliable cook/housekeepers if tenants needed ready help. She didn’t hear him walk in before he said, “Fern, I would like a minute if nothing will burn.”

She had gotten used to not hearing the master float around the home and wasn’t startled when she heard his voice, “No, Mr. Kath. I won’t start the fish for a bit.” She dried her hands on the apron and turned.

“Fern, I just wanted to say that I think you are doing a fine job. With the wedding we may be doing more entertaining. Here are three silvers.” He handed her the coins saying, “I would like you to get yourself new clothes and shoes in the event we have dinners with esteemed persons. Spend most of it and keep the rest in thanks for your fine work.”

This was a fortune to the domestic. Five months’ salary out of the clear blue sky! She curtsied again and whispered, “Thank you, Mr. Kath.”

“Shurran and I have plans for tomorrow night so after breakfast take the day off. Come back the next night for the usual supper.”

Fern was sharper than dear Tella. She floated, “Your pardon, Mr. Kath, the spare room still has many of your late wife’s clothes. They won’t fit your recent guest, probably need a good cleaning, too. Should I find new homes for them?”

The orc blinked, realizing just how slow he could be. A room full of Eniece’s old things did not set the right tone for Grace, should she wander in there. He was only keeping them because he never used the space. He looked at Fern in appreciation and said, “Good thinking. Have a man-cart take them to the Woman’s Care charity at the wharf before you go shopping.”

“All of them sir?”

“Keep the ones you like, but yes.” He didn’t want to see them again. “I’ll sort through the other things later. I suppose …”

That sentence was interrupted by a knock at the door. Fern opened it and four burly lads asked permission to bring in the two rugs. He had completely forgotten about those. Walking behind Fern he said, “Oh, good lads. Put the green one right there by the table and follow me with the red one.” With that he led them upstairs to unroll the plush pile next to the bed. That would feel good between the toes first thing in the morning. He gave the men ten groats and they grinned from ear-to-ear. At this time of day, those would be converted to ale within the hour.

_____________--------_____________

Shurran seemed to be very busy at the city office. They had to rebuild two arches under one of the wall-walks. When you talk about arches in Middle-earth, you talk to Nag Kath so Uncle Nag spent time with his young charge and visited the city office last week. He knew it by heart. Shurran was away after breakfast and did not expect to be back until six.

When he got home, Uncle Nag was sitting on the couch next to an exquisite eastern beauty dressed in their traditional gown showing hints of red and lavender underneath. The young man was flabbergasted. After all those long years of abstinence, the Elf was not only rolling in the hay with the pretty local girl, his lusts had driven him to the tender ministrations of a pleasure woman! Shurran would move up to the family home as soon as he could.

Nag Kath did not act ‘caught red-handed’. In fact, the silly Elf brightened and said, “Hello Shur. Come sit with us. This is Teurven.”

The astonishing doll face smiled and said, “I am pleased to meet you, sir.”

Shurran recovered his manners, “The pleasure is mine, Teurven.”

Uncle Nag kept the conversation flowing, “We were just talking about Khand, lovely place; Khand.”

Teurvan smiled again, “You are too kind, sir.”

Shurran had no idea what to do. Should he leave? Fern didn’t seem to be around so there was no dinner and Nag Kath’s new girlfriend wasn’t here either. What could one say to Uncle Nag’s amusements? 

His confusion grew worse. Nag Kath rose and so did the young woman. Both bowed to each other and the Elf said, “Well, I’m off. It was a pleasure meeting you, Teurvan.” With that he took his coat and hat from the peg and sauntered into the dusk.

The woman sat back down and said, “Mr. Solvansh says you are a fine young man.” Her face formed the perfect smile.

Nag Kath chuckled all the way to Grace’s apartment. There was a candle burning upstairs. He knocked and waited until she walked downstairs with coat in hand. They had dinner at the King’s Arrow Inn, the very first place he stayed in Dale. Not much had changed. 

After ordering, Grace looked at him closely and said, “You seem much more pleased than you should. Is that from expecting my charms?”

“In part.”

“Yes?”

“I did someone a favor.”

“That is a habit of yours.”

He grinned, “One of my favorites.”

They talked about small things over the meal. Grace explained what she liked to do at leisure, her friends, hearing the singers in the park during summer. As usual, he listened more than he spoke, watching the woman grow animated describing her favorite things. He drank her in. Graciel was taller than average but not as tall as his wives or Tal. She had a fuller-figure with some wave to her light brown hair. Grace had the same enigmatic smile, though. Was that what brought him to them?

As they finished, she said, “We are equal distance and not near either of our homes. I suppose we should be walking.”

“I have reserved a room here.”

Grace kept her smile but reported, “I fear this is not my week for your attentions, dear man.” 

He took her upstairs and sat her on the bed before taking off her shoes. Then he removed his and lay beside her. This was unusual in her experience. Her husband was a good lover, but not the first, or the last. Those men had needs and expected her to accommodate, no matter her cycle. Paying for a room at the Arrow without release would not have suited them. This Elf-fellow just snuggled and kissed her ear. Nag Kath had gathered most of her intimate secrets from clues. She was too experienced to be another of his sheltered flowers. And she enjoyed herself too much to have been coerced. 

When her breathing was quite still he asked, “What do you want for yourself, Grace?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I am comfortable now. I see my friends. I enjoy pleasurable company. I am twenty-four, so, no babe in the forest. At some point, I may want more constancy. It has all been so confusing since I married. Everyone told me this would be the best time of my life. I hope not.”

It was none of his business but that had never stopped him, “Is your husband causing you troubles?”

“Geordon? No. I cannot support him on my silver a month so he looks elsewhere. Never met his widow-lady. I would rather not. You are awfully curious.”

“It is my nature. Would you think it patronizing if I offered to pay for your divorce?”

She rolled over to his face. He could tell in the candlelight that her eyes were wide open. “Yes, that would be, well, I am not for hire. Think you to bind me for your own needs?! I hardly know you.”

“I thought that was what you would say. I would do this as one of my unknown favors. You wouldn’t owe me anything. It is just that I will journey south in the summer and this is the only chance I have to help.”

Grace said firmly, “I do not like being dependent. Men always think they can control me with silver. They cannot! It would make me no different than one of those Easterling pleasure girls! I think I should go home.”

Nag Kath begged to differ but that conversation could wait. He held her close, “I hope you will stay with me tonight. I am really a nice fellow.”

Mollified, she rolled over so they were resting like spoons again. “Very well. But now you must tell me all the things you have so artfully avoided in your charming banter.”

He kissed her ear again and said, “It seems you have me dead to rights.” He spoke for half a bell of his life, leaving out none of the blood and intrigue. Grace felt a chill in her bones. Had she not believed him or the stories about him because she did not want to? She knew he was important but had no idea he was so dangerous. She believed it this time. Now here he was; not taking her as any other man would or interested in her monthly silver. Graciel thought she knew all about men and their uncomplicated ways. But this creature was not a man, not by a long-shot.

She had not said a peep. Nag Kath added even more softly, “So you see, dear Graciel, I cannot expect any woman of man to wait me home from a market stall. I am not of this world. I am in service of powers I do not yet understand. So when I offered to free you, it is not for my pleasure, except that it would make me feel useful.”

Grace started to cry. She did not know why. Was it that all the things she thought herself over came due? She was not sad or distraught or ashamed. She felt release. She indulged in her tears and the warm man next to her did not interrupt.

Graciel slept soundly. He felt her breathing. The sun was well up before she yawned and stretched her arms, almost hitting his face with an elbow. He said, “You dreamed last night.”

“You were watching me?”

“I seldom sleep.”

“Oh.” What does one say to that?

This was the point where either she would decide to see him again or part forever. It could wait until she swished cold tea in her mouth to remove the night-taste. After adjusting all of the twists that come from sleeping fully-dressed, she sat on the bed with her back to him and was very still. They both knew she would have to speak next. He waited. “You frighten me, Nag Kath.”

“I frighten everyone.” 

No flowery attempt to dispel her conceptions, no smooth assurance of safety and comfort. He was not making this easy on purpose. Grace was a clever girl. His former wives and lovers, surprisingly few given the time, had joined him in the most human, earthly circumstance. Neither he nor they had another frame of reference. He had bared his soul with her so she would not be surprised, or trapped. She could put on her shoes and walk out the door. 

Grace rose and kissed him passionately. “Come, I will make you breakfast.” They bought fresh eggs on the way to her apartment.

_____________--------_____________

Nag Kath got home about lunch time. Shurran was sitting on the couch in his towel robe and heavy socks eating yesterday’s bread. Unusually, he was upright rather than conforming to the cushions in his usual teenage slouch. Uncle Nag hung his coat and hat on the pegs by the door and walked in looking at the new carpet. The air still held subtle perfume.

“How are you doing, Shur?”

Shurran oh-so-slowly bloomed into his grandfather’s infamous grin. “Not bad, Nag. Not bad.” As all men but few women know, there is nothing better in this world than ‘not bad’. 

“Did Tuerven get the little envelope on the coat peg?”

“Aye, she put in her pocket this morning.” Shurran would not have known there was a minder waiting outside to escort her back to Khand-town. 

The Elf pulled a mug from the cold-tea jug. He brought it back to his usual chair and kicked his feet on the low table. Shur took a sip of his tea. They kept their own counsel for several minutes until the young man said, “You are a devious creature, Uncle Nag.”

“Dead to rights.”

Shurran smiled again, “Where did you … no, never mind.” He sipped more tea and stared at the stove.

Uncle Nag said, “No need to mention this to anyone I know.” Meaning anyone Shurran knew as well. Of course, this put the young, almost-heir to Dale in play. He might pursue this or use the experience to gently teach a blushing bride. At two silvers plus another for a tip, this would not be part of the young Lord’s regular amusements. Shur decided he didn’t need to stay at the lonely family home as much as he thought last night. He stammered a little, “Nag, I mean, Nag, is that what drives men to such madness? … Like my grandfather?”

His spare grandfather took a sip and said, “It can, but also money, or power, since money is power up to a point. Though it has not worked for me; folk want to leave their mark. Another generation is always needed. Making children must be enjoyable else men would not bother. Women can enjoy themselves too but that is not certain and they take the pain and risk. Always feel for women, Shurran.” He thought about Grace. “Yes, women take all the risk.” 

Shurran asked, “What is next?”

Nag Kath wasn’t sure if that was about females or a new subject. He took the latter, “I suppose we get ready for your cousin’s nuptials. What’s Brenen doing? I haven’t seen him since my own entanglements.”

Shurran thought of females and steered them back, “Entanglements, yes. None of those with Teurvan, I suppose. But you are seeing a married woman known to your family, your other family.”

Uncle Nag squinted as he tongued a piece of tea from between his teeth and said, “I don’t have the same problems as men. I can’t be embarrassed or taken to court or have my guild membership revoked. No, Shur, I don’t want to hurt the woman, because she, or any other, has to live in a world I only visit.” The Elf raised his eyebrows, “I like Grace and she seems to like me, knowing full well that I may leave for Mordor to destroy foul rings. And that, dear grandson, is why I protect innocent dancers.”

Shurran sighed. Eniecia would be back in Minas Tirith silently dreaming of the aide from Dol Amroth, or someone new by now. Thinking of that made him appreciate the Elf even more. Reversing usual coming-of-age homilies he said, “Let me know if you need anything, Nag.”  
  


_____________--------_____________

Late March is always important in Dale. Folk can expect one last miserable storm but the crocus flowers will push their way through the snow knowing if it defeats them, the daffodils will endure. Farmers won’t plant until the first of May but decent weather allows all the chores needed to prepare. Soldiers can march and ride and clean after playing cards in the barracks all winter. Businesses wash their windows.

Nag Kath kept seeing Grace. She stayed over some nights but lived in her apartment. They had dinner with Brenen and Nedille one evening. She went to see him practice swordplay every Thursday morning. It made them both amorous which sometimes hurt his concentration knowing they would go to her home immediately afterwards. Khellandar had done a little research of his own to discover the man was some sort of orphaned Elf and responsible for a great deal of sword-work, much for his own King Elessar. They still had not shared an ale but his training was now peer-to-peer. 

On the first of April, Grace rolled over to him and said, “Nag, did you mean what you said about helping me be shot of Geordon?” At the time it could have been a ploy to obligate her. It did not seem so now which made her reconsider.

“Sure. It could take time but I knew a few people in the city office.”

Her true fear showed, “My trouble is that Geordon will contest it. Unless he agrees, the union cannot be sundered. Northmen have their rights.” This was the main reason she had not pursued this by herself or taken Nag Kath up on the offer. If her husband stood to come into her modest inheritance and was not pressed by his widow-woman to marry, why would he disclaim either? Grace tried not to think of this or she would become melancholy. When the inheritance was paid, her silver a month stopped.

But Grace was not used to having a sorcerous paramour either. He mulled that over and said, “That should not be an obstacle.”

Oh dear! Would he murder Geordon or drive him mad? What she now knew of Nag Kath, he could probably rain lightning bolts down on the man’s house or plunge him into the River Running. Geordon was a swine, but Grace wanted a peaceful way out. Resolutely she said, “No, you must not rend him or turn him into a whisker-fish!”

“If I could make the arrangements without blood or lasting harm, will you sign the paper?”

Grace had to think about that. When she thought hard, her lips pursed and she made a terrible frown with her eyebrows. There was no confusing the expression. She looked at her Elf and said, “Yes, but it does not mean I will marry you or, or anything else. You must not ask that of me!” 

That netted half a grin, “Fair enough.”

The next day he presented her with the Bill of Separation, a document dating before the nation of Dale. It was designed to make life miserable in hopes of keeping child-bearing couples together. She wondered if Nag Kath had this prepared in advance. He didn’t say. She was in the store today so she signed it quickly and saw to a lady who was confused about which of two widths of linen was the better price.

_____________--------_____________

Gertrudath Kingspor was forty-three. Married young to the incorrigible Faeron Kingspor, they had no children, no debt and properties that produced regular income. She was a plump, matronly woman who enjoyed marital pleasures with her older husband and with Geordon Iömendel as Faeron’s ardor flagged. When a blood vessel in Kingspor’s brain burst, Geordon moved in, leaving his pretty but wife in their modest apartment.

Gertrudath knew she had the man by her favorite parts, but she was past her prime and jealous of Graciel or any other woman who caught his eye. She could marry again since the terms of her legacy kept her money away from future husbands. That was no accident. It did pay for his fine clothes and three meals a day on top of stabling his horse and pocket money. And she liked Geordon for more than his attentions. Gertrudath knew nothing of the modest sum he might see if he could only stay married to Graciel, since he would not see a groat if he married his financially-invulnerable bundle of love. Grace knew little of this either. When the man emptied his dresser, she cried and got over it. The sword and the broken leaf pipe were his spares. 

Nag Kath knew even less but he knew people who knew people, starting with Brenen. Nag Kath had freed Brenen’s own mother from his abusive father when no one else would feed her. She was still hale and looked after his increasing stream of grandchildren. Brenen would understand, “Bren, I need some personal help.”

Coming from Nag this was rare. People went to him for help. He listened. “What do you know of Geordon Iömendel?”

“A bit. He is the kept-man for Mrs. Kingspor. She bought one of your apartments a few years back. He seems nice enough but not our sort.” Brenen put on his thinking face and asked, “Gracie’s husband?”

“Aye, lad. She is ready for better and I agreed to help.”

“You aren’t going to drag him through the River Running, are you?”

Nag Kath smiled, “I’d rather not. But Grace is sure he will never sign the Bill since he stands to inherit something her da put by.”

Brenen was much more practical than his step-da and was sure the well-meaning Elf was considering intricate schemes to trick the gigolo into divorce. The businessman asked, “What is the estate?”

“Five Florin or thereabouts.”

Brenen shook his head. Uncle Nag could be so thick about such things, “Bribe him. Cheaper than whisker-fish, I’ll wager.”

Nag Kath sat up straight. Brenen continued, “Take four of those old Florins to the man and say, “Sign this and these are yours. Bring pen and ink with you.”

The next morning, Mrs. Kingspor took a man-cart to see her dear friend Heldiene Flourshal, now of the Landreth district. A few minutes later, a fellow knocked on the door and was admitted while the maid went to fetch the man of the house. 

Geordon Iömendel had heard his dearly beloved was seeing a tall, blonde soldier. He stood in the hallway and said, “What do you want?”

Nag Kath replied, “I am here to get your signature on Graciel’s separation papers.”

Iömendel was a fit, athletic man but the stranger was half a foot taller and looked capable of serious damage. A glance at the maid sent her quickly elsewhere. “And what keeps me from throwing you in the street?”

Nag Kath pulled a Florin from his vest pocket and slowly twisted it through his fingers as if considering it for the first time. He rolled it into his fist and said, “I think we can come to terms.”

They did, and quickly too. People imagine gold ringing like baby cymbals. It is really a dull clank. Nag Kath dropped three coins in the husband’s hand. If Iömendel tried anything untoward, there were all the possibilities the dangerous changeling's conspirators talked him out of. Grace’s husband was a sharp man of commerce and saw the solemn Numenorean Kings as they should be; surrounded by knurled edges, two with tooth marks in their foreheads. The dissolution specifically waived claims to anything from his former wife. He took it to a desk in the room that had pen and ink. Mixing the latter with a splash of water, he signed the sheet with a flourish. Handing it to Nag Kath, their business was done without another word.

Nag Kath skipped the usual line at the city clerk and saw a man who knew he knew Rosscranith. “Hello, Soldalars. Hope you are the picture of health.”

“Couldn’t be better, Lord Kath. What brings you by my little dungeon?”

“I need a favor. A lady friend of mine has been ill-used by her husband and wants to end the union.”

Soldalars put on his spectacles, “Hmm, drafted by Uvaldas. He knows his business. This all seems in order. Wait here.” He was back in fifteen minutes with the official stamp of Dale, his own signature and that of the head magister, who also worked for Rosscranith. 

Nag Kath was waiting outside of Grace’s shop when she closed at six, not expecting him until tomorrow evening. She saw him sitting on the bench across the street and sashayed over. He really loved the way she moved. Grace sat next to him and he asked her, “How was your day?”

“I sold three bolts of the linen and two of wool, a good day. And yours?”

He seemed to struggle with other thoughts but managed, “Productive.”

They had an early supper and enjoyed intimacy at her apartment. He was quiet and urgent, more needful than usual. She enjoyed herself but noticed the difference. “What is it Nag?”

He got out of bed and pulled a certified proof of the separation out of his jacket; the original staying at the clerk’s office. As she read it, she began to tremble. Grace looked at him in amazement tinged with terror at gaining choices she had forced from her mind. Her mouth would not work.

He filled the void, “You are free. Please come to me soon.” 

Nag Kath dressed, kissed her softly and walked home knowing he would never see her again.

_____________--------_____________

His was the misery of inevitability.

Tal was young love sundered by great force. Eniece was the loss of someone so perfect for him. He would have been constant to her as long as she lived. With Flor, he was in love with being in love, with the idea of her. Losing the child was much harder at the counting.

Flor set the stage for Grace. This failed because it had to. In his own mind he offered everything a woman could want but there was too much more, frightening and powerful and not of this world. That must eventually apply to all else. Nag Kath was a friend for life. But the closest friends are bonded in shared experiences. He was sharing fewer of those. He was not the hapless changeling needing help tying shoes or riding a horse. No one took him lightly. 

That worked against everything he wanted in love. He wanted the intimacy of two equal people sharing the same life and goals. But he loved as a man at the speed of an Elf. Unless a woman wanted the power or position he brought, or exchanged some of her youth for his coin (much the same in his view), he could not be beloved. He could be wrong. Graciel might knock at his door tomorrow knowing nothing of his anguish. He would certainly meet women who were attracted to him and they might be different. But would he let them get close? Would he simply be waiting for the inevitable?

When he got almost home, Nag Kath stopped at the stable for a look at Charlo. He rode whenever weather permitted. The horse was twitchy if he didn’t work-up a sweat fairly often. It had been a week so Nag Kath saddled the handsome steed and cantered out the Erebor road along the wheat stubble. 

The wind in his face felt good. Charlo did not talk about sorrow or loss or worry about what might have been. It was just the sort of conversation Nag Kath needed. Two hours later they rode back to the stall. Unusually, neither the stableman nor his son were there so the Elf brushed the horse down himself and put his blanket back on.

He was late for dinner. Fern kept half a trout near the stove knowing Nag Kath showed when he liked and was never fussy about his food being served whenever that happened to be. As far as anyone needed to know, things were as they had been. 

In the next week when Nag Kath was sorting through all this, the city of Dale was preparing for their King’s wedding. This was a grand event and unlike his investiture, wasn’t a funeral in disguise. What made it all the sweeter was he was marrying one of their own! No foreign Princess with an unpronounceable name; this lass. She was a commoner and one of seven children which boded well for a royal family.

Nag Kath held out hope he would see Grace but began preparing to travel south. There were a lot of goodbyes and this time he would say them properly. It felt different. After Eniece died, he always felt he would be back. He wasn’t sure now. If time was indeed stretching before him, he could not count on being local and dashing between safe cities of the west. Something was drawing him to the power of Orlo, perhaps as the Elves were pulled to Valinor. At some point he wanted to see what was keeping victims of the Witch-King restless. It was a big world.

Torrold and Gerda arrived the week before the wedding. This was the off-year for the Thainmoot but the country gentry would mostly be here and talk among themselves. Haldieria and Gerruld stayed home since their youngest wasn’t ready to ride. They had seen Shurran last fall. He stayed with his Uncle and Aunt in the family home while they were here. 

Thain Durnaldar pulled-in two days later with Thain Gorhannda from Celduin Village joined en route. There was buzzing in Dwarvish enclaves as well. It would not do unless there was a dinner reliving the Dorwinion adventure with Torrold and Shurran deputizing for Reyald. The hairy horses proved to be good draft animals.

Since he and Shurran had come back from Buhr Austar in the fall, neither of them had seen either the King or dowager Queen. Nag Kath was used to that but Shurran was a bit surprised he had not been called for tea and cakes at least once. They had lunch a couple times with Rosscranith. That changed when Shurran was invited to the Groomsmen’s party two days before the ceremony. As a member of the entourage, they practiced their parts and had a casual dinner afterwards with about twenty five of the King’s friends. Bain and Shurran spent a while together as the event ended and Shurran was glad of it, but did not share what was said. 

Nag Kath had plans to go to the ceremony but would not stay long at the reception. His outlook had improved in the last two weeks. This would be a good chance to farewell acquaintances. His close personal friends would come soon enough.

All that went well. Everyone remembered their lines. No one fainted or drank too much before the readings. The congregation saw their liege wed the lovely Xondra and made for the reception room where a host of eats and drinks were waiting. Stonehelm did not attend. Neither did Frôr. Deputizing was Tombor. Nag Kath missed seeing him at the ceremony since he was near the front and short. At the reception they nearly bumped into each other. Nag Kath greeted him, “Good day old friend.”

“Good day, Lord Kath.” That was not promising. 

“I was about to get another ale.”

The Dwarf Lord finally smiled, “I’ll join you.”

They found a nook in the big room. Tombor had a swig and dealt with the inevitable foam on his mustache before saying, “Good to see you. Thank you for your assistance in the east … and north.”

“I seem to have been born for the job. It will be up to Durin’s folk to cook the next pig.”

“Muhaa! Then you are gone?”

“Back to the White City with my grandson.”

The great lord stared in his mug for a moment before confessing, “It is not your fault, you know. In this Fourth Age we should be past the darkness. I will tell you this, though; gold sickness lessened when that ring hit molten stone. So did energy. We must learn to draw inspiration from ourselves now.”

The changeling nodded slowly, “Your peoples’ courage will stand you in good stead, my friend. Stay close to Gimli. He has seen something of this world.”

“I will, young man. I will.” 

Laying back to let the first flush out the door he heard, “Hello, Nag Kath. That was a grand thing!”

Behind him were Devoran Carstors and his wife Lil. Lillith and Lilac were talking with friends. Lillith was with her husband. Lilac was not. No doubt that had been discussed thoroughly, but Nag Kath did not imagine it came as a surprise to anyone. Getting rid of that husband would be no harder than his brother.

Nag Kath bowed and shook their hands. Dev continued, “I enjoyed seeing Shurran in uniform. He is a man grown.”

“Aye, Dev. I’ve enjoyed his company this last year. We’ll be going back to the White City within the month so his parents can have a look.”

Carstors smiled and said, “Good. I’ll have a word with him. His parents should visit me when they come this way. It is just off the trail if you know where to look.”

They parted as friends. Folk like the Carstors made the best of friends.

______________-------______________

Two partings would be harder. Master Sarnt Burry was in his sixties. His full head of white hair and beard made him look like a prophet of yore. They sat on the bench in front of his two-story house and looked at the last of the snow melt trickling down the cobblestones. Neither said much. Nag Kath thanked him for all the years. He might be back. Burry would know when he saw him. Burry would not know this until the Elf was gone but the Royal Bank of Dale had a small retirement stipend ready. Nag Kath thought that since he was immortal, it was unfair to make people wait for a legacy. 

The hardest goodbye was Brenen. Brenen was his son in every meaningful way. He would never leave Dale. His health was not robust. Bren might be here but this was the leaving with no guarantee of return. They spoke long of things that did not need to be said, memories that would never die. They cried. 

Bard was in the office with Ros. If Bren was a son, Bard was a nephew. They talked old times too, thought it seemed more likely Bard would live to great age. Bren and Bard’s sons would take the business over this summer and let the old-timers enjoy their retirement. Bard did ask if only Shurran and he were leaving. Nag Kath was afraid so.

Other than a surprise gift for Burry and a draft for the Bank in Minas Tirith, Nag Kath left everything the way it was. Dale was still home.

They stopped two days in Esgaroth wishing Mrs. Borenne farewell. She was walking almost normally, making good on her promise to be on her feet again. There was sadness here too but Shurran and his family would probably be back in two years at the end of Reyald’s posting, even if they were only visiting. Post service was good enough that letters between Dale, Rohan and Gondor came almost monthly when the weather allowed. Shurran promised to be a better correspondent.


	29. Name to the Face

** _Chapter 29 _ **

** _Name to the Face_ **

The Old Forest Road was not built for forty years of peace. Bridges built since the war allowed merchant trains, some three or four wagons long, but they trundled at a snail’s pace in the best of times. When teamsters met their like coming from the other direction, they would often shout at each other like man-carters claiming the right of way until one or the other would back up or hitch a horse to the back of a wagon and pull it the other direction. 

On horseback, Nag Kath and Shurran could usually slip through the forest but they never moved faster than a canter. Large campsites had been cleared in grudging trees to get men and beasts off the road at night. The two travelers usually stayed at those to hear stories of the path ahead. When they finally broke clear of the forest, the traffic continued either west or south and they turned north to Rosghobel to stay at the same site they had on the way up.

Waiting for wizards gives one spare time. Shurran gently asked more about his Khandian visitor. Nag Kath didn’t mind. Shur was a grown man and ought to know how the world of men worked, to the extent the Elf knew. Nag Kath had not pressed on details but was sure the young man learned more than a roll in the hay with a local tart. 

Unavoidably, it brought up Graciel. The Elf was honest about that too, though it hurt. “I wanted her to come with me but realized that was selfish, shades of Tal. I love women, everything about them. But she is a girl of Dale and I could not tear her away from everyone she knows and loves to follow me to the back of beyond chasing demons. The perfect man lives within a mile of her and they will find each other.” Nag Kath didn’t mention that he asked Bart of Grace’s childhood remembrance to take her a few things she left at his house. It worked for Burry’s lad!

After three days of talking about women, both of them needed activity. Nag Kath said, “I am going into the forest to seek Radagast. I have only a general direction and I expect the trees will close around me to hide his home. It will be dangerous. You can stay or come.”

“What else have I got to do?”

“We’ll need to walk the horses.”

The Elf remembered the trip at about four hours with the brown wizard leading the way. After eight hours they were still tramping through vines and ferns after several wrong turns and dead-ends. As the sun got low, Nag Kath felt something to his right and made for it, coming to the clearing around the ramshackle house.

It was neither better nor worse for wear. Shurran, a consulting engineer, wondered just as his grand-da had how the place did not collapse in a cloud of dust. Nag Kath gave Shurran the reins and walked up the groaning porch steps for a look. The door was agar. He poked his head in and saw nothing different. His little bird pictures were still in mismatched frames by the small writing desk. No one was home. He walked back to the horses and the travelers made a fireless camp at the edge of the clearing. Shurran wanted to talk about women again but when he finally slept, he was out like a light.

The young man did not wake until the sun was already up. After a long yawn and stretch he saw his grandfather adding sticks to a small fire for porridge and tea. Shurran laced his boots and fetched water for the pot. It wasn’t until after breakfast that Nag Kath felt the presence.

No matter which way you sat, Radagast came from behind you. The Elf turned over his shoulder and called, “Hello, old friend. You are just in time for tea.”

The old wizard shuffled closer and said, “Good.” Looking at the Northman he asked, “Who are you?”

“I am Shurran Conath, sir.” He had been coached that wizards are not lords and like to keep things informal.”

Nag Kath added, “He is my grandson. Radagast, this is Shurran. Shur, this is Radagast.”

The tea was strong and tepid but Shurran got a tin cup for the wizard who sat on a log and put his staff by his feet. Taking a long slurp he said, “Ah, I don’t get many visitors. You may have been the last. How long has that been?”

“Almost thirteen years.” 

“Are you still drawing birds?”

“Not lately. I have been involved in intrigues, some with sorcery.”

The wizard finished the little cup and said, “Well, I suppose you are here for counsel.”

“That and some tidings in exchange.”

“Then let us go inside. Young man, you can just leave the horses where they are. They will not stray.” Shurran piled the saddles and tack under the porch eaves and both travelers brought their bags into the house. If the young Northman’s eyes were agog at the outside, the interior made him sure the home was but a breath of wind from crumpling. Radagast sank in the same chair Nag Kath was sure would splinter with one more sitting all those years ago. The home, and everything in it, was not held together by pegs and nails.

The wizard filled a small pipe lying on the side table with leaf and made sure it was perfect before dragging a match across the floor for his first puff. Like Gandalf, that was done in complete silence. It smelled like Shire weed to the Elf, knowing that these wizards had their sources. As the smoke cleared Radagast said to Shurran, “You look like the bowman.”

“Great great grandfather, on the other side. Nag is a step-grand-da.”

The wizard considered that longer than idle chat and then said to the Elf, “Tell me of your quest, young fellow.”

Nag Kath had thought his presentation through several ways. Gandalf would stay where he was, hardly eating or sleeping until his task was complete. When the Elf was last here, Radagast seldom spent more than two hours at a time with him before wandering off into the forest on some errand. Sometimes Nag Kath tagged along but usually he sat and waited. He thought he would start with his easiest conundrum.

Fetching the little book from his pack, he handed it to the wizard opened to the part in Quenya saying, “These are Elvish healing spells from Lord Elrond. I cannot determine how they draw the power and I cannot understand the older parts at all. I was hoping you might know.

He could just ask Arwen when he got to Minas Tirith. She might even have the finished copy. But she had known he was a healer for twelve years and had never volunteered a word of advice. This could be proprietary knowledge. He did not think he would even mention her da’s notes when he got there.

Radagast read the entire book and the Quenya twice. It took half a bell and Nag Kath was impressed by Shurran’s precocious patience. Big with a beard, it was easy to forget he was not yet twenty. The wizard closed the volume and put it in his lap saying, “Quenya is never still. It changed many times. Sometimes I think the Elves made their own versions so they didn’t have to understand each other. That did not end well. This is a newer version.

“It tells of a soothing spell to aid confusion after injury, else the patient succumbs for losing his vigor. Elrond is very good at that." The wizard thumbed through the pages with a combination of humming and muttering. "Now here in the back is a story that when Elves and men had children, sometimes the two bloodlines would fight for dominance and harm the person.”

Shurran asked, “Then this is how to cure the malady?”

“I fear not. It was always deadly. But even in the Second Age, those unions were rare. I was not here then but this cannot have happened much.”

Nag Kath had a personal stake in this, “Were there children born to women by male Elves?”

“I only knew of three half-Elven and they were all borne of Elf maids. But mind; the most famous of those were Elrond’s own line so I can see his interest. He and his brother had enough Elf to be given the choice. These notes just end so he must not have made progress.”

Nag Kath prodded, “And the power summoning …?”

“Oh, different than us. I think they pull from air but the incantations are much more important. We use feel. You know that. You need to say the ones written here correctly and trace the lines of power. You were air, like Saruman?”

“You said water.”

“Oh yes. None of the wizards were of water. I do not think a staff would help you with water ... too dense.”

Shurran was enthralled. Uncle Nag was honest to a fault but he did not say much about magic. Now here he was talking with a creature that might be twenty thousand years old like farmers discussing weather. The Elf wasn't forty.

Nag Kath asked, “Did Gandalf keep the piece of Saruman’s staff?”

“That or he destroyed it. Goodness, did you ever light that up?! That was more because of Saruman than his spells. Poor Curumo. What a waste. We wizards were not made powerful, not meant to get above ourselves.” He looked closely at the Elf and said more sternly, “I hope you have been behaving.”

All he got for his admonition was a Nag-Kath grin. 

That concluded the session for the day. The wizard told them to stay where they were, he had a few things to attend in the northeast. Taking his staff he ambled out the door and was gone in far less time than it should take an old man to cover ground.

Shurran stretched and walked around the home. Like Tom Bombadil’s, it seemed larger inside than could be told outside. He looked at the three bird pictures and then the confusion of bowls, herbs and vials scattered about a room split down the middle by a huge tree. Sunlight showed through large cracks in the ceiling and walls but they still blocked the breeze. Nag Kath went to the fireplace and checked the wood stocks. He knew that if there was housework to be done, he had better do it. The Elf also went through the food stores expecting them to be bleak. They were; good thing for the Lembas.

The wizard returned past midnight and lay on his bed fully dressed. Nag Kath watched him and wondered why wizards were created as old men needing food and sleep? A clue was when Radagast said only this morning that they were not meant to be powerful, perhaps not to take power for themselves as Saruman proved he could not resist. His clothes could be as old as him with few weavers of robes plying the Old Forest Road.

Nag Kath made porridge for all with tea and Lembas crumbles added for sustenance. Shurran looked to the horses that seemed content but would eat through the grass in the little clearing before long. He gave them a few handfuls of oats to show all was well in the world. Radagast wandered over for breakfast when it was ready and the Elf started the second of the three unknowns. “Old friend, I told you of residual sorcery. Three years past I journeyed to the east, starting in Rhûn then Khand and finally Mordor.”

That got the old wizard’s attention, and quickly. He sat on the edge of his chair and left the spoon in his mush.

Nag Kath continued, “I was following tales of a fell lord on the west side of the Nûrnen. My companions were from all of those lands. He had a ring of power, Radagast, a Dwarf ring.”

The wizard considered that and asked, “Do you know which one?”

“I could not read the markings. I fomented a terrible war among the rulers around the lake and the tyrant was defeated. The ring I threw into the last of Orodruin as I left. It was of less moment than I thought.”

Radagast shook his head and muttered, “Mor … dor. A black and terrible place.”

“It was, but now rain falls. Rivers bring clean water to all sides of the sea and people grow enough to eat. There are trees, Radagast, trees, all equally tall as if they had waited an age to sprout on the same day. Did you or the Ents have a hand in that?”

The wizard kept shaking his head and admitted, “Nay, it was not me, nor the Ents neither. They never found their wives and are too thin to mind their northern flocks.” Radagast became more animated having hit on one of his own topics, “There will be trouble, mind. The trees have few shepherds. They are like men,” looking to Shurran, “present company excepted, men without the Elves to guide them. I cannot see accommodation between the two!”

Nag Kath calmed him, “There, there, old friend. Even men of Mordor will listen to reason. Who can speak to the trees?”

The wizard kept shaking his head until finally saying, “I do not know. Do you speak treeish?”

“Not a word. My Black Speech and wargish will win me no favor there.”

Radagast permitted himself the smallest smile, “So be it. But talk to Treebeard. You know him from Orthanc.”

It was Nag Kath’s time to doubt, “We never met. Gandalf kept me away from them, too close to my Uruk past, I suppose. I saw them from the balcony when they would came to repair the grounds. Do they speak Sindarin?”

“He does. I cannot say about the rest. Try Fangorn.”

_____________--------_____________

The exchange seemed to take a lot from the wizard. Nag Kath knew Gandalf could do without sleep and food for long periods but must eventually restore himself. Radagast clutched his staff before rising unsteadily and saying he needed to tend things in the forest. No one asked why or when he would return.

Why was his own business but when was two days later. The two travelers found things to do in the meantime. Nag Kath studied the spells but got no results. It might be his orcish accent. He had learned the language by reading, not listening. The Silvans in the Woodland Realm and the Elf-keepers understood him but his was not the pure voice made to utter those incantations with authority. Elrond might have taken for granted what he alone knew.

Shurran managed a campfire stew of greens and oats and a root that looked a cousin to a rutabaga. They left the mushrooms alone. Before it was ready to serve, Radagast creaked up the stairs and seemed refreshed. Not for the first time the Elf wondered if he gained strength from the forest rather than the other way around. The brown one walked to the stove and smelled deeply, inhaling real cooking for the first time in who knew how long. At dinner, Nag Kath returned to the subject of evil, in a roundabout way, “Radagast, in my trip I passed the Dead Marshes.”

“Wretched place. Whatever took you there?”

“Just the shortcut between Gondor and Dorwinion. Most folk stay west and use the Old Forest Road, even still.” Very carefully he asked, “Do you know what keeps them preserved?”

The question did not trouble the wizard, “I am told they are not bodies, only the spirit of bodies.”

The Elf thought that was as good an opening as he would get, “And yet they remain, have they found their ways to the Halls of Mandos?”

“I do not know. But some parts of them remain, else their appearance is just a memory for those who happen along that sorry path. You will learn; if you have not already, that it takes energy to maintain such an illusion.”

“Tell me then, Radagast, whose energy is used?”

“I do not know.” With that, the wizard sank further into his chair and tried to sleep but just then, rain started coming down hard. Radagast jerked awake and looked at a corner of his home where water was pouring in through one of the larger cracks. He walked over and fussed for a moment trying to remember a spell, finally waving his hand at the offending leak. It didn't cover the hole but the water seemed to know to run down the side of the wall and out another hole in the floor. Then he collapsed in his chair, dead to the world.

Nag Kath thought himself a poor guest. Here he had imposed on the shy old bird-friend, interrogating him with the gleanings of a world best forgotten. He lost himself in reproach until he saw Shurran’s face freeze. Following the Northman’s eyes, Radagast’s hands were almost melding into the arm of his chair. Come to that; the chair was not flimsy at all. It was growing, part of the network of vines and roots that snaked throughout the rooms, carefully trained over centuries with a nudge here and a pull there to just his shape.

The two visitors looked at each other and rose to take the conversation outdoors. Shurran started, “Did you see it?”

“Aye.”

“You said he was a creature of the wild. Is he becoming one with it?”

“I think so, Shur. Gandalf sailed away. Saruman molders here. I think there were other wizards or Maiar in their ranks but who knows how they were to be recalled? Do you remember me speaking of a Wild Huntsman?” Shur nodded, “It would be the worst sort of Ale-house yarn. But it is true and that fellow may still be stalking the graveyards of those just as dead as in the marshes.”

“What about Radagast?” Can he go home?”

“I think he is becoming a part of his home. Let us leave that unless he asks. It is a subtle thing and, methinks, still some time off.”

The two collected more sticks for the fire and went back inside.

_____________--------_____________

The wizard slept soundly the whole night, only twitching or smacking his lips for motion. He did snore quite loudly at times. In the morning, the Elf apologized, “Old friend, thus far I have come unbidden and not asked how I can help you. Please, tell me what I can do.”

Shurran had already given him tea. He took a long pull and rose, looking around the room before saying, “I do not need anything, Nag Kath. But I do appreciate that you are not taking this new world as your due. Even as cleanly as Sauron and his ilk were excised, you are right to beat the hustings for what may have been left behind in haste.”

He took another long pull and said, “But now you should tell me the real reason you are here.”

The Elf smiled, “I should not flatter myself that I yet have tact. Very well, I did not gallop off to Mordor in search of lordly campfire stories. I was drawn there by powerful and yet benevolent sorcery far beyond my ken.” The story of Orlo took nearly a bell. Radagast drank in every word. Shurran had not heard this version with gardens that weren’t and walls long crumbled. Nag Kath pulled the sheaf of papers with the enigmatic Orlo grinning on the top sheet.

Radagast did as everyone else had; looking intently, seeing something familiar, only to talk himself out of recognition. Nag Kath watched every line on his face. When the wizard looked back to him and shook his head, the Elf said, “I think that is only his appearance to me.”

The wizard said firmly, “I see a man of wisdom and mirth, in their measure. That is only what you remembered. There may be even more you did not consider at the time.”

“That thought will not leave me. I am certain to return. The spirit of those people kept them from fighting, dying and possibly winning at the Pelennor and Morannon. They are brave, so it was not cowardice that kept them from the field.”

Radagast smiled, “You have time. Go forth. Do as Gandalf counseled. You will discover your answers.”

The wizard started sorting through the other sheets, perhaps looking for more birds. Then he stopped with a look of abject horror. Radagast jerked his face up at Nag Kath, back at the picture and to the Elf again. In barely more than a whisper, “Where did you see this?”

It was the cruel Elf. Nag Kath answered, “I saw him in Galadriel’s mirror a few years ago. The Elf-keeper told me it was still in Caras Galadhon when I visited. I saw several faces. This was the last and strongest. Do you know him?”

“Oh, by Eru himself, I do indeed. This is not your usual work, Nag Kath.”

“The image was unclear, as were the others. Whether they were past or future I can not say.”

Radagast shook his head yet again, “This is the face of Melkor, lo I have not imagined it this way since before time.”

“I know not of him, worried sir.”

“You know him as Morgoth.”

Dinner that night had no idle chat. Radagast found all of his energy and asked every possible question about the cold, handsome Elf of the sketch. The wizard was troubled. It might be nothing; a floating image no worse than one of the forsaken thousands staring to the sky in the Dead Marshes. If the original and darkest of lords had been consigned to the void, might there not be residual enough to visit magic mirrors?

The wizard wracked his brain; why would he come to Nag Kath, Nag Kath his last living Uruk-hai?! Was Arwen right? Was the changeling the unwitting servant of one crawling back to the hell he created? Did Radagast have the strength to kill the changeling now and snuff the risk?

He decided he did have the strength and would not. As he had told himself a thousand times, a dark lord could never have drawn those tiny birds.


	30. Queen Nephtat

** _Chapter 30_ **

** _Queen Nepthat_ **

Rohan was an easy ride. The weather was fair most of the way and the road not sodden with snowmelt from the Misty Mountains. Making Edoras, they presented themselves at the Meduseld just after lunchtime as a courtesy to the Lord King and Queen. The chamberlain said their Highnesses would be informed. 

Things were less formal at Dornlas’. Sitting on his stoop until Dornlas and Annlie returned from a lessee’s, large hugs were exchanged with gossip to follow, half-pints too! And wonder of wonders, there was a true restaurant. The royal wedding made some in Edoras think perhaps they deserved amenities like other great capitals of the west. The food was fair but all sang its praises hoping they would survive.

As the heir to the heir to the Throne of Dale, Nag Kath supposed Shurran would be received even if there was no interest in him. He was wrong. No attendant came with instructions to attend at court. Annlie said Elfwine and Tilli were in Emyn Arnen visiting Faramir and Éowyn so youth would not be served either. Dornlas still heard wargs on evenings when the wind was just right but they were well away from the capital. 

With so much to talk about, Nag Kath and Shurran imposed for two nights and took their leave at dawn for the familiar ride to the White City. After seeing women for the first time since Dale and his conversations with the wayward Elf, Shurran wanted to talk about them much of the way down. Nag Kath indulged him, though he did not consider himself wise on the subject, experienced, yes, but not wise.

They made good time and reached the gates at dusk on the sixth day. Both rode as far as Nag Kath’s house and then Shurran went up to the sixth gate. The Elf let him go home alone with the remembrance of old Conath. They would know from letters but the young man was there. 

Turnlie was out so Nag Kath rummaged through his pack for the extra key and let himself in after dropping Charlo at the stable. Now Minas Tirith did have restaurants and they were open late so he walked down the third for a pint and pie at Vildeth’s Dragon. This was his neighborhood but people looked at him as an outsider, in those clothes, probably someone eating above their station from the second-level. No matter. He collected two buckets of water at the fountain three doors from his house and took them inside to clean away the grime.

After a full dinner, Nag Kath needed no breakfast before running errands. First was down to Turnlie’s mother’s to let her know he was back. She was shopping but her ma said she would tell her. Tim and Marie were in Osgiliath for an artists’ exhibition that should last another two days. The lads at the shop would let them know as well. 

From there he loped up to the sixth to see Reyald and Ardatha. Loral came to the door and let him in saying, “Oh my, Mr. Kath! The last time you came home, your hair was so short.”

A year was longer than he had ever let it grow and it reached well past his shoulders, longer than most men wore theirs in Minas Tirith. The locks were still well under Elvish length but long enough to actually lay flat. Eniecia rounded the corner and accepted a chaste hug and kiss on the cheek. Shurran waved from the hall but raiding the pantry was more important than his road partner. Finally, both Reyald and Ardatha came from the bedroom and greeted him warmly. The Ambassador stayed home knowing Uncle Nag would be there well before lunch. Second breakfast was served.

They talked about Buhr Austar and the wedding, all the things Shurran had already told them. He hadn’t mentioned Graciel, and probably no related topics either. There was also no talk of handsome aides at allied embassies though Eniecia seemed cheerful and talkative. She continued to dance. Nag Kath knew how to not say much without saying much so he mostly smiled and agreed with everyone. Shurran met the brown wizard, perhaps the first man to see him since Orthanc. It was already understood that Melkor had to stay between Shur and Uncle Nag.

On his way out he gave the sixth-gate guard a note telling the King he was back if the Lord needed his service. He also stopped by the bank and presented the draft from Dale for about half of his savings there and checked his accounts. Flor’s annuity still paid monthly.

“Hello Mr. Kath. Please come in.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Tippi.”

Tal was reading to Ecc in the main room so right there for handshakes and hugs. She was wearing her half-spectacles and didn’t hustle them into a pocket like most women would with unannounced guests. They looked just the same as when he left a year before. Mrs. Tippi was off for fresh tea in an instant and Nag Kath took his usual chair. Ectilliad said, “Good to see you, old friend! Is King Bain hitched good and proper?”

“Aye Ecc. Lovely girl. It seems they have been sweet on each other for quite a while. She grew up friends with Brenen’s girls.”

Tal looked at his hair. She knew he was an Elf but with his mannish dress and hair to go with that enthusiastic grin, somehow he still belonged to her world. It was men and women who loved him and gave him purpose. Very well, let him have Elf hair. She would keep his smile always. Putting that aside she asked, “How was the trip with Shurran?”

“It was good. I must not think of him as a lad anymore. He is a big Northman now and we have become fast friends. Being back in Dale made me realize how much he looks like King Brand, much more than the other two grandsons. Did Ardatha tell you about her father-in-law?”

“She did. It sounded like he lived a fine life and went out laughing.”

Ecc chimed in, “Getting to know Reyald tells me the old Thain was the best of fathers.”

Nag Kath showed the valued grin and said, “He was. You would like Torrold too. He will be the best of Thains. And speaking of the best of fathers, how are your youngsters?”

Tal took that answer, “Both are fine. I think Tilla’s young man is working-up his nerve to propose. His prospects in his father’s business took a turn for the better. Ecth keeps that side very quiet.” Nag Kath thought of the Khandian enchantress. From his face you couldn’t tell which smile he was smiling.

Of course, dinner must be had within the week and of course, he would come to Tal and Ardatha’s weekly tea. Of course.

Turnlie was at the house by the time he returned, singing and arranging all of the foods she bought. Fresh items were purchased every day but a kitchen needed spices and herbs and grains; items that kept well but not as long as her master was often gone. She had a man-cart bring the bags up from the market along with demi-casks of wine and ale.

“Oh hello, Mr. Kath. How were the weddings?”

“They were grand, Turnlie. I hope you are doing well.”

“Right as rain, sir. I saw you unpacked. Is there anything you need?”

“Not now. I need more art supplies but I have to do that myself.”

His stout domestic said, “Very good. Oh, I hear Mr. Mülto is a bit poorly. Mrs. Sylveth said he had a chest complaint. I thought you ought to know.”

“Thank you for that. I will visit after lunch. I am at leisure for the time being. Is there anything you need, dear woman?”

Turnlie cackled, “A handsome husband who can cook. Oh, the crack in this stove is getting worse. It might be time for a bigger one that can handle your entertaining.”

“I had no idea. Please, attend that. There is money in the cup over the towel cabinet.”

“Dear Sylveth.”

“Oh my. It is good you are back. Not so terribly long this time.”

The Elf smiled, “Just two weddings and a funeral. How have you been?”

“I am my usual self.” The woman was now in her seventies and moved around quite well. She was dowdy when they met but she did not get much dowdier, and there was always that lovely smile. “Broughter has been poorly.”

“That is my main reason for coming so soon. What ails him?”

“It is his chest. He can’t shake a lingering …”

From the back room came, “Nag Kath? Is that you?”

“Aye Broughter. You aren’t rid of me yet.”

The landlord came down the hall with a cough and shook hands. Two years younger than Sylveth, he could be ten years older. The man coughed again and said, “Sorry, got the lung fiehl in the spring.”

The Elf and business partner said, “I can probably do something for that.”

Broughter laugh/coughed saying, “What, conjuring and lighting me up like one of your Syndolan rockets?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I suppose we should.” He looked at his worried wife and added, “Never gone in much for such things. But herbs and steam haven’t helped. What do I need to do?”

Nag Kath said, “Take off your shirt and let’s have a look.”

Mülto did and the Elf had him sit on a stool so he could listen to his chest and back. Nag Kath took the pulses and signs. Then he placed the palms of his hands on Broughter’s back and his hands slowly turned a soft, light silver. His patient wheezed and hawked but held his position as best he could. A minute later, the physician eased the spell and helped himself to cold tea from the kitchen jug, getting one for Mülto at the same time.

He sat down in the chair next to his patient and said, “It is a cold gone bad that settled in both lungs. We used to see that a lot on the water-path. I will need to do that once a week for three or four more weeks. You should grow stronger but probably will not have the wind you used to.”

“I already didn’t have the wind I used to.”

“Then you won’t miss it. But you must take more exercise. A good brisk walk every day, a block or two to start and up to a mile or more. Go up and down your stairs in poor weather.”

All Broughter was going to do for a few hours was cough and spit so Nag Kath kissed Sylveth on the forehead and gave her some herbs for brew that she was to force down her stubborn husband whether he liked it or not.

It was Thursday tea. Nag Kath walked up a level to find Tal and Ardatha already at their usual table. He kissed them both and sat where he always did. A waiter brought his in a big mug rather than the little cups popular with ladies this season. Two women walked over to them. One was obviously an old friend and the other was Mrs. Jhourden from Dol Amroth up visiting her daughter and son-in-law for the summer. Nag Kath stood and was introduced to faint recognition. 

Tal’s table could have as many as eight or just two, usually these two. The rest of the women in the room tried not to stare at the tall, handsome stranger who seemed to know both of them well. His name was whispered when the two women rejoined their parties and the rest of their afternoons were probably spent discussing him.

As Nag Kath was sitting down again Tal asked, “So, what really happened in the north?”

Ardatha would have told her the basics but not anything diplomatic. She was Thain-kin and Tal knew that. Nag Kath was not leaking any state secrets either by saying, “Shurran and I saw Radagast again. Seeing someone that old, like Tom Bombadil, reminds me how much history comes before us.” He looked at Ardatha and said, “Your son did you proud, daughter. He listened and learned.”

Ardatha accepted the compliment saying, “He is like you, that way.”

They got a half-grin from their favorite Elf as he said, “Both of us kept waiting for the old wizard’s house to fall around our ears. There is no earthly reason for it to stand so it is not earth that keeps it. We talked about healing and my trip to Mordor. I had thought he or the Shepherds of the Forest might have helped in restoring the greenery but it seems to be growing on its own. That is encouraging. Shur probably told you about meeting your nephew Devoran Carstors.”

“He did. We are under strict orders to visit his family on our way home. I always got the impression he wanted privacy and now I understand why.”

Tal hadn’t heard any of this which got her twenty minutes of Nag Kath and Ardatha explaining the succession and folk walking on eggshells around Brand. Tal had no idea and Ardatha did not fully understand the court intrigues until Shurran returned. She and Reyald simply knew that growing-up in the country was safer for their son, just as Dev’s father thought for him. Shurran Conath was still second in line to the throne. Since Carstors would certainly abdicate, Shur was actually next up.

Ardatha cracked open the jar, “Shur said you met the Carstors daughters as well, one with them and the other in Dale?”

Nag Kath wasn’t sure he wanted to see where this led but these were two of his best friends. The children of men did not shoulder their troubles alone. He said gently, “Yes, two girls. That is why so much falls to the men in the family. I was much in the company of Lilac’s friend in Dale.”

In all the world of eyebrow raising, no one alive could top Talereth Toroldinar. There might be contenders now that it was white instead of dark red but the arch was still perfection. Nag Kath looked at both women and said, “I fell in love again.” He got a far-off look in his eye before adding, “Tal, she reminded me very much of you.”

Neither woman had anything ready on the tips of their tongues for that little gem. They could feel his pain. Was that what kept him from being a real Elf? His long hair did not hide it. Other than the Queen, known only formally, they knew no other Elves. Elves were said to display no emotion in the company of mortals. 

Tal started to suggest meeting a Mrs. Pelanties, tragically widowed and now in Minas Tirith from Pelargir. A sentence in she thought to wait a while. She would ask about the mystery woman when they were alone. Nag Kath walked Ardatha home. Along the way she said, “Thank you for taking such good care of my son. He is grown now but always my boy. He seems much more mature with just another year of seasoning. And thank you for being there for the Thain. Having Shur must have been a help to Torrold. Tor is a good man.”

Her step-da agreed, “He is, dear daughter. Torrold and Shurran spent quite a bit of time together at the lodge. He will never forget his roots run deep.”

Ardatha became more practical, “He is also better dressed.”

That got almost a full grin, “I couldn’t have the heir to the heir walking about like a fish-monger. He stayed with me, rather than your home alone. I have all those other grandkids in the commercial heart of the city. Bren and Bard are retiring this year and turning the business over to them.”

Leaving the restaurant, Nag Kath did a pivot of his own, “Ardatha, what plans for you and Reyald after the posting?”

She took another twenty paces before answering, “We are of many minds about that. It is the same problem you have; family is in Dale but no future. Reyald is a vibrant, heroic man, a born leader. So is his beloved brother. If the King agrees, perhaps another five-year posting will give us some of both. And like you, we will visit because that is where we are from. I am glad about granna. We will certainly travel home at the end of this term, probably to return here whether Reyald is still Ambassador or not.”

They passed through the sixth gate and she continued, “We like it here. Eniecia loves it here.”

“Is she over her little, uh …?”

“Which one?”

He smiled, “Ah, the joys of youth!”

“You were as good as your word and left for a year.”

“Not for that. I had business in Dale and also along the way, especially along the way.”

The pair arrived at the residence with Loral greeting them and offering him something to drink. Nag Kath declined but Reyald came upstairs only a few minutes later so ale was inevitable. The three of them sat in the main room with both children out. Ardatha said to Reyald, “I told him about coming back after visiting home again.”

Reyald took a satisfying pull of the local tan and sucked the foam from his moustache before asking, “What do you think, Nag? Oh, and before I forget, thank you for outfitting our first-born.”

Nag Kath took a long sip himself and responded, “I was telling Ardatha he needed Lordly togs. They came in handy. As to staying; yes, but you need something to do, whether you return for a second term or privately. I brought a hundred Florin down with me. I would like to give it to you as part of my property business.”

They both looked at each other in an instant and she said, somewhat affronted, “That is not necessary, Nag. We are managing quite well.”

Reyald looked concerned, but not so much that he couldn’t keep listening. Nag Kath had another sip and said, “Nonsense! I’m your da and I take care of my own. I gave Bren and Bard something like four hundred so you are the poor relations.”

Nag Kath told them about his interests here and in Osgiliath. They had no idea. They knew he came into a stake with the troll hoard but nothing like this. And then he told them he still had another hundred in Dale. Digging deeper her step-da said to Reyald, “Broughtur Mülto runs things here and he is ready to retire. My thought would be to ease you in as a gentleman shareholder, feathering the nest for a retirement of travel and leisure. My part stays quiet so I can slay dragons.”

Reyald grinned and asked, “There is no way my wife can talk you out of that?”

She said more earnestly, “Yes! Nag, this is unseemly. We have always earned our way.”

Nag Kath reached over and held her hands in both of his, “Reyald’s da just went to his ancestors. Your blood father died forty years ago. Your step-da before that. You have their legacies but you will not outlive me. Can it not be my turn to give you what I have created for being such a wonderful daughter?”

Oh dear! He was right! Eniece had refused her later settlement to maintain her freedom, but the first payment for Ardatha’s birth was spent in giving her advantages she never took for granted. Torrold inherited the Thainhold. Ardatha and Rey had about ten Florin banked with all expenses here paid by the crown. Steady rents would make things more certain.

There was no challenging his Elf Lord demeanor. “Yes, da. We will accept it gratefully.” Reyald relaxed. He liked his job and would be glad of a second appointment, but if King Bain was grooming a man of his own generation, Reyald could retire without worry. 

His spare father-in-law said, “Broughter has been ill with the fiehl. When he is on his feet, I will sound him out on how much work he still wants to do. He has his own property and runs mine. Since this is new money, it does not reduce his share and I think he would be glad of a reliable partner. Let us keep this under our hats, eh?”

As their benefactor strolled home, they sat next to each other without saying anything. Mostly it was in shock that Nag Kath, the reluctant war hero and artist, had another side to him. They wondered how much else he had never mentioned.

The next morning, never too early, Nag Kath got a surprise visit in the form of Talereth. Turnlie was out getting groceries and seeing to a new stove just the way she wanted it. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and showed her into the main room before getting a couple mugs of cool tea.

She sat holding her hands in her lap the way she always did when she was thinking hard before slowly saying, “Nag, I’m sorry to have teased you about the woman in Dale.”

“What teasing? I tell you because you understand these things.”

“No, I was making old-lady banter and I embarrassed you. Please forgive me.”

“If you insist, but I didn’t notice. She was quite lovely and perfect except that any woman I want deserves someone who will stay by her. That has been hard medicine to swallow. I told you before, I love females. I love them for themselves. I love intimacy. Men in my position often have concubines or long-suffering wives they can order about, taking what they want. I cannot bring myself to do that.”

Tal was ready to cry. She knew this, which made loving him so much more complicated. He couldn’t have an ordinary human life. Nag Kath collected his satchel and showed her a picture of a pretty young woman, “This is Grace. She doesn’t look like you but you were cut from the same bolt. I wished she would have come with me ...", he grew wistful, "but I did not beg.” 

His next thought netted the famous grin, “I took a page from your book and tried to reunite her with a very handsome young man. And I feel better for that. I want the best for her, just as I did for you, dear Tal.”

Tal did start to cry. “Nag, I want that for you. Can you not live with a woman like you did with Eniece all those years?”

He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb and said, “Yes, yes I could, and I would. But it was not so long ago that every man and lad who could bear a sword was called from those they love to fight, fight and likely die. It happened over and over again. It happened to your first husband. I am the last soldier of a war that never ended. Tal, I wish with all my heart it had. I was saved, time and again, for that purpose. Please understand.”

She did. She finally did. It did not mean he couldn’t enjoy himself in the meantime, though. His meantime could be a life of men. She knew just the candidate. Tal had never gotten over Florice, her greatest achievement in matchmaking, her greatest disappointment. She saw Flor a month ago. The woman was not with her beau but that did not mean he was not still around. They chatted for a few minutes about nothing in particular. Neither offered how they could be reached, although Tal was where she always was.

Nag Kath slyly reminded her of another introduction, “Tal, were you behind Eniecia and Caladrion?”

She smiled her best enigmatic smile, “Fraid so, dear man.”

“How is that progressing?”

“I think well, but the young man travels quite a bit. The child still dances and hums those curious southern songs.”

“Not a child anymore. Yes, I am afraid we put her on the spot going to Rohan. I thought she might strangle Shurran but she was beautiful and much lauded. Sometimes we must be pulled from our shell.”

Just as she knew he had been. “Nag, I will be a better friend. No, no, please do not protest. And, if I happen to meet someone you might like, forgive me for that too.”

He had always thought she tried to join him with females to replace what he could not have with her. She left him. Nag Kath recovered and was married long and well but Tal still felt responsible. He laughed and admitted, “Yes, you have excellent taste. Please, just no one whose heart I will break.”

It was several weeks before he heard from the King. Aragorn had been at his farm in Lossarnach much of the late spring and only returned six days past. His pattern was to visit Arnor every other year as the northern capital of Annúminas was restored and then to either stay at the stud or travel elsewhere in the off-year. The Elf was shown into the private study he liked so well. He thought it odd that he had never made a study of his own. Both of his homes were barns, good for entertaining but not very personal. He might change that.

The last day of his visit with Radagast he decided not to explain the picture of Melkor. Shurran was sworn to secrecy by some Dalish blood oath. Explaining the Dwarf ring turned out poorly, a lesson learned. This was just a picture of a dream but might be more. Nag Kath also stayed with his decision not to mention Elrond’s book. As long as Elves lived, it may take a deal more time before Arwen was ready to treat with him as kindred. 

Conversation stayed to Radagast and the unsolved mystery of the right-living sorcerer. Aragorn enjoyed the company of wizards, though he had only met Radagast once, long ago. The brown wizard was a favorite uncle; sweet and a bit scattered but fiercely protective of creatures that could not defend themselves. That he seemed to be growing into his forest made sense considering Gandalf said Radagast saw the need to stay behind.

His Lordship made a suggestion, which, like many lordly suggestions, was of moment. “You might enjoy visiting Ithilien and seeing the growth there, Nag Kath.”

Nag Kath had seen almost nothing but Ithilien for seven years. When his expression stayed the same, Aragorn added, “I mean further south, below Emyn Arnen. That is most of the land. It was much abused by Sauron but is becoming beautiful again. I understand there are still water problems.”

“Then I will, Sire. May I ask a favor while I am here?”

“Of course.”

“I would like to show my granddaughter the painting of King Turambar in the magistry room. Perhaps one of the lady escorts could explain it to her.”

“Yes, she does look like the Queen. Come anytime.”

Three days later, Lady Eniecia and Lord Kath walked the short way to the seventh gate and were admitted at the preferred palace entrance. Staff knew they would come and could take good care of them. On the way up he asked her, “Are you still dancing the Water Blossom?”

The girl gave him a knowing look and said, “It is one of my favorites.”

“Good. So you are no longer mooning over impossible matches?”

Eniecia laughed as a woman, not a child and said, “Almost. Now, what devilry have you got in mind, grand-da?”

“We will retrace some of your poor Uncle Nag’s steps.” 

The docent arrived and introduced herself as Nathalda with a curt bow. This was not the leisurely tour most visitors got. Nathalda strode at a fair pace back towards the interior ministry offices to the double-doors of the court-room. With no royals there were no guards so they just stepped in. 

Nag Kath took Eniecia’s hand and led her to the painting that created his first impression of beauty, and probably saved his life in the bargain. At first the girl looked at the scope of the large work until her eyes found the woman he had described a year before. Her eyes got wider and she put her hand over her opening mouth, as girls are taught by fifth and sixth level parents.

Eniecia walked closer and touched Queen Nepthat’s face gently with her fingers. She turned to Nag Kath without saying anything and then turned back to the lovely face observing dour lords signing some forgotten treaty. This is what the old Nag meant. It was her, and great granna too. Had she been reborn in a familiar form so there would always be a Queen Nepthat in the world?

When the initial awe faded, Nag Kath asked Nathalda to explain what she knew of the piece. She started, “Well, Lord Kath, Lady Eniecia, this was the protocol of Burgiss in the year 614 of the Third …”

When he could get a word in edgewise he asked, “Tell me of the Queen. She is why we are here.”

“I am sorry, sir. All we know is her name and that she had two sons.”

He thought the scholars might have more information buried in the archives. “Thank you, Nathalda. Eniecia, are you ready for some lunch?”


	31. The Beast Pool

** _Chapter 31_ **

** _The Beast Pool_ **

The King’s suggestion to visit Ithilien was tantamount to a royal command. The Elf knew better than to ask why since Sauron and water were in the same statement. And it was not very far away. First he saw to Broughtur Mülto’s recovery and meeting with Reyald. The two men knew each other from being in Nag Kath’s sphere but business was another matter. The Elf put a hundred Florin into Kathen as the Conath's interest. Mülto would work with Reyald, embassy time permitting, to purchase property and set up the rents. Broughtur thought this a fine idea. His health scare reminded him that he had already won his race and it was time to enjoy the fruits.

Two months after returning to Gondor, Nag Kath visited Osgiliath. Tum was pleased to see him and learned there was a new partner across the river. That was fine with him and he liked Reyald already. If he was kin to Nag, he was family. After a couple days, the Elf made his way up the Neussan to the original compound at Gimli’s Cascade. It never failed to impress when the sun caught it right. He did not know any of the men there but they knew of him and served a fine dinner.

The bridge that started all of this was on the road he would take south exploring Lord Faramir’s fief. He stopped in Emyn Arnen first to pay his respects and was received for tea by their Highnesses. Faramir looked as he always did but Ëowyn was finally showing age, she less Dunedain than he. Alas, he had just missed the newlyweds from Rohan but Nag Kath told them of the nuptials in Dale. He was back on the road at dawn.

Three days south he pulled even with the tallest of the Ephel Düath mountains some thirty miles due east. They had the same sort of raging streams pouring down from year-round snow caps like the aqueduct waterfall. The road veered more to the Anduin than the peaks into the river flats as he got further down. From there he jogged cross-country east towards the mountains. Ground rose more slowly than near the Nuessan across rolling hills with a mix of trees and grasslands feeding streams running towards Pelargir. Before dusk, he made camp with enough time to sit as he often did with his arms around his knees holding a cup of hot tea. It was quite a view all the way to the Anduin and past, still a hundred miles from Pelargir. 

The next day he crossed a valley hidden from the river view that was lush with flowers and fruits. It was perfect -- a little too perfect. These were planted. Ents? Too far south. Radagast said he had not been here. Yet there were no men, tending and watering and pulling weeds the way they always did. Why had the King sent him here? It would be for a good reason. He helped himself to the little blue berries and had Lembas for dinner.

He heard them an hour before dawn. Two men, possibly three, had quietly taken positions in the brush some twenty paces from his camp. They did not speak to each other. Charlo was unconcerned, which was unusual. At first light, two men moved closer to each other and then approached the unoccupied bedroll near the cold fire. Both were wearing dark green cloaks with hoods over their heads. They also carried bows with arrows in hand but not nocked. Rangers? Neither said a word. He did. From behind them; “Drop those bows or we will have trouble.”

People never listen! One caught a fist on the jaw and the other got a blade under his throat. Nag Kath said, “I asked nicely. Drop it.” The man did. “And now the dirk at your side.” That fell too. 

Nag Kath pushed him towards his fallen comrade, pulling his hood back in the process. Then he gawked for a moment, “Eru bless us.” His captives were Elves in the brown and green of field ohtars. Our Elf sheathed his sword and said, “Get his feet. We will take him to the camp site.” They propped him sitting against a rock. The changeling looked at the standing ohtar and asked tersely, “What are you doing?”

The fellow straightened and announced, “You are on Elvish lands. You will come with us.” Perhaps he hadn’t noticed who still had a sword. 

Nag Kath leaned over the prostrate Elf and held his face, transferring a slight silver spell to help him regain his wits and heal the bruise. That would still take a few minutes so he turned to the other and said, “Where are you from?”

When the Elf said nothing, Nag Kath poured his canteen on the unconscious Quendu’s head. His eyes slowly cleared and then he awkwardly scrambled to his feet saying, “You are trespassing and must come with us!”

Nag Kath shook his head, “Very well, don’t forget your weapons.”

______________-------______________

The Elves were on foot so Nag Kath led Charlo for about a hundred paces. The punched Elf was stumbling in less than a straight line. The changeling handed the reins to the other and helped his victim into the saddle. When he was up Nag Kath asked, “What’s your name?” He got no answer for lack of focus. His companion said the rider was Athandoled. He did not give his own name.

After a bell they disappeared around a hill on a spur path that could not be seen from the main road. Before long, tilled farms with all manner of foods and livestock were growing along the stream plain as it widened into a lush valley. They were tended by Elves who waved showing no caution. After another hour they made a community built around several large structures in Elvish style and dozens of smaller houses, some free-standing, some like Hobbit holes dug into the bank. 

Athandoled was alert by the time they tied Charlo outside the smallest of the main buildings. Nag Kath and the unnamed ohtar pulled him down and made sure of his balance before letting him stand on his own. The healthy one went inside and was back out a minute later with a robed Elf of seeming dignitas who walked up to Nag Kath and said in Westron, “You were taken on our lands without leave.”

Not really paying attention, Nag Kath looked around and asked, “What is this place?”

The high Elf pronounced, “I will ask the questions here!”

Our Elf had enough silliness and said in Sindarin, “Then ask them quickly for I am here on the King’s business!”

Everyone within earshot, and for Elves that covers a lot of ground, stopped and gawked. The official knew someone had made a mistake. Who would be determined anon. He said to the two ohtars, “See that he stays here” and went back inside. Nag Kath fetched a Lembas cake from his saddlebag and walked to a small garden next to the two largest buildings. The recovering Elf excused himself and followed the official. The sound Elf followed Nag Kath and sat on the bench next to him. Nag Kath offered him some of his faux-Lembas which the fellow took out of courtesy and ate ruefully. 

About the time the cake was gone, a tall figure approached from a side door of the main building. The ohtar looked at him, nodded and left. The new Elf cleared his throat before saying in the common tongue, “I would have rather have never met you. Your kind were better destroyed.”

Nag Kath said without looking up, “Then you need to speak to your welcoming committee.” He turned to his host for a long moment and cracked the smallest smile, “I see your father in you.”

Prince Legolas was serious. Even though his friends Aragorn and Gimli said the Uruk was fair company, the Elf could have done without the last monster of an age. The Prince was taller than average wearing long, blonde hair pulled back without ornamentation. Dressed as a field officer, he had no visible weapons. Nag Kath left his on Charlo, save the little pen-knife.

The prisoner broke the silence, “How is your soldier?”

Legolas replied, “Better than he might be." He had heard of the bloody "fast". "Thank you for your care.”

“You are welcome. Since my being here does not seem to be your idea, do you know why the King sent me this way? He said something about water.”

Oh that sneaky Ranger! Legolas mentioned one of his main streams having gone bad the last time he met the King and Prince Faramir. This was Kath of the Water, personally responsible for the hideous gouge from the mountains to Osgiliath, a lingering legacy of Saruman's mechanical horror. Legolas had asked folk not to mention his whereabouts. He supposed that had to end someday. The Prince appraised his guest now that he was sitting here. Big for an Elf, and he thought he must be a physical Elf despite his origin, dressed like a man in new and expensive clothes with hair in the manner of city dwellers. Men would certainly think of him as outcast from the society of Elves, such as Elves remained. He rode a Lossarnach mount. The ohtar had a cut on his throat from an Elvish longsword. Neither scout saw him coming. Yes, he had other talents.

Legolas sighed, “It may be. Come, I know you missed breakfast.”

The Lord took him inside the smaller of the three public buildings where there was a commons. Elves seldom eat lunch. They have one large and one small meal a day but when can vary with their schedule. As in Thranduil’s halls, there were no bells. Everyone seemed to know the time, as measured in their needs. After helping themselves to delicious food on a counter, they sat across from each other at the end of a long dining table with another dozen male and female Elves. All were dressed like Silvans with a wide variety of hair color and complexions. They acknowledged their Prince but did not rise or babble obsequiously. One did pass a pitcher of cold tea over for Legolas to fill two mugs. After topping them he said, “I will call a meeting tonight. We are having trouble with one of our streams. Perhaps King Elessar thinks you can help.”

“I would be honored, my Lord. In the meantime, please, tell me of your home.”

Lord Legolas knew several of those seated with them did not speak the common tongue. Evidently this yrch (Elvish for the large northern orcs) spoke theirs. Wanting to include everyone, he said in Sindarin, “This is a place of growing. Some of us raise food and other crops to sustain us and to trade along with other crafts along the Anduin. Others of us help restore the terrible damage done by the dark ones to the east.” 

Legolas emphasized ‘dark ones’ in the sentence. After all this time, Arwen still suspected him of secret loyalties. It might just be that if a man forgave a grudge held a decade, that was one in five parts of his adult life. For Elves, that could be a thousand years. Nag Kath did not know how many of the folk here knew his background. He would be careful and not as quick to anger as he was with the pompous official an hour before.

In Sindarin he said to the table as a whole, “You have a lovely place here.”

What a strange accent! It was understandable but certainly not like their northern dialect, not close to Lorien either. Legolas added, “This is Nag Kath and he will be staying with us for a while. Please help him learn of Emyn Vierald and introduce him to others.”

That was the first Nag Kath knew he wouldn’t be loaded onto Charlo with the town administrator smacking the horse across the backside. Looking around the table, he reminded himself that the beautiful women were not here for his entertainment. Pity; that, but rules are rules. The Prince said to a Quendu at the other end of the table, “Kendaroulas, would you see to our guest’s accommodations?”

“Aye, my Lord.”

Both took that to mean the meal was over. Kendaroulas and Nag Kath bowed to Legolas and took Charlo to the stable. It was quite a luxurious arrangement with large, spotless stalls and fresh hay. The horse was hungry and did not stand on ceremony. Some of Nag Kath’s mannish came out in asking, “Kendaroulas, are you my guide because you have a sense of humor or because you don’t?”

The Elf smiled, “That depends on who you ask. My wife would tell you no. Friends call me Kendar.” He went on to explain a bit of the settlement. All told there were three hundred thirty people, most from the northern Kingdom but quite a few from Lorien spread over a circle about forty miles across. They would eventually go to Valinor but felt there was worthy work to be done in repairing the blight of Sauron. 

The Prince had spent quite some time after the war in the Glittering Caves with his friend Gimli as the Dwarf explored their wonders and later made good on his promise to see Elf-tended forests in return. Legolas wasn't here that often. Most of these Elves came twenty years ago after streams returned to health. Using soil and craft from their homes, trees grew tall and plants lush in their widening sphere of influence.

Kendaroulas was one of the forest-keepers. His brother was a farmer. Both were married with one child each. Nag Kath asked him, “Do you feel a pull from the Undying Lands?”

“Yes, I do and so do most here. We know that our life-force is bound to those lands but this has been our home for our entire lives. We will go when the work is done here, done or ready to hand to those who come next.” 

The town of Emyn Vierald was laid in a semi-circle spreading from the south base of a steep foothill so it got good sun all day. A stream about four paces across flowed directly through the middle of it, spanned by a bridge large enough to support carts. As a bridge-man, Nag Kath always looked underneath and at the foundations. Kendar said he had errands and took his guest to a small house on the south end of the complex. Like most Elvish structures, the doors had latches but no locks. Inside was a large main room and stove with four sleeping rooms on each corner. Evidently this was a hostel for visitors though Nag Kath was the only one there just now. More wholesome guests would stay with families and friends. His room had a bed that was long-enough, a basin and a small dresser. 

Kendar told him when to present himself at the main building for dinner with the Prince and they both left, Kendar to do whatever he was doing and Nag Kath to collect his pack. It was only mid-afternoon so he stopped at a lovely vista and pulled his sketch pad to doodle. Not long after, two children came fearlessly up to him and looked over his shoulder. One girl, one boy, of about the same age watched silently until he looked back in welcome, “How do you do? I am Nag Kath.”

They bowed or curtsied and the girl said, “Fine, thank you Nag Kath.”

In his experience, the fast way to get someone involved is to ask their advice, “Now, what do you call this hill directly in front of us?”

The boy answered, “That is Emyn Mantath, sir.”

“Do you ever go there?”

The girl smiled and said, “Yes, mother and father take us there sometimes for picnics.” Odd; that. Usually Elves aren’t born within a hundred years of each other. Perhaps they were twins. Youngsters take about time-and-a-half longer then men to mature and seem to stop aging at round forty, almost his age now, although they divined each other's age from signs he could not yet tell. 

Nag Kath smiled himself and said, “Then I will just have to draw you there.” He sketched a tiny family on the edge of a meadow sitting in the grass, too small other than to give it scale. Signing it at the bottom he gave it to the girl saying, “Here is something to remember your lovely day.” She took it gracefully and they bowed again hurrying home to show their parents the new treasure.

That was enough art for one day. Nag Kath returned to his room for rest after the minor sorcery of healing the ohtar’s jaw. If they were like him, it would have healed in a day or two but it kept the soldier from falling off the horse.

______________-------______________

Far earlier than someone with a sense of proper Elvish time, Nag Kath went to a large house close to the administrative building and loitered until he saw a few others making their way. A serious-looking ohtar on the porch wasn’t quite a guard but he wasn’t there for the scenery either. Nag Kath left his weapons in his room so the fellow gave him a professional appraisal and nodded as our Elf went inside.

Dinner was to be at a long, wide table that seemed rather more rustic than Thranduil’s. He sat next to the couple he followed who smiled but said nothing. Other folk were coming in and sat in no special precedence except reserving the middle seats of one side. As the table filled, they all conversed with no seeming concern he would hear them. He kept his own counsel. By the appointed time he counted seven males and three females plus himself.

Before long, Legolas arrived with a secretary or steward. Everyone seated rose and bowed. He bowed back just as deeply and said in Elvish, “Please, resume your chairs.” This was not the start of a council. Folk kept on with their same conversations as wine was served and small plates of greens with bread. It was only after that that Legolas said, “Thank you all for coming. Joining us tonight is Nag Kath of Gondor and places north. King Elessar has sent him our way.”

They looked at him again and nodded. He nodded back wondering again if any other than Legolas knew of his colorful past. It was probable. Some here might recognize him from his visits to the Elven Halls. The woman next to him was not put-off by history and said, “Welcome to Emyn Vierald, Nag Kath. I am Geniev and this is my husband Temuilen.” The Elf next to her smiled and nodded, no shaking hands with this lot. She continued, “Is this about the water?”

He said soberly, “I am not sure, Geniev. I seem to be a mystery guest. Thank you for your warm welcome, though.”

Temuilen added, “Yes, welcome. We have mysteries indeed.”

They did not get much further before it became the official topic. The Elf who came in with Legolas cleared his throat and all conversation around the table stopped. He then said in a low voice of great gravitas, “We are summoned to discuss the toxic water and the damage it does our labor. As we have a guest, I will explain.”

When you live thousands of years, you have to be gracious hearing the same things over again. The Elf continued, “Last year the north tributary to our main creek ran foul and killed all of the plants along it as far back as the mountain. When it joins the Ithielduin, the larger flows dilute it enough to water crops but they are not as healthy as they were before. Those of us who were here before the war recognized it was the same trouble as poisoned water coming from the Dark Lord’s domain.”

Legolas thanked him for the summary and said, “Now, friends, Aragorn has sent someone who might lend aid. Let us use his experience to see if this calamity can be assuaged. Nag Kath, know you of such trouble?” 

“Some, My Lord. It will be hard to guess without seeing. Is there a smell or color that is new?”

Legolas looked to a dark-haired Elf dressed in field green and tan. He surveyed the table and said, “Not that we can tell. Those who drank of it before the extent was known were ill. Men of Ithilien further downstream have been sickened even by the main watercourse. Last spring is the closest we can come to the time.”

An Elf three down from Nag Kath added, “I saw these lands long ago and remembered most of the streams from the Düath ran rank and killed the greens along their path.”

That started a general conversation among everyone, who were all here because they had a direct role in how the water affected their community. Legolas was eating and content to let them talk. About ten minutes in someone said, “It is water coming from Mordor!”

Nag Kath said softly at first and building the way he had been taught to control the room, “It is not Mordor.” No one spoke. They didn’t even chew. “I was there two years ago riding the other side of these mountains. The leeward does not get nearly the rain you do, but the streams were running clear. I tested all of them as I traveled north from the Nûrnen.”

No one was quite sure what would happen next. And who exactly was this man who spoke their tongue and was in Mordor, most forsaken of Arda? This was their Lord’s idea so he broke the inertia, “Nag Kath, you have been to Mordor?”

“Aye, Prince Legolas. I went to destroy a surviving ring of power. I got there through Khand but returned to Gondor through Cirith Ungol. Water making its way east was drinkable and there were beginnings of plants along the banks.”

So, what Aragorn had told him about the Dwarf ring was true! Legolas would bet diamonds against pebbles that old Stonehelm was fit to be tied. He was more interested in how the changeling knew. “Pray, Nag Kath, how could you tell they were clean?”

Our Elf started slowly, “After the war, I was given a gift by one of the Maiar that lets me divine the life-essence of the races. They show as a color. Orcs, and other creatures of Sauron, hint green with blackish threads. I can feel that in water as well. There were two such streams in Mirkwood, two days west of the turn to Your Lordship’s northern realm. Some of you may remember them. Fearnold said there was another I didn't find. They are gone now. I ran the same test on the raging waters from Minas Morgul and they were pure.”

Oh, so HE was Kath of the Water!" Most here had heard of him, even if they weren’t impressed by the graceless aqueduct. A robed Elf who seemed to know his business said, “I remember. Coming up from Dol Goldur. Running the wrong way, almost. Perhaps a pace across each?”

Nag Kath nodded.

A truly beautiful woman, who did not appear to be in the company of a male and who had not said much until now asked with some trepidation, “Are you sent to test the waters of the Telengaur?”

Nag Kath remembered not to be too charming and answered, “So it seems, My Lady, by Lord Legolas’ leave.”

Everyone at the table looked at the Lord and he nodded in agreement.

______________-------______________

About half the people at dinner and four troopers were mounted at first light. Charlo had been saddled and fitted. By habit, Nag Kath slid his fingers under the horse’s belly strap to check the cinch and climbed aboard. The pretty woman who asked after his coming was among them and also on a horse with an ear-tattoo. Elves don’t brand their horses. That is only for men who would argue over rightful ownership. It also said something about Legolas. Gimli pointedly told Nag Kath that the Elf Prince might not want to be found. If Legolas was riding the King’s horses and lording over a meaningful swath of Ithilien, he would have been in those capitals several times while the aqueduct was built. Nag Kath was never the wiser. That said something about him too. 

Prince Legolas whispered, “Chik, chik,” and pulled his mount towards the southeast. They rode for an hour at a comfortable speed and reached a river about twenty paces across running fairly deep, bridged wide enough to fit a stout cart. They formed up in single file to cross, continuing another thirty paces until they reached green grass. The Lord dismounted and everyone followed suit, letting their horses graze as the rest of the troop walked back to the brown river bank.

Plants alongside were scabby and stunted as far as the grazing horses to either side stretching both up and down the flow. The Elf who spoke about the Mirkwood streams observed, “You can see the wasting. It grows worse further up but we cannot tell from the plants when we reach the rocks of the Ephel Düath.”

Nag Kath listened carefully and looked at the Prince who gave him the slightest of nods. Then he walked to the bank and clicked his little pocket-knife, swishing it in the water for any sign of blue. If it glowed it was too faint to tell in sunlight. As everyone watched he waded in. One of the Elves was about to caution him against entering the water but the Prince shook his head and the fellow remained silent.

Much like in the Nuessan years ago, he walked almost knee deep in the water and soaked his hand. Raising his arm to the sky, Nag Kath began to glow Elvish silver. After a moment, the slightest aura of dark, almost like the steam of a doused campfire, circled him and snaked up his arm into the air. That lasted only a few seconds until he lowered his arm and walked back to Legolas saying, “It is fouled all right, sorcerously too. Something old and rotten has returned.”

In his mind, Legolas took back his half-hearted criticisms of Aragorn for inflicting the Uruk-hai upon him. The Prince called all to sit in a circle in the grass near the horses. He looked to Nag Kath who reported, “Same as Mirkwood. Are there folk up or down this stream?”

The other woman of the group who had not spoken to him before answered, “We abandoned a settlement up this valley. Men live along the bank as this joins other streams into the Great River. They report sickness but not plagues.”

The creature was sent for a purpose. Legolas raised his eyebrow and asked, “What do you recommend, Nag Kath?”

“An expedition up the mountain, My Lord. I must follow the rivulets until the source is discovered, just the opposite of Minas Morgul. It will be a long, hard business and I will need a half-troop of hardy rangers, or whatever they are called among your folk.”

That netted some surprise. Wasn’t he of their folk? While they considered that he added, “Do you have donkeys that can carry packs in rough terrain?”

______________-------______________

Back at Emyn Vierald, Nag Kath was at leisure while someone else did the organizing. Even in high summer, those peaks would be cold so stocks were laid-in of coats, food, packs and other kit for a month on the slopes. The plan was for six of their folk and Nag Kath to leave three days hence. They would travel by horse with pack animals in tow until they reached the point where the horses could not manage the ground. 

In those three days Nag Kath got an overdue lesson in Elvish reproduction. A couple of their community, young at less than a thousand years each, had entered into their joining. She sensed her first fertility coming a month before and told her husband who felt it soon afterwards. This was not the monthly cycle of human women except for the advent of conception. From now on they would go about their duties but stay near home in each other’s company. By the time Nag Kath arrived, they were starting their physical intimacy at night but out and about during the day. He only saw them once and thought they looked like any other couple who enjoyed themselves the night before.

The odder thing was the reaction of the community. In the company of men, just as in the barge camp on the Dusenorn, one man’s pleasure would either be envied or garner good-natured appreciation by men who wished it was them. Not here. Everyone respected the couple’s privacy and sometimes finished chores for them, more like aiding an injury than recreation. As this was their first joining, there were no children to mind over as many as three weeks of physical closeness. No one was inspired to take their woman, or any other, home for a roll in the hay.

Nag Kath wondered about the male. His ardor was conditional on the receptiveness of his female. Did Elf men also have fertility cycles? Had he ever had one? Would it take a She-Elf to awaken his seed? Thinking about it made wakeful rest very difficult and he was glad to get on the road with his fellow celibates.

This lot traveled with real Lorien Lembas -- more nutritious than his clumsy efforts. Four of the seven were soldiers, one was of their restoration corps and one was their equivalent of an engineer. They all had horses along with three donkeys carrying tents, food, heavy outerwear and grain for the animals if they climbed higher than forage. Brown river banks continued due east for several days. When the vegetation lessened in the hills, Nag Kath tested the water at confluences. Once when he sampled two rivulets in one day, he told his troop he needed to sleep rather than rest that night. Most of the time, he could simply pass his hand over the water for a sense.

After five days of slow going, they reached the point where the horses were a liability. One of the ohtars made camp with a tent and was to watch them for two weeks. The remaining six clambered up the mountain with two donkeys that had their own opinions about the effort. Even Elves, famous comforters of horses, only held so much sway with donkeys. 

Only one stream in each confluence was tainted. Alas, it was always the big one. Even this high, the foul water was fully eight paces across and raging hard. 

Not needing sleep and seeing well at night, it was still prudent not to press on with this kind of footing. They huddled in the two remaining tents to stay warm and fed the donkeys that tried to steal oats from each other’s packs until someone barked at them in wargish.

In luck, after a fashion, there was a trail through the crags for another three days, enough for the animals to get decent purchase. That ended abruptly in a field of broken shale covering acres down the side of a sawtooth ridge. The tainted stream gurgled through it on the way down and emerged at the bottom. The entire side of this mountain had collapsed recently. There was no going forward so they backtracked half a day and tried climbing further to the south. That went fairly well, finally gaining an allied peak the next day. The donkeys needed more food at night but their hooves held fast in the snow. 

This high, they could see a crater or bowl just below the former peak at the source of the water. Time was running low. They had plenty of Lembas but the donkeys would run out of grain in a week. Nag Kath explained, “I need a look in that hole. Does anyone remember an earthquake about the time the water went bad?”

No one recalled any such thing but this was far from the world. “With fortune on our side, I figure it will take a day to get there on foot without the beasts and a day back. You do not have to go, though I would be glad of company if there is rope-work needed.”

Cristigir and Doronthial immediately said they would be honored to come. At dawn, the three took as little as would sustain them and started picking their way through the rocks. Whatever had collapsed the adjacent mountain had not happened here and footing was fair until they reached the rubble itself. From there it was three hours of treacherous slipping and clinging. Doronthial was hit in the shin by a sliding tile of slate that took Nag Kath’s healing powers and the Elf’s own restoration to close. 

When they made the edge of the pit, all three vomited.

Uruk-hai do not lose their Lembas easily. In the water swirling below them were the bones and flesh of huge trolls and what Cristigir explained were fell-beasts the Nazgul rode in the sky. All was floating in the current like boiling stew with a nauseating stench. They were not decomposing, just chunks and carcasses with thick greasy foam lapping at the sides. Nag Kath put the pit at perhaps eighty paces long by thirty across. The top of the mountain had collapsed, diverting the snowmelt between the two peaks into this cauldron of evil, like the Dead Marshes, waiting in malevolence.

The three Elves sat down away from the edge and gathered themselves. Nag Kath said, “Forgive me but I know nothing of Elvish lore. Do you know if any of Sauron’s troops were this far south?”

Doronthial shifted his leg painfully and considered that, “Troops; I do not think so. A loremaster might correct me but I would say this was a breeding pool, perhaps for the fell-beasts and their minder-trolls. My brethren near Dale would not have seen them. I hail from Lorien and they fouled the sky coming and going from Dol Guldor.”

Concerned for his friend, Cristigir interrupted, “Nag Kath, if you have seen what you need, let us return to the flat ground an hour back to make camp away from this horrible place.” 

Crawling out of their tent at dawn in a raw wind, Doronthail had a noticeable limp. He needed more healing or he would have trouble on the loose rock. In the lee of the tent, Nag Kath had him remove his boot and sock, rolling his pant leg up to expose an angry wound. The cut had opened and bruised so our Elf used his fishhook and thread to stitch it shut. Then he applied a healing spell using both hands, this time silver on silver, to help with swelling. Neither Elf had seen that before. This came from the wizard school of cures rather than their own and Nag Kath had not learned to summon the Elvish healing of Elrond. They were still impressed and, more importantly, the pain was manageable.

Doronthail was sore for the rest of the hike across the ridge, leaving his pack behind hoping to join their friends by the end of the day. There was still more work to do. One of the other ohtars stayed with Doronthial so Cristigir and Nag Kath could climb the nearest saddle to the Mordor side of the range. The leeward had a more gradual slope with a sizeable river to the south. Footing was better too. Nag Kath was glad he looked. 

______________-------______________

Legolas called another council the day they returned. All of the riders and the same group of advisors were met this time after dinner in the same room.

Nag Kath started the report, “My Lord, ladies and gentlefolk, we discovered that a landslide toppled one of the mountain peaks, diverting the main watercourse through what Doronthail explained is the remnant of a breeding pool for the Nazgûl fell-beasts. There is sorcery still there, still active, that keeps foulness from dying."

Engineer Dythas, who stayed on the neighboring peak added, “There are not enough Dwarves in the world to divert the stream away from the pool. It is the largest single supply of water to the Telengaur, making perhaps half of it by the time it runs through Emyn Vierald.”

Prince Legolas allowed a quarter of an hour of discussion on the pool and contents. If it could not be rerouted, what were his options? Nag Kath kept quiet throughout until Legolas called on him with the essential question, “Nag Kath, what keeps that place befouled?”

“My Lord, I think this runs much further than a beast pit, and I am speculating here, for which I apologize. I have traveled, as many of you have, from here to the northern wastes and there are instances of continued dark spells the whole way.

“The Dead Marshes should have faded. Barrow-wights still prowl. People will swear ghosts haunt the Mournshaws waiting for infamy. And now we have the very mounts of the Nazgûl roiling in undeath. What they all have in common is the Witch-King, dead by the hand of the fair Lady of this very land.

“Loremasters please correct me, but I suspect that he had talismans and repositories of his own foul sorcery before being bound completely in the service of Sauron. They continue in his purpose though he is gone.”

The oldest Elf in the room was Fallingahs. He nodded gravely and said, “It is far-afield but makes more sense than anything else. I would add that Dol Guldor also seethes with blackness. The nine were much there at their master’s bidding as necromancer. It is reliably said that the horses of the nine were swept away at the Bruinen. Perhaps the Lord of the Nazgûl was tasked to replace them with the fell-beasts.”

Legolas looked at his wisest counselor, “Fallingahs, do you think the answer lies in those wretched ruins?”

Fallingahs shook his head and said softly, “Angmar.”

______________-------______________

The Elves could not cleanse their water from here. That river and everything it touched would suffer. Legolas recalled his most senior advisors the next morning. Most of their farming and reforesting was unaffected but it seemed there was no end of ancient malice. It was a short meeting. Legolas would go see his old friend the King of the Reunited Kingdom and tell him what they found. And as much as he did not like it, the Uruk had been of service, just as others had said of him. He might have been less impressed if he knew how distracted the changeling was with joyous coupling only four doors from his guest quarters.

Prince Legolas had more time than he wanted. Any incursion into Angmar would come from Arnor with no help from the Eldar. Troops would follow their sovereign but might not be enthusiastic about cleaning Elvish water. The threat was to Ithilien and by extension Gondor and by extension the entire Kingdom. Now late summer, it would come, if it came, from the King returning to Annúminas next spring. The water would have to be foul at least that long, longer if his advisors were wrong about what was keeping these cesspits of Sauron alive.

Legolas thought about the Uruk. He was forbidden Erebor. Did that include greater Erebor of the Glittering Caves? Legends had it, now more believable than before, that the creature had negotiated with orcs. There would be orcs aplenty in the crescent of Angmar. As long as they stayed there no one was inclined to bother with them. But the orcs would not be in charge. It would be men in Angmar, the same disgruntled, bitter men that had always lived there. They might have nothing to do with this sorcery either. In the end, Legolas was a creature of action. Decisive movement was needed. After the harvest he would talk with the Lords of Gondor.

Nag Kath came to the same conclusions. He also knew that if Aragorn intended to take troops into Angmar, he would ask his help. The orcs outside the crescent said there were orcs inside. The latter would certainly defend their lands unless someone gave them a good reason not to. He smiled wondering if Lake Evendim, home to the summer capital, had whisker-fish.

No one from the Prince’s staff had spoken to him since their return from the mountains so he decided he would learn what he could, starting with healing, and now he had an excellent excuse to ask. Kendar said their healer was the Quenda (woman) Loniel. Nag Kath asked for an introduction since Elves do not share their secrets with former orcs. Late in the afternoon they went to a modest home on the other side of the community from the guest quarters and waited in a sitting room while she attended a patient.

Not long after, an Elf left her healing room gingerly with his foot wrapped in a bandage. He was no sooner out the door than the beautiful She-Elf of the water meetings greeted them. Both visitors stood to exchanged bows. Kendar began introducing the guest and their reason for coming. When Loniel saw the chance, she interrupted saying, “Thank you dear Kendar. I have already met Nag Kath.”

Duty done, he said goodbye and followed the limping Elf to see if he could help. Both Nag Kath and Loniel remained standing, saying nothing. When the silence was overwhelming, he stated his reason for coming, “Forgive me, I had not heard your name before. It is Loniel, yes?”

What a curious accent. “Loniel, yes.”

He supposed that a healer should be one of the water council. It also gave him cover for his more general questions. There was no time like the present, “I came to ask more about the effects of the taint for your people and those downstream.”

‘Your people’? Yes, he was not really an Elf. The Prince did not trust him but told his subjects to assist, a delicate balance? On the other hand, he found the poison at its source, something none of them could do. To buy a little time she asked, “Would you like tea? It is cold.”

“Cold is how I like it in the summer.”

Please, sit over here. I’ll just get some.”

Finally, a chair that fit him. He measured the height on his thigh to have one made back home. Loniel brought him a mug and one for herself, sitting at a right angle to her strange guest. Adjusting the smallest pleat in her skirt she wondered, “What would you like to know, Mr. Kath?”

“Please, just Nag Kath. I wanted to learn when these troubles started and what it did to people.”

She looked slightly upward as if to recollect and said, “Spring, last year. Plants along the Telengaur died quickly and the brown spread as far as you saw on our ride. Our Tanduiviel community upstream drank the water and became ill with digestive complaints.” He imagined she put that charitably but his face registered nothing but concern. “I am told that men further downstream had the same difficulties. The impure water was more diluted but they do not have our resilience.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Loniel.” He paused but she offered no diminutive. “What remedies did you find effective?”

“Burney root in tea and Cholis leaves ground and eaten. I believe your people call it Red Colich.” 

It was Nag Kath’s turn to wonder who ‘his people’ were. He plodded on, trying not to sound like a guardi, “Were there reports of troubles of the mind like; anger or confusion?”

She took a sip of her tea and answered, “Yes, both, some folk more than others. They passed with the lower disorders and all are fine now.” She eased into a lovely smile and said, “I confess, I was a bit disordered when I went there to attend our people, but I only drank of the water once and then we determined that was the cause.”

He smiled too, “You seem fine now. Would you like me to see if any has remained?”

Oh dear! It sounded so innocent. She saw with her own eyes how the changeling had divined the nature of the water with sorcery, the sorcery of Saruman if that rumor of many was accurate. The Prince might not approve. Loniel decided that as healer to Emyn Vierald she should know so she said primly, “What must I do, Mr. Kath?”

He had a moment of pause himself. This would involve physical touch, an anathema to Elves. She was lovely and seemed to be single. Even being a healer, how could someone like her not be married? How could any of them not be married?! The Prince was unclaimed. Every prince he had ever heard of could take his pick of the available womenfolk. What was wrong with this woman?! That and having the young couple squeaking the springs all night lessened his focus. 

As close to his practitioner’s demeanor as he could manage, Nag Kath said, “Nothing too intrusive. If you would untie your cuff and roll your sleeve back to your forearm …”

She chose the closest arm and offered her lovely hand. He gently took it with both of his and concentrated. Having applied a blood spell on the ohtar, he had some feel for Elvish pulse and blood flow. Nag Kath closed his eyes and imagined her nature as it should be. A soft silver glow emanated from all three hands for a few seconds until he slowly released his grip to end the spell. With a smile he said, “You show no lingering signs. I will make discreet inquiries in Pelargir as well.”

Loniel had braced herself for something much less pleasant. He sensed her resistance had eased, if only slightly. Now it was time to weave this into his general curiosity. “Mrs. Loniel, did you use any drawing spells as remedies?”

The Prince said nothing about this! Oh, she wished she knew what he approved. Something was called for so she looked in her lap and said, “I do not have those skills, Mr. Kath. Not many of us did and they are now in the Undying Lands.” She hoped he would not press. She did have small drawing powers but had not used them against Sauron’s malice. Loniel was about to put more distance between herself and her talent when she realized that this creature would know her capabilities from his sorcerous touch! Oh dear! Did he mean mischief or was he truly a healer?

This was unfair to her but he would not have a great deal of time and it was for a good cause, the last defense of the unscrupulous, “I understand. Please excuse my being so forward. I simply wondered if the Athae Áma might help others I meet.”

That was the hook. It came from Elrond’s book of cures. The Elf Lord had used it, or a variation, on Frodo years before. Countering the Morgul blade needed both physical care for the wound and relieving the horror sown with it. Neither could be completely successful after days of festering but they were as effective as any in Middle-earth.

Loniel knew of the cure but it was beyond her powers. How on earth did this creature know? Could he actually do it? That spell and others like it were of Rivendell and Lorien, places of learning and calm. She was from the Woodland Realm, a much more militant strain of firstborn. Elves were still not so harmonious that the enclaves shared all their secrets. Loniel knew healing of her tribe but never studied with the greats.

For his part, Nag Kath knew the incantation but not the summoning. His seemingly off-the-cuff question might just break the impasse. Loniel’s curiosity got the better of her. If this changeling could help her help her community, she would take the risk. It had to be done subtly. There was no telling how much the changeling knew. At it happened, he knew barely enough. He knew the wizards’ healing sorcery and witch's confusion spells; how to relieve and how to induce them.

The Quenda took a few moments to construct her response, “It might, Mr. Kath”

“Please, Nag Kath.”

She allowed herself a smile, “Nag Kath, then.” Then, as if it scarcely mattered, she played her hand, “Do you know cures of Imladris?”

“A few, though I summon them as the Istari would.” That was pure surmise. With the exception of Radagast’s pencil call, his party tricks were self-taught. It was close enough. He continued, “I used one for the poor ohtar I struck. Said in Quenya, ‘_**Bring clarity forth. Set aside distraction.**_’ The cadence must be timed to breath. My poor effort is more by feel. Please, give me your hand again.”

Loniel still hesitated but this was fascinating. He used his confusion clearing spell. With no disorder to remove, it was over in an instant but her face flushed slightly. He hoped she was not so clear-headed that she saw through his ruse. To seal the exchange he asked, “How would you summon such a drawing?”

The woman added her other hand making four and pulled the slightest power from inside her. It was of water, like his, but was not taken from the elements outside. Was Elvish recovery why Mrs. Skilleth said that cures were nothing to his kind? Yes, it must be. At some point in the lives of men they were in a constant losing battle with strength. These folk kept getting stronger. She was probably old enough that her power was restored almost instantly.

It took half a dozen tries until she was able to separate the syllables into a more rhythmic cadence. There was no color but the image of their hands together blurred slightly as she concentrated on the incantation he told her. He felt a wave of clarity, not unlike mindful rest. When she got it right, it was over in seconds.

The healer leaned back in her chair, not from fatigue but in the awe of discovery. She knew there would have been little power in her cure but it was there and could be developed in time. Now he knew where to summon the power, even if he could not replenish it as quickly. Was it from his existing resources or did they build reserves against the need? Loniel did not seem the worse for wear.

A compliment was in order, “Yes, I think you have it! Perhaps that can help your folk.” More gravely, “We still have work ahead in managing that vile humor from the mountains. You will be needed. The source is found but not repaired.”

Nag Kath was ready to keep touching but Loniel rose gracefully and said, “If you will forgive me, Nag Kath, I must rest after that experience and then attend a first-time mother whose time draws near.”

He stood and bowed as she showed him the door.

______________-------______________

The next day there was no summons from the Lord. He sketched some of the unique homes and scenery and checked on a split in one of Charlo’s hooves. It would heal. In the meantime, he mapped a course to follow the river west to Pelargir. That would let him observe the effect of the mildly tainted water closer to the Anduin and he could stop by Lentaraes’. It seemed a pleasant city. He would take his leisure and then either ride up through Lossarnach or take the riverboat to Osgiliath if Charlo’s hoof needed more rest.

Nag Kath sensed it was time for a graceful exit so he asked to speak to the Lord. “With your permission, Prince Legolas, I thought to take your merchant road to Pelargir and gauge the damage of the water on men of the river.”

The Prince saw that offer the same way and said, “Yes, thank you, Nag Kath. A mannish healer is known to us in that city who may be of use. His name is Vellund Kieff. Mention us.”

“Then I will fare you well. Is there any message I can take the King?”

Legolas said, “Merely the same things you told us. I will confer with Prince Faramir shortly, anticipating, a council before long.”

Nag Kath rose and bowed. 

An Elf, burlier than usual, was hoisting crates of fruit onto a well-sprung wagon. Another Elf brought a team of horses to the traces. Nag Kath walked up to the big one and said, “Your pardon, I seek Tol Avrendi.”

“Your search is ended. How can I help?”

“I am Nag Kath and heading for Pelargir. I thought you might like company.”

“You are the fellow who went up into the mountains, yes?”

“Along with a troop of brave Quendu to steady me.”

“Aye, we leave within the hour.”

Nag Kath said, “I have to say a few goodbyes but I will have no trouble catching you if I am late.”

“Fine, we move fast though. Tables of the White City want this fresh.”


	32. Downstream

** **

** _Chapter 32_ **

** _Downstream_ **

Nag Kath walked back to the commons first and had considerably less trouble coaxing Lembas and ready food from the servers than he would have from the redoubtable Rosas. Then he said farewell to Kendar with thanks for shepherding him through Emyn Vierald. Finally he saddled and bridled Charlo and trotted back to the loading area in time to see the wagon rolling not a quarter mile ahead.

Avrendi was a different sort of Elf. Nag Kath supposed they couldn’t all be identical. Nearly as tall as Nag Kath and even broader across, he could be a teamster for any race under Arian’s sun. He even had the deep voice to persuade sulky horses. There were no escorts or spare driver, the advantage of not needing sleep.

As he pulled alongside, Tol Avrendi said, “Fine horse.”

“Thank you. We have traveled thousands of miles together over the years.”

“This trip will add another sixty. We will be there day after tomorrow, weather permitting.”

“By your leave, I would examine the water flowing down the Telengaur for trouble.”

“I understand, but remember this stream takes us upriver of Pelargir. This is the southernmost source to the Anduin. Every drop of rain below us makes for the Poros.”

Nag Kath said over a squeaking wheel, “I have separate errands. Wherever you go is fine.”

Like most teamsters, Avrendi spoke richly and sometimes humorously of his journeys. Nag Kath could match him for places and wonders. They got along well. The carter was just contrary enough to not be offended by the strange half-Elven tagging along.

The next night brought them to the mannish crossroads coming north from the Poros River. Nag Kath remembered that delta as the last harbor upstream capable of handling deep-hulled sea vessels. Captains could and did sail further, but catching a keel on the shifting bottom was on their head.

Elves don’t camp the way men do since they only take a few hours of waking rest. They only stop when the ground is too rough to see at night and to give the horses half a night’s sleep. Nag Kath made a fire for tea to go with Lembas and as much fruit as they wanted. 

The driver was right, they made good time. Arriving well before dusk, the wagon reached a small go-down with a waiting sail/oar ferry docked at the pier. A clerk paid Avrendi, whose ears were hidden like Nag Kath's. Stevedores unloaded his crates and put three back on the wagon before the teamster went marketing for things needed back in Emyn Vierald.

Nag Kath knew there were good roads on either side of the river. Getting across was the hard part. The barge captain speculated, “We might could put-in on the north side.” A silver king confirmed that and Nag Kath was dropped just upstream before the craft returned to the south bank, avoiding the deep channel pouring out the Sirith. He was in Pelargir by dinnertime.

On his last trip there was only time to find Lentaraes and organize passage to the sea. Nag Kath followed his nose to the nicer inns. There was a festival of some sort and accommodations were tight. That was fine by him. He liked festivals and still found decent lodgings with a stable for three nights. 

Pelargir was one of the oldest Numenorean cities, constantly riven by disputes; political, economic and racial. Who ruled mattered because it was essential to commerce further upriver for both Minas Tirith and Osgiliath. Nearly a hundred thousand souls at its zenith, it now hosted fifteen thousand rebuilding from the war. 

The city center was nearly a perfect triangle splitting the Sirith River delta. The triangle had canals dividing the land into three arrowhead-shaped islands with an oval harbor in the middle. Two oval walls on the outer banks housed half the population and manufacturing businesses. 

Evidently the festival was in a different part of the city with no revelry on his block. There was a good restaurant that had fresh blue Odar kept in tanks after being caught off the Ethir Anduin delta at the sea. Pretty women winked hoping to separate him from a few coppers. A tavern further towards the docks had good ale. 

Nag Kath had only been on the north bank. That was where they docked last time and Lentaraes’ home and mill were further up the east fork of the Sirith. The next morning, not indecently early, he walked to his friend’s home. The same steward opened the door, not remembering him. The Elf said, “I am Nag Kath come to see Master Lentaraes.”

The name rang a bell but something was different. The man hesitated a moment then showed him to the familiar room with the two drawings just off the entryway. Ten minutes later, a very well-preserved woman in her thirties appeared and asked, “Who are you?”

Not what he expected but not offended, Nag Kath rose saying, “I am an old friend of Lentaraes. I haven’t been here in nine years, thought I might catch him away from work.”

“Work no longer weighs on his time.”

“A life of leisure, then. I should imagine that suits him.”

“He is dead.”

Nag Kath kept his face straight. This was not a complete surprise. Miller Maedegon burned his candle at both ends. Before he could sympathize she added, “Can’t say I remember you.”

“I am Nag Kath, of Dale and Minas Tirith.”

“You are not a bill collector?”

“Not hardly, Mrs. Maedegon. I am just passing through. Please accept my condolences for your loss.”

She had to think about that for a moment then smiled, “Well, as long as you are here, can I offer you wine?” She motioned for him to sit.

“Too early for me. I could be tempted with cool tea.”

She nodded to steward Vergere who disappeared towards the kitchen. Then she sat to his left, “I am Phylless.”

“My pleasure, Phylless. When I was here last, Lentaraes was a bachelor.”

She stifled a laugh, “No, Mr. Kath. He wasn’t.” That netted her his best raised eyebrow, said to rank middling among free-peoples. A maid brought the tea and was gone.

She continued, “We were married fifteen years ago. His eye roved. I moved back with my hard-put parents. Three years ago, the barley spirits finally did him in and I’m a widow, the only one, surprisingly. I don’t cause his family any trouble at the mill and we came to terms. And now; what of you young man?”

Two days ago he was almost an Elf. Here he was a young man again. He would be honest with Phylless. Nag Kath pointed to his drawing of the playing girl saying, “I drew that when we were in art school.”

She had seen the picture many times but rose for a closer look. Nag Kath thought she might be ready for reading spectacles. Phylless drank it in and whispered, “That was forty years ago.”

“I take good care of myself.”

She gave him a long look as she returned to the couch. “You are not a man, then?”

“Half-Elven. I was there right after the war. Our third friend Timalen still lives at the old school and makes the most beautiful things.”

“Mr. Kath …”

“Just Nag Kath.”

“Nag Kath, I cannot say I miss my late husband, but I would be interested to learn more about him. He is a sad mystery that even his family cannot fathom. I am friend to some. Will you be in Pelargir long?”

“Several days at least, possibly more. I have nothing pressing upriver.”

“Would you come to dinner here tomorrow night? By then I can organize a friend or two who would be grateful to hear how the man who could paint the picture next to yours became as he did, that is, if it does not conjure painful associations.”

He smiled, “Not at all, dear lady. If you can find them, I might be able to explain some of his other works.”

She smiled, “Shall we say just before the seven-bell?”

______________-------______________

Back at the inn, it was time to find the healer Vellund Kieff. Healers had a guild but not a district. Midwives, herbalists and whatever else came with the designation stayed either to their islands or the two outer-circles. Mrs. Hürna had good luck here in the New Town so he asked the desk clerk and was directed ten blocks up the strand and then almost to the outer wall.

It did not take long to lose the luster of waterfront living. The healers were between squalid tenements and a lovely garden. Nag Kath was unarmed but a man who knew the town might be better protected. When he arrived he could see how Mrs. Hürna found her wares. There must be eight shops with herbs along with the usual alchemists and soothsayers too, but some genuine business was done here. He stopped in several stores looking for the ingredients mentioned by Loniel, sold by skinny women. At the third shop he got both. 

The proprietress came forward and asked politely, “Is sir seeking something special?”

“Burney root and Red Colich, if you have it.”

Few asked for those. She took mental inventory, “Colich I have. Can’t help you with the burney.”

“Then just a bag of the colich. I'll need quite a bit." She went to a rack of mismatched jars and climbed a small ladder to fetch one off the top shelf. Pouring a full scoop into a woven sack, she tied the ends and returned to the counter. He asked, “Do you know Vellund Kieff? I was told he was in your city?”

“Can’t say I do, sir. That will be six groats for the colich.” 

He tried another avenue, “Are there practitioners here who can pull a delicate infection?” That was the least physically taxing sort of inductive healing so the most likely to earn a confidential referral.

She shook her head and said, “Not anymore, on this side anyhow. Old Miss Esties died three years now. Hard life, that. You might try the Quarter of the Faithful.” The woman was just naturally thin.

Before sauntering back, Nag Kath stopped at a shop with a newer sign for the Khandian treatment of soreness. Baths and houses of massage had long been in the west, with varying reputations depending on the areas massaged. But this was specifically for treating how the body was connected, a kink in the back could cause pain in the leg. Inside was a woman fitting the description with broad shoulders and powerful hands. She had no patients and seemed to work alone. He asked in Variag, “You are of the Viersh?”

Not what one expected from the mouth of pasty blonde dandies. This was her living so she smiled and said in her same tongue, “I trained in Nûrad, best of sirs.”

“I never got that far, but I knew a healer of the Viersh near Lhûg.”

That was impressive. Of course, Viersh had nothing on Nûrad, but both schools insisted on the best. By Those Named, who was this creature? She asked, “Does sir need treatment?”

“No, I am fit today, but I am a great believer in your craft. If you will give me a few of your cards, I will share them with those who would benefit.”

She could do that all day long and handed him four slips of stiff paper with her business and address written both in Variag and the common-tongue. The stranger read her name only shown in script, “Thank you, Beshugya. Oh, do you know of a healer named Vellund Kieff?”

“I am sorry, best of sirs. I am new here and keep to my store.”

“Very wise. Best of fortune with grace of the Those Named.”

______________-------______________

Back at the inn he planned his search. Pelargir was a large place with few straight lines. Each of the five sections was largely self-sufficient because transporting goods could get expensive. A tenner sliding across the desk got the undivided attention of the clerk.

“Thank you, sir. We are in the New Town, the largest district. You would have seen something of the size on your errand. The far side is perhaps half that and largely manufacturing ... breweries, livestock and trades. In the triangle, the eastern arrow is the Eärnil, seat of the Governor and the Marines.” He added more confidentially, “Also known to those who provide commerce to their Lordships.

“The northern arrow is the Ancient Market, oldest of the three and seat of most Guilds. The far arrow is the Quarter of the Faithful where are found great honors done to our heroes, but there are warehouses and ships like everywhere else.”

The Elf considered that and said, “I should like to see the better parts of all. Will that take me long?”

“On horse, no. If you walk at leisure and keep to the more orderly areas, I should think a day each, but that is only a guess.” Folk largely stayed to where they lived or worked.

If the Ancient Market was site of most guilds, including the healer’s guild, he would make that the afternoon adventure. Strolling up the lesser Sirith towards the Maedegon home he took the bridge across to the north arrow. This area was older because it was further from fire bombardment in river attacks. Wharves along the bank had the most shipbuilding and repairing of the three. Commerce was bustling. Men and women were hawking goods in several market squares as both locals and traders vied for the best price. A man was selling pretty birds in reed cages. Another had containers to fit the holds of ships. 

The Healer’s Guild was a shabby office near the northern tip of the arrow. He walked in and saw a girl folding powders into paper sleeves. She took a few moments to complete the one at hand and looked up without saying anything. Patients went to the healers directly and he wasn’t a healer so she would let him speak first. “Good afternoon. I seek Vellund Kieff. I am told he is in your city.” Nag Kath didn’t say Kieff was a healer. Someone known to the Prince of Elves might not elbow his way through this rough-and-tumble trade.

The girl had no idea. Suspicious that things would be taken if she left, she turned and shouted down a corridor. When that produced nothing, she did it again. His ears caught the familiar ‘shuuu, shuuu, tick, shuuu …’ a cane steadying dragging feet. An ancient crone with a dowager’s hump turned the corner and appraised him with piercing blue eyes. She looked at the girl and said, “Thank you, child. Off you go.” And off she went.

Shuffling from the hallway to the counter took a long time and he did not rush her. After she perched herself on the same tall stool the woman asked, “How can we help you today?”

“I seek Vellund Kieff. I was hoping he might be in your fair city.”

“He is a guild member?”

The Elf smiled, “I do not know. He is a friend of a friend but in this employ at last word.”

“Hummph. We shall see.” She hauled a heavy volume from under the counter, landing it with a thump. A ribbon marked the current listings. “Hummm, I don’t see any Kieffs. There is a Kitelburn, but that is as close as I have. Vellunds … none of them either.”

She shut the book and said, “Not in the guild. There’s thems that work unofficial in the Enta Sirith, west bank. You go there, take a bully-boy alongside.”

Nag Kath grinned, “I thought I would try while I am visiting. Thank you for your efforts. Do I owe you anything for your research?” That was a polite way of saying she had earned a tip.

Taking no time to consider; “Two groats a name with a two name minimum.”

He handed her a fiver. As he turned to go she called, “If this Kieff shows, who do I say is looking for him?”

“Nag Solvanth, I am staying at the Navigator.”

“Nice place. Good luck.”

When the tall stranger left, the crone called her granddaughter back in. “Child, go fetch your brother.” 

______________-------______________

She said just before the seven-bell so he was there at quarter-of. Vergere brought him into the usual room where an older couple was sitting with goblets of wine. Phylless was in the kitchen so Nag Kath introduced himself. They were Dunnus and Keldja Maedegon, he being first-cousin to the deceased. 

Phylless joined them about the time the steward brought a very full goblet of wine, said to be of Belfalas. It was excellent. Dinner was still cooking so they sat around the low table and his hostess explained, “Dun, Kel; Nag Kath was at the art school with Lentaraes many years ago. He agreed to come and tell us of the old days.”

Dun might have looked like Lentaraes in their youth. He sipped his wine sparingly, which would explain some of the differences in later life. Setting his goblet down he said slowly, “Yes, he mentioned you, many times actually. You are an immortal?”

“So far. Your cousin was the oldest of three students right after the war. He took me under his wing at the Quastille School and helped me get outfitted when I was sent to Rohan. The third of us is still hale and a celebrated artist in the White City.”

Lentaraes mentioned him too, an avid reader, yes?”

“Still is. His name is Timalen Brushta.”

Keldja said, “That is your work next to his on the wall?”

“It is, ma’am. I was just learning. Then, as now, I often use different angles for the same subject.” They both rose and went to the two pictures, gazing for a few minutes and returning to the table.

Phylless mentioned, “I did as you asked and had Vergere find two old folios. I can’t say as I remember ever seeing them.” She opened the larger volume. It held later work and was the worse for mold so she set it aside. The smaller was in good repair and older. On top was a Lentaraes’ sketch of a fountain, one of his better pieces. 

Nag Kath became the narrator saying, “That is on the fourth level of the White City, just north of the prow. He did that when I was there so that was probably the latter half of his stay. Two discarded sketches later they reached a frowning young woman eating a meal she did not like. The Elf laughed and recalled, “That is one of Tim’s! He had romantic designs on her but she never smiled. Good thing. He married a lovely woman who smiles all the time.”

Two more abandoned pictures brought them to the first sketch Nag Kath drew of the royals. It had been redrawn because he could not get Aragorn's nose right but it was not as bad as he remembered. His description held back some secrets, “They are King Elessar and Queen Arwen the day I met her. The final work is in their quarters. It took three tries and I still have the middle one.”

Who was this fellow who never aged and drew royals? Next was a posed picture of a young woman with bare shoulders. Lentaraes said she came down here to stay, briefly. No need to mention that now, even though Phylless was not grief stricken. She said he strayed and probably had done so then as one true love replaced the last. 

Nag Kath stated, “Her name is Marletta, don’t know the last. She and three friends occasionally shared a pitcher with the art students.” He seemed lost for a moment trying to remember the other two women. Kataleese came to mind right away since she looked a lot like the Widow Maedegon with long brown hair and hazel eyes.

Everyone knew the miller’s taste in females; good when he had a choice. Dun Maedegon sat back before the portfolio was completed and said, “Thank you, Mr. Kath. I think Phyll asked us because Lentaraes was a mentor to me as well. I was three years younger, son of a younger uncle, and he was my hero.” Dun paused and then marshaled through, “He worked hard at a job he did not enjoy and fell into regret. We lost him inch-by-inch. Now I think I understand it wasn’t the demon barley. It found him because he could have done this and did not until it ate his soul. Mr. Kath, could he have been great?”

“I think so. Our teacher was a Master, taught by a Master. Without false modesty, all three of us were talented, and all at the same time. We inspired each other, made us realize that we could capture scenes that would live on. The sculptures around the aqueduct are Tim’s.” Dun said he had seen them a few years ago. “When I was here a while back I saw his disappointment but came again, in hopes he would find his way. I do not regret the visit you found this worthwhile.”

The steward cleared his throat to announce the meal. Phylless rose first and said, “Thank you, now, let us talk of dreams come true!”

They did. Stories of Lentaraes surfaced, including philandering that Phylless did not mind. Nag Kath told of his short pants left by former students that never reached his feet. No one asked his origins and there was no discussion of his other gifts. 

_____________-------_____________

Not long after dark, the Maedagons were ready for bed and walked just four houses away. After bidding them a fair night, Phylless topped the goblets from a silver ewer, “Thank you again for that. Dun is a dear man and Keldja has made him a wonderful wife.” With acceptance in her voice she added, “With no children from this house, Dun manages the mill now. He always did, honestly.”

He took a sip and said, “Then some good has come from all of this. But we have managed not to talk any about you.”

She got a faraway smile, “There is not much to say. I was a young bride, full of notions. We were in love and nothing was too good. Before long he would stay out late or not come home. When I visited my parents in Laur, sometimes other women’s underclothes were washed and folded with mine.”

She was sad but this seemed someone else’s history. “Then he brought a new girl home to stay. I went back to mother and da’s and worked in much the same business as the Maedagons’. We make yeast for the brewers across the river. I knew as soon as Lentaraes died but a few weeks later a letter arrived from the City Clerk that I was to receive something, quite a bit. His shares belonged to the family but the house and an income were mine. They were not grudged since I get along better with my in-laws than he did.”

She was unburdening. He would help. “And what do you do for the art of your life, Phylless? You must have leisure to pursue passions.”

“Oh you are a silly man! I can’t paint. I can barely sew and you want nothing to do with my cooking.”

He did not speak. It was still her turn. “Very well, I like to ride. I have a small flower garden and I play a very ladylike game of Dukks.”

“Dukks! He taught me Dukks. I was a miserable player. At first I could not understand how the combinations aligned, or why anyone would care. I confess; I am no better now.

Phylless took a sip and put her goblet on the table, “I have other passions.”

______________-------______________

When she woke well after sunup he was sitting in a dressing chair wearing just a shirt. As she yawned and stretched, his eyes blinked twice and he turned his head towards her. Phylless lifted herself against the headboard and surveyed her lover with a practiced eye. Being an attractive widow of independent means meant she could do this, occasionally and discreetly, without commitment. Sometimes that meant explaining it to men who expected to stay. Now, what of this one? What did he say; ‘nothing pressing upriver?’ Seeing him in the shirt reminded her why he was here. It was well into the morning when he promised to return and made his way back to the inn. 

Thoughts of unattainable Elf doctors gone, Nag Kath washed in the basin and went downstairs for tea on the veranda. It was no sooner served than a young Subaltern with collar gorgets of the local marines approached him and said, “Your pardon, sir. Are you Mr. Solvanth?”

Who knew that here? The old herb woman did, but this lad was wasn’t working side-jobs for the Healer’s Guild. Very well, “I am. How can I be of service?”

The young man had the look of a Caladrion; tall, fit, promotable if he distinguished himself. He wasn’t one to hem and haw either, “A gentleman of the Gobel Eärnil would like a word at your earliest convenience, sir.”

Nag Kath knew a summons when he heard one and this seemed to intersect his search for Vellund Kieff. Legolas’ implication was that he was a healer but, like most Elvish descriptions, there was room for leeway. He replied, “I can do that. Come along.”

The Elf collected his key at the desk and the two went upstairs. The messenger seemed a bit uneasy, as if part of the errand might happen after the pretty man locked the door from the inside. The pretty man left the door ajar and opened his kit bag for a few things. Then he looked at the subaltern and pointed at his sword, “Will I need that?”

It wasn’t meant as if to ask if there was fighting to be done. Nag Kath was a Lord of Gondor, by way of Dol Amroth, which came with high military office, Dale too if anyone asked. If he was to be a soldier, it was customary to look like one. The Second Lieutenant had what looked like a marine saber on his belt. He nodded.

The lad didn’t have a horse so they left Charlo in the stable and walked across the bridge closer to the turn of the harbor where Nag Kath and Mrs. Hürna stayed seven years ago. This island had stiffer walls on the outer banks sporting more turrets and wider walks. With enough arrows and ballista, you could rain death a long way into the Anduin. They were manned with professional troops who seemed quite sober.

As they walked, Nag Kath asked in his officer’s voice, “What’s your name, soldier?” 

“Felim Houlmanath, sir.”

“Unit?”

“Mobile fourth, under Timpeled, sir.”

“What’s this about, Lieutenant?” He promoted the young man half a rank for cooperation. It failed. “I wasn’t told, sir. We are going to a public meeting place frequented by men of position.”

They crossed a large, well-maintained maidan where a small horse troop was running close-quarter drills. It would hold a lot more soldiers than Pelargir had seen in a thousand years, including the ones that weren’t supposed to be there. At the point of the arrow was the Governor’s quarters which looked very grand. It might not be so comfortable when ships were lobbing fireballs over the walls. The two walked across the field to a private section of shops, restaurants and inns serving the high-trade. Houlmanath looked in one, found who he expected to see and brought his guest inside. At a corner table in shadow was a middle-aged man with a mug in front of him. He waved the Elf over as the Lieutenant took his leave.

Nag Kath walked over without sitting and said kindly, “Are you waiting for someone?”

The fellow drawled, “I’m always waiting for someone. Have a chair.”

Nag Kath took the only one and adjusted his sword. The man grunted, “Were you planning to use that?”

“My invitation wasn’t specific.”

“I’m Vellund Kieff. You Solvanth?”

“Better known as Nag Kath.”

“Dougsh! I thought I recognized you, not from your statue, mind!”

All tension was broken. The Elf laughed and slapped the table. That story would have to wait. “Prince Legolas said you were the man to see. I have determined the source of the poison coming down the Telengaur.” Kieff took a pull of his ale waiting for the rest. Nag Kath continued, “There is a lake in the mountains used to create the fell-beasts. It still seethes with sorcery. A landslide routed most of the water from the peak into it and it pours out foul.”

That was unexpected. Kieff knew something of this creature as a builder and soldier but not as, well, whatever this signified. It called for another sip. A serving man walked over with a mug for Nag Kath. Kieff said, “Try the nuppers, little fish they catch in the rocks.” 

Nag Kath nodded to the waiter. Then he asked Kieff, “Is this the point where you tell me what you do?”

“Fair enough. I advise Governor Onathol. We’ve had some sick people, not plagued, but skittering awfully and ill at-ease. Kids and the old, mostly. Now you tell me it’s the water.” Another sip, “You know a bit about dirty water, eh?”

“Some.”

“What should we do?”

That was a fair and important question. It deserved his best answer, “The taint is coming down the Telengaur from the main supply in the Düath. Putting that to rest will take armies and years. I’m sorry but there’s nothing for it. For now, you have to keep people away from the mouth. Who commands on the south bank?”

“Faramir, but they trade here. That’s where most sickness is found.”

Nag Kath thought a moment and said, “It is diluted by the time it gets here but as you said, if hurts the weak first, both in body and in spirit. I can’t prove it yet, but I think it is very old sorcery from the north.”

“Telling everyone to just pull-up and leave their homes will not be popular.”

“How many?”

“Six, seven hundred there. Fourteen thousand here.”

The Elf had his first sip of the ale. “Look, I can’t tell you how to manage your people, but if someone let it slip that one of the dark lord’s puddles was leaking into their river, you couldn’t get a game of dice along the Telengaur.”

“Point taken.”

The little fish arrived. Quickly fried, they were eaten bones and all. Nag Kath imagined if they were not prepared right, a man would choke like a cat throwing a fur-pellet. With the dipping sauce, they were excellent. This was more a snack than lunch for a reason. Kieff said, “I think we should talk with the guv’ner.”

______________-------______________

Kieff tossed coins on the table and they walked into bright sun. A ten minute walk led back to the massive compound at the end of the parade grounds. Pelargir was the working capital of Lebennin. The state had five districts, largely determined by the rivers flowing either to the Anduin or the sea further west. Nag Kath had never heard of Onathol, which meant nothing. He would have been appointed by Aragorn from local stock. In keeping with other semi-autonomous regions, the job would require competence and inside knowledge of how to keep the local counties behaved. 

Sauron’s water was a drop in the bucket when the Anduin flooded in Lebennin’s south delta. Lowlands further west on both sides of the river would be covered for miles from the same snow-melt that saturated Osgiliath. Plagues started here first. Pelargir was the capital because it was the first strategic point upriver with enough grade not to flood every few years. Kieff walked to the front steps among junior officers coming and going, looking as important as they could. There were more guards than Nag Kath expected, more in keeping with kings than a provincial administrator. They reached a pair of ornate double-doors. Kieff glanced at the sword and said, “You can leave that with the sentry.”

Onathol looked more like a Northman than a Dol Amroth exquisite. Elf eyes put him at upwards of fifty, not quite old enough for the war. He was having a heated discussion at a conference table with four other men; two soldiers and two civilians. The governor did not seem pleased. Kieff and Nag Kath waited by the door. After about ten minutes, Onathol scowled their way but returned to his conversation. He did the same after another ten minutes and then all stood as he dismissed the soldiers. One of the officers rolled his eyes at Kieff on the way by. 

The guv’ner stared at his next problem and asked, “What is it?”

Kieff offered in more stately tones than over nuppers, “I bring a gentleman about water on the Ithilien side, sir.”

“What?!” The guv seemed a little hard of hearing, distracted, perhaps.

“We are here about water coming from Ithilien, sir.”

“Approach.”

The two walked to the regulation five paces and stood at something resembling attention. Onathol went back to his civilians for a while longer. While he did, Nag Kath looked at Kieff. There was nothing to tell his official function, if there was one. Kieff worked on the quiet side of rule. He was a big, if not tall man, forty-ish, with a decidedly military bearing. That was not shown by anything in his clothes. Clean and expensive, they had no markings of rank, unit or even country. Soldiers of Gondor, officers certainly, had a small white tree sewn somewhere on their tunic. Nag Kath also dressed as a civilian but learned from Shelturn to keep a variety of lapel swatches in a pocket for quick impersonations.

The governor and his assistants were wrestling with a property dispute between two land barons along the Sirni. Against every known rule, they had both called-up their local militias to enforce grazing rights. Bloody peasants!

“Kieff, what is this about?”

“This gentleman is here about troubles with the water from Ithilien, governor.”

Onathol looked at the Elf and said gruffly, “Are you here from Prince Faramir?”

“No, sir.”

After the two fools on the Sirni, the governor was in no mood for pretty young Dunedains. He asked, “Then what are you to me?”

In his Elf Lord voice, “I am Lord Kath to you and I am here on the ruby pass of King’s business!” He never gave it back after visiting Dol Amroth, figuring it would come in handy for days like this. “If you want to know more, I am buying the first round at the Navigator on the six-bell.” With that he nodded to Kieff and collected his sword outside the door. It worked with Imrahil so he tried it again. Nag Kath chuckled imagining Kieff’s face as the apoplectic guv’nor realized he had offended the wrong foreigner. Their error, everyone’s error, was that he didn’t need anything they had. He would risk his life for a good cause, but folk had better be polite. 

After theatrically stamping out of the mansion, Nag Kath slowed and had a better look around the grounds. Homes, buildings and fittings on this arrowhead were up-in-the-world compared to the Ancient quarter and most of the east crescent. The maidan was now empty except for a few horsemen breaking-in young mounts. He got back to his inn around three.

As good as his word, Nag Kath later laid a nipper on the bar as the sixer rang and said, “Drinks for all until that runs out, less a silver for yourself, good man.” The Navigator was a nice place but not exclusive. That gold would go a long way. He got an ale for himself and walked out on the veranda where this all started. Kieff was sitting in one of the chairs with curved rails underneath so one could rock back and forth. Nag Kath sat in the same sort of chair next to him, lulling like a baby crib.

Kieff got a cup of wine with the Elf’s largess and took a dainty sip. Talking to the river he said, “I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed that.”

“Me too, a touch of Catanard. Did he settle with the yokels?”

“No. But sending our troops makes things worse. A few of my lads will bring them both in by their ears in a day or two.”

Nag Kath had a long pull of the local tan and smacked his lips before saying, “I did what I came to. My only question is why did Legolas send me to find you? I was expecting a healer.”

“Like you, I am more than I appear.”

“We will leave it at that. But know this; I am a friend in need. Something tells me we will do more than irritate local grandees.”

“Then we will share wine again.”

______________-------______________

Nag Kath stayed in. It was Catanard Thursday at the local taverns. In competent hands, it could be a thing of beauty. Here; it was cats on a fence. With talents in alchemy, he would have turned their ale into barley spirits and sent them home by quarter-eight.

As planned, the Elf rode Charlo up to Phylless’ home after breakfast. She and her niece shared a spirited mare kept in the granary stables. The Widow Maedegon was quite fetching in her snug riding habit. Cook packed a basket of luncheon foods and two flasks. Without saying much they picked their way out the northeast gate and into the countryside. Fertile ground beneath valued farms stretched for miles around the outer wall giving way to fields and forests. Phyll knew the road and set a good pace until they reached a pretty stream off the beaten path. 

Nag Kath carried lunch while Phylless unstrapped a large blanket from the back of her saddle. The Elf explored the bag and said, “Let us see; what have we here?” As he sorted through the food, his date uncorked the smaller of the flasks and poured two small goblets of local red wine, handing him one. 

Seeing he was arranging the viands in the wrong order, Phylless took charge and started piling meats, cheeses and sauces on slices of bread. He said, “No meat for me, please.”

That meant more for her so he got the pickled cabbage. Phyll put another slice of the hearty peasant bread on the top of the stack and they started eating. Two bites later, the insides of Nag Kath’s meal squeezed into his lap. She looked over and cried, “Oh, you are hopeless. Here …” gently reconstructing it and showing him to hold it from the back. 

He looked at the stream and mused, “I have caught a lot of fish in places like this.”

She asked, “For fun?”

“Dinner. Much of my life has been spent on the road. Most roads follow streams and they provide.” He grinned, “When they want.”

The woman put her head on his shoulder. “You must have a thousand stories.” She had no idea of the world outside of Pelargir. 

He wasn’t Kath of Mordor in the granary district. Where would one even start with those tales? “Well, I gave the governor a piece of my mind yesterday. Not a mannerly fellow; the guv.”

Phylless took her head off the shoulder and looked him in the eye. “No, a rather hard man. Can’t say as I blame him. People drive him mad whining about their little problems. What took you to Onathol?”

“Tidings from friends in Ithilien. It seems the timing was poor.”

She sympathized, “The man is surrounded by Princes and yet even with more land and people to mind, he is a provincial governor.”

“It seems he did not pick his parents very well.”

She seemed pleased, “I did. Ma and da are still fine, thank you very much. They want me to sell the house and move back to the west bank. I wish they would retire and join me. The Lond Iaur is a place of business and holds no attraction for me, but all their friends are there. Coming here to the gaiety of the Strand offers them less than a good game of Dukks with the Heraldas.”

“How long does it take to get there?”

“If I take Missy and scandalize the older widows I can get there in a bell. On foot; all morning.”

“How about by boat?”

“Nasty currents. You would need stout oarsmen to pull all the way to the point and then take your luck hitting the right pier on the way down.”

"Tell me about the monument in the middle of the harbor. It seems a relic of better times.”

“Between the arrows?” He nodded. “Something from Numenor. Pelargir is governed by lords of commerce now. It will take a great captain to justify rebuilding it to glory. There is good fishing around the edges, though. They are little fish that we fry and eat whole.”

“I had some before marching out of the governor’s office. Very tasty.”

She put her head back on his shoulder. There was a sense of freedom coupled with sadness that this strange creature would leave. She wished he didn’t think he had to spin these absurd yarns to impress her. Phyll had not reconciled with him being older than he looked. At some point she wanted a steadfast man. She did not especially want to train one, though. 

Phylless pushed him down on the soft blanket. They were not here to eat.

______________-------______________

By night he explored her appetites. By day they explored the city. Unlike Osgiliath and Tharbad, more of Pelargir survived. More history was intact. Except for the rocks, reconstructed Dale was not even a hundred years old. Most days, she would walk with him. He liked the Quarter of the Faithful for all its tiny gardens and birds. He sketched her in a couple of them. Nag Kath enjoyed women at all ages but their late thirties seemed especially good. They still had their charms and passions without girlish thoughts, most of them, anyway. And they were past unrealistic expectations. 

Things got more interesting on their second trip among the Faithful. They were strolling when his head snapped to one of the temples like a flag in the wind. Nag Kath became deathly still, she thought almost like a wild animal as danger or prey approached. His face changed too with a gravity she had not seen before. Very quietly he said, “Please wait here. I will not be long.”

The Elf trotted silently over to one of the smaller row temples and crept around to the open door. This was more like a mausoleum but there was no inscription above the lintel. More interested than scared, Phylless stood as asked, seeing her lover stand across the doorway. He seemed to radiate a pale light for a few seconds and then fade, a glint of sun? Then he strolled back and they resumed their walk.

That night he was more urgent and forceful than before. She enjoyed it but knew it was related to the temple. After a while she lay across his chest and asked, “Can you tell me what happened today?”

“I will when I know. Where I can buy a hundred dried gourds ... big ones?”

______________-------______________

“Help me understand; you want me to row these across the river and dump them in the Telengaur?”

“Exactly. Half at first light and half at dusk.”

“And that’s it?”

His tall employer said, “That’s it. The gourds are in that wagon. Use the lighter-colored ones at night. Here is a silver. The second will wait for you at the inn tomorrow.” The boatman collected his son muttering the whole way that people were losing their minds.

The next day after breakfast, Nag Kath walked through the Eärnil, across the drawbridge and put a blanket down on the rocks of the Faithful Quarter breakwater. A few hours later, he saw gourds passing by. Water from the southern rivers washed out into the channel and stayed close to the north bank, the same channel ferryman wanted to avoid fighting upstream. None of the gourds got closer than a hundred feet from the edge.

Well after dark he saw the second flotilla. They got nearer this time, two of them actually washing against the rocks. The changeling collected the one he could reach and held his knife against the side. It glowed the faintest blue. He cut a hole near the top to fill it with river water and then sat on a public bench until dawn.

The sense of foreboding was gone from the little stone building until he sprinkled the water over the floor. Faint black and green mists swirled about the flagstones until finally joining and snaking out the door. 

Oh, Witch-King! Fish-wights weren’t good enough? Will you escape your dungeon one drop at a time? Nag Kath threw the gourd back in the river. At the governor’s mansion and said he wanted to speak with Vellund Kieff on a matter of great moment. The guard wasn’t disrespectful but he took his orders from other soldiers. This was no time to pull rank. A faint yellow beam hit him in the face as the tall stranger said, “You will find Kieff instantly and ask his presence at our restaurant. Do you understand?”

The sentry nodded very slowly, as if trying not to. Then he stalked off to a low building near the maidan. Nag Kath had tea and porridge as soon as the restaurant opened. Kieff came in half an hour later after convincing the soldier that he had actually obeyed orders and should resume his post with pride.

“That was quite a trick.”

“Sit down, I’ll tell you about it. What have you heard of me?”

“You’re a wizard, an orc, an Elf and a fair shot.”

“It’s all true. Have you gotten the governor’s attention yet?”

“Not really.”

“You might not.” The Elf explained; symptoms of the water, Elvish cures, temples with no inscriptions and how gourds float.

“Douuuugggsh!”

Nag Kath smirked, “That’s how I see it. Does Prince Legolas trust you for good cause?”

Kieff stiffened a little. He was a fine soldier, true and smart. His reaction said what Nag Kath needed to know. The Elf asked, “Will you do what I ask no matter how absurd it sounds?”

“Yes, as long as I do not betray my land.”

“No risk there. I need someone to quietly buy up as much burney root and red colich leaves as they can from the herbalists. Then I need every gourd and fishing-net float you can lay your hands on, enough to fill several four-man skiffs. Last, I need to talk with the City Manager in charge of the Faithful temples along the breakwater, particularly who made them and when.”

Kieff saw nothing traitorous in that. He asked, “What about Onathol?”

“I need you to slip a few spoons of the burney root into his tea and feed him a small handful of the colich leaves. After you clean him up, tell him everything.”

Phylless had not seen her Elf in a couple days and wondered if he flew the coop. It would have been a more amorous reunion if he hadn’t shown up smelling of rotten pumpkins. A tub of soapy water cured that but he had to wear Lentaraes’ clothes, mortifying the household staff while they pummeled his togs into freshness. 

Back at the governor’s mansion, a much different conversation ensued; “You want me to drink root tea and eat kokis leaves?”

“Red Colish.”

“Why?”

“To purge sorcerous waters from your body, sir.”

“And this from that delicate flower you dragged in here the other day?”

“Kath of the Water and Mordor. He is the delicate flower who spitted Frûnzar. King Elessar sent him on this errand personally.”

The governor was a brave man and he trusted his King. “What will this medicine do to me?”

“Cleansing, I believe, sir.”

He got that right. That afternoon Kieff was summoned before his Lord who demanded, “Explain why I should not have you staked to a honey tree!”

This was expected. Kieff cleared his throat and said, “Sir, can you remember needing to speak to the Tanners Guild tomorrow?”

“Of course!”

“Could you remember that this morning?”

The governor walked over to his favorite chair and collapsed with his feet sprawled out wide. He looked to his tough advisor and shook his head, “Tell it all.”

_____________-------_____________

After his bath, Nag Kath’s day went much better than the governor’s. Phyll put her head on his chest and said, “Pumpkins?”

“Those and gourds and whatever else I could find that floats with the current.”

“Why? I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, but why?”

“Do you want the long story or the short?”

“The long. I need to regain my strength.”

He told her of being a sorcerous demon who could divine dark magic. Black humors were flowing from dead servants of Sauron and poisoning the water along the edges of the triangle. He would try to find what was drawing it here and then probably lead an army against the orcs of Angmar, in that order.

If that didn’t get him kicked out of the house, nothing would. She thought he was being absurd to avoid something less flattering, but it did give her time to recover her strength.

In the same position an hour later she declared, “As dire as your news is, I have some of my own. It is my thirty-eighth birthday next week. Every year, my parents come over to visit along with friends from the west bank. It is a gay time and I see folk I love. If you aren’t fighting orcs, I would be honored if you were here.”

He looked at her and replied, “That would be lovely. What day?”

That was much too easy, “Wednesday, the twenty-eighth. All of the preparations are made.”

“I will need a good tailor.”

She looked tenderly into his face. “You will come? Thank you.” They dressed and went downstairs. Her servants were used to the occasional man hurrying out the back door before sunrise, women in the master’s day. This fellow … this fellow was different. They could see the attraction. Phylless was still a beauty and dare they admit it, her well-being didn’t depend on making Lentaraes happy. Come to that; neither did theirs, so they would thank their lucky stars. 

The Elf went back to the inn and paid for another week but brought most of his things and Charlo to the granary. He told her it was a matter of state business and the mill workers could make what they wanted of it. She was writing follow-up invitations with secret notes about what presents were needed for the other guests, a bit like Hobbits; Pelargir birthday parties.

For no particular reason he looked at her list and his blood froze. Fourth from the bottom was the last name Dystran. He had mercifully forgotten. Flor was back in the White City but Helien was buried somewhere here with her blood father. He felt he could regain a piece of his soul if he could pray her peace. 

“Phyll, can I tell you a sad story?” She listened quietly, one time fighting back a tear. Phyllis only met the cousin a few times and not his stolen woman or child, but Glendis would know all of it. Yante and Glendis were the bedrock of their family, just as Dun and Kjelda were for the Maedegon mill. She would know where the child lay if anyone did, though it might rip her heart out to say.

This had to be handled before the party. The next morning Phylless walked three blocks to the Dystran mongery. A comfortable house was nestled behind it. Glendis answered the door herself and invited her old friend inside. Glendis comforted Phyll rather than the other way and explained where the father should go. Come the party; Phyll should not give it another thought.

Nag Kath rode out the old north gate to the vast cemetery serving most of Pelargir. Directions were a jumble of zigs and zags. Two of the graveyard lanes had the same name but he finally found the unmarked plot between two family stones. One stone was fairly new. 

The weight of what a man cannot do fell from the heavens. Helien deserved so much better, so much better from everyone in her little life. A horrible combination of fear, longing, obsession and hubris brought them here to this desolation. He sat. He wept. He wondered if he would ever lose the guilt. Then he decided he mustn’t. This should not be forgotten. Forgiven maybe, but never forgotten. 

He got back to Phylless' house at twilight, hitching Charlo out front. After Effiel let him in, he gave Phyll a kiss on her forehead and said, “I do not think I will be good company tonight. It is likely someone from the city office will want a word tomorrow at the inn. I just came by to tell you how brave you were. I will honor that as long as I live. Expect me in a couple of days or I will send word.”

She waved goodbye wondering if she would see him again.

______________-------______________

The next morning, a runner said the city man would meet Nag Kath at the temple on the twelve-bell. He got there early and watched the water lap against the break-wall. Ellerd Fondiscar arrived early too. He was told this was important. The Elf walked up to him outside the door and introduced himself.

“Ah, good afternoon, Lord Kath. I hope I am the right man but my instructions were a bit vague.”

Nag Kath said, “Come; let us sit here.” They made their way to a bench across the road with good shade. “I want to know everything I can about who ordered, designed and built this temple, the one with no inscriptions.”

Fondiscar was not yet curious why. People often wanted to know how a building was made so they could make one themselves. He cudgeled his brain and said, “You may be in luck. Houses and stores are built on private land. Sometimes folk keep the plans but it is nothing to the city as long as it doesn’t fall down on someone else’s property. Buildings on public land are documented for posterity. This temple is not so old. Many records survive. Is there anything we need to do here before finding them?”

There wasn’t so the two waited for the drawbridge barge to Gobel Eärnil to close and found the hall of records alongside the parade grounds. The documents were probably saved from the numerous attacks here because they were in a building that must have been a fortress at one point. Archives could have been burned by any of the invaders over the years but no one bothered. 

Unless you were higher up, only trained staff was allowed into the archives. Important papers had disappeared. Fondiscar must be fairly senior because the scribes and archivists were happy to please. He told one what he wanted and the man took a lantern back into the catacombs.

The city man and Elf waited quietly at a small table for better than a quarter-bell before the archivist returned with a lidded wooden box. He set it in front of Fondiscar, bowed and returned to the desk. The city manager opened it observing, “Hmmmm, this seems rather complete.” He leafed through several sheets and continued, “The building was commissioned in 1377 in memory of family members lost to the plague the year before. The name of the man was, no that’s not it, yes, here … a Mr. Yvsuldor ...”

“**Bastards!**”

Well I never! Fondiscar was mildly offended. Normally they would not even speak in this area but they were alone and the tall man was to be treated like royalty. The governor’s language was worse so Fondiscar soldiered on, “Now here is where the extra documents come in. Hmmmm, this Yvsuldor insisted on using his own materials and laborers. We know because he had to pay the guild penalty taxes for not using their workmen.”

It was time for the blonde man to say his own, “Hmmmm. Were the materials brought here from somewhere else?”

Fondiscar said, “It does not say. A closer examination of the stone should tell us though.”

“Good, I will need to have an expert mason join me there to investigate. Can you arrange that?”

The request was a little outside of his purview but old Nagsram at the Engineering office was sure to know them all. Fondiscar nodded and made a note in his day-book. The stranger then asked, “Two more questions; one, does the record say who designed this structure and two; are there any other names mentioned in those sheets? Oh, sorry, three; is there any mention of how it was paid for?”

The Works Manager held his chin, “Hmmmm, no to the first, no to the third. There is this sketch of the floor slates but no name.” 

Nag Kath did not notice the pattern of the flooring stones when he poured the water on them. He thought while the works manager sat patiently, finally saying, “Mr. Fondiscar, it is very important that you do not tell anyone about this and if anyone at all should ask questions about that building, you are to tell Mr. Kieff at any hour of the day. Can you accept those terms?”

“I can, sir.” As camouflage, the city man waved the archivist over and said rather more loudly than his first request, “I am sorry. I gave you the wrong address. Can you fetch the records for number six on the same avenue, please?” The man nodded and removed the box, bringing another within minutes. They made a show of examining the ‘correct’ file and thanked the clerk for his indulgence.

Nag Kath stood, “I appreciate your help. Do you have any idea what a burney plant is?” Fondiscar shook his head as they strolled to the Engineering Building. It was another stout, former armory. Nagstram was abed with a recurring complaint. His assistant knew several masons expert in local stones used long ago. The closest was only two blocks away. Mr. Beddle wrote an address on a slip of paper, and no, he had never heard of burney plants either. Fondiscar said the dignitary could contact him anytime and went back to his duties. 

Nag Kath found the mason’s works by the sound before he read the number. Mr. Jool was a small man who developed powerful muscles hoisting large rocks where nature did not intend them. Pushing fifty, he was not inclined to give free advice to just anyone wandering by. The dented silver face of King Narmacil II changed his tune. Nag Kath told him to bring a hand sledge.

By mid-afternoon, the little walkways of the temple district had more strollers as workers completed their day. Arriving at the structure, Nag Kath asked, “Can you tell me where that stone is from?”

Jool looked closely for seams or minerals that might give a hint. “Not really. It is almost too pure to say it is from a known quarry. Someone spent bright coin for this. I have always thought it was well built.”

The Elf said, “I would like you to knock a chunk out of a likely stone and see if it tells more.”

Jool stared at him. This was an historic, sacred building. He had no compunction about sacred but there were laws against defacing public works. A silver memento of the good Steward Orodreth said otherwise. Jools chose a block with an exposed corner and hit it solidly with the pick-end of his tool. The practiced blow knocked a two-inch corner off cleanly. The mason picked it up and walked outside in the light. Shaking his head he said, “It is not from here or any of the quarries nearby.”

“Mr. Fondiscar said it was nearly two thousand years old.”

“Same quarries, same rocks. They never go stale.”

The tall man took the broken corner to examine and said, “Thank you, Mr. Jool. I may need you again. No need to mention this little, uhm, accident, is there?”

“What accident, sir?” 

As the mason turned to go, his customer asked, “Are you also in the business of funeral markers, Mr. Jool?”

“We do that.” The blonde wrote out a note for a slate sized yea-by-so. Jool looked at the script and said, “Sorry, I don’t speak this language.”

“Just copy it as I have drawn.” Two more kingly tokens found a new pocket.

______________-------______________

The Elf walked back to the Governor’s home and told the same guard he had stunned the previous day that he was expected. The guard remembered nothing of it but was told this morning the tall blonde was to be escorted to the ministry offices at once.

Kieff was the local Rosscranith, floating between the courtly and the practical, otherwise he would have never gotten his Lord to take the purge. Kieff’s assistant took him back to Onathal’s office where the governor, Kieff and different soldiers and civilians were seated at the table, more calmly this time. Nag Kath approached and bowed. The governor waved him to an empty chair across from Kieff and said, “Haven’t felt so empty in years!”

“A healing gift from the Elves, sir.”

“So it would seem. I would like your version of what is occurring, young man.”

“In the basest terms; a fell manufactory of Sauron’s was flooded in a landslide and now taints the main stream into the Telengaur. By accounts, that happened last spring. You have seen the wasting along those shores. The current of the Anduin brings that water against the outer edges of your two arrows. I think it may be called here by foul craft.”

One of the civilians asked, “Can you explain that craft, Lord Kath?”

“Forgive me, my inquiries continue, but there is a small temple in the row nearest the break-water that was built some eighteen hundred years ago. I believe it was formed with materials brought from Mordor.”

He let that sink in a minute. “I had a mason chip a piece off this morning.” He opened his knife and passed the blade over the stone. It glowed the faintest blue. By now they all knew this Kath fellow had tricks he hadn’t shown, hopefully would not show. He folded the knife and said, “I think that temple is drawing the tainted water to this side of the Anduin since it is more potent here than upriver. 

“I also believe those floor stones are arranged in a pattern. My project for the next few days will be divining their meaning. Then, sirs, every one of those blocks needs to find the bottom of the sea, may Ulmo forgive us.”

The other civilian asked, “And what of all the gourds?”

“Dump them at the river mouth at different times and months to see where that water flows strongest. If possible, drinking water for the city should come from the Sirith. It may take some years to destroy the tainted source. Mr. Kieff, did you discover what burney root is?”

The governor groused, “We bloody well discovered what it does!”

Kieff removed all possible humor from his voice, “Locally it is called bendun ... stinging nettles used as tea to soothe the nerves of women at the end of their child-bearing years.”

Nag Kath looked around the table and said to all, “Then I respectfully suggest that you grow as much bendun and red colich as you can in every window-box, garden and spare field. The effects will not be so … immediate … if taken in small amounts routinely.”

Governor Onathal assumed his diplomatic role, “Have our friends in Ithilien been told this?”

“They know of the water and the effects but we just learned of the temple. I will return to Gondor shortly and tell my tale there too, sir.”

The Governor said in lordly tones, “Then all that remains is to thank you for your toil on behalf of my citizens and others of this realm. If we do not see each other again before you leave, please give their Highnesses our best, Lord Kath.”

Kieff walked him out of the room. As they shook hands, the Elf said, “I am staying with the widow of an old friend. She is hosting her own birthday party on Wednesday. I do not think she would mind if I invite a guest, and Mrs. Kieff if you have one. Number 315, Avenue of the Magil. I will be at the temple tomorrow if you need me.”

Nag Kath collected Charlo at the inn and slowly walked him up the strand to the industrial sector at the north of the eastern circle. Rhythmic clopping of hooves helped him concentrate. A farmer once told him that spinning maple pods mostly set root the same season but a few would lay dormant for years. The man thought against a terrible flood or blight, the tardy seeds might wake after danger. Was this temple a late seed? Some thought that of Nag Kath.

Mr. Yvsuldor! Not original; those servants of darkness. If there were more buildings, they probably looked the same. Back to the Witch-King, always back to him, was he the original Mr. Yvsuldor? He might even be the Dark Lord the men of Mordor thought was Sauron. Wraiths did not explain themselves. But the Witch-King commanded the servants. When the Elf returned to Gondor he would beetle in the archives.

Phylless was pleased to see him. Letting him choose his time of unburdening she simply said, “Come inside. Wine?”

“Just cool tea, thank you.” He grinned, “And perhaps another bath.”

He said little at dinner and she did not ask. That night, he was gentle. She liked that too. How could one man be so different? In her selective experience, men did not vary their preferences. Afterwards he said, “I took the liberty of inviting another guest to your party, a Mr. Kieff.”

“Kieff?!”

“You know him?”

“Of him. You move in higher circles than the grain trade.”

“Then you will be pleased to know I patched things up with the governor.”

Fascinated, Phylless teased, “Then I suppose you must go visit the King.”

One of Nag Kath’s blind spots had always been gentle taunting by the gentle sex. Unfazed he answered, “He will be expecting me, and I have fresh tidings.” Trailing off, “Perhaps I can catch him in Lossarnach.”

A younger Phylless would have answers. This Phylless had other interests.

______________-------______________

After breakfast Nag Kath rode Charlo to the temple. When he got there, Kieff and Subaltern Houlmanath were waiting, dressed as city workmen. An assortment of picks and pry-bars lay outside the door.

“Good morning, gentlemen. You may be a bit ahead of me. I need to sketch all of this exactly as it sits and do some calculations. Lieutenant Houlmanath, I don’t suppose you brought a bubble-level?”

“Must have slipped my mind, sir.”

“Could you have a look?”

“Aye, sir.” He was off, but not all the way back to headquarters. Each arrowhead had its own surveyors, as required by the guild. He would borrow a level only a few blocks away. Nag Kath sat on the bench across the entrance and started drawing the structure, extending the lines from all four corners. Before he finished that, he flipped to a new page and drew the shape as if seen by a bird. That done, he and Kieff measured the outside walls. 

Houlmanath came back with a level like the long-range models Nag Kath’s lads generally used for water. He lined it parallel to the sides and later the front and back, then measured the distances of the extensions. The structure was slightly out of square. To do that the builder was either incompetent or very good. He suspected the latter. The soldiers measured all of the other exterior dimensions while the Elf went inside to draw the floor-stones. 

There was unknown craft here too. After eight years of watching every size stone moveable by man and beast, he had a good feel for masonry. The center of the floor had a finely bordered circle about twelve feet across, but the mosaic itself was a jumble of broken pieces, placed poorly. There was no sense to the flow, not yet. Houlmanath ‘borrowed’ two street lamps so the men could see inside the single room. They searched every inch for writing but found none. 

Houlmanath nearly got as good a purge as the governor when the island works manager stormed in and barked, “No one told me about this!”

Workman Kieff looked unconcerned and replied, “Special job for Mr. Jaoubert.”

The city man recognized Kieff, looked around the inside by lamplight and knowingly said, “I’ll keep my lads away. Enjoy the day?”

“Mebbe two.”

They were done inside except Nag Kath found no sense to the floor pattern. He sketched each interior floor slate in gray to see if that helped discern a flow examined in better light. He crossed his eyes to see if clarity hid decoys. The men did the same. No one made anything of it so Nag Kath climbed on the roof while Houlmanath went to the restaurant for nuppers, bread and cheese. Nag Kath asked him to bring the mason back with him. 

That did not take long and the four sat down at a nearby table. Kieff brought a large jug of cool tea made, he promised, from Sirith water. The Elf started and the two soldiers would follow his lead. “Tell me, Master Jool, you said that building was made well. How so?”

The stone-wright took a pull of the tea and replied, “The way the blocks are joined. There are no gaps. They were smoothed on all sides before ever they were stacked. That is still done now but it raises the price.”

Kieff followed the thread, “Could such stones be prepared elsewhere and brought here knowing they would fit?”

“Certainly. That is how most do it, just not this well. It is much easier to surface stone in the shop at the right height than work it uncomfortably in the rain. The barge brings it close and wagons do the rest.” He chuckled, “My guild would not care for that.”

Nag Kath had given Houlmanath a topic to raise; “Sir, the floor seems of poorer craft than the walls.”

The mason shrugged and chewed, “I wondered about that. Maybe they used all their money and had to make do, lots of little bits or leftovers from other projects?”

Nag Kath thanked him for coming. Jool took a handful of nuppers to eat on the way back to his shop leaving the government men contemplating the afternoon. The Elf rose and sighed, “We had better take a look under that floor.”

Houlmanath was ready to have at the slates with a vengeance. Kieff grabbed the handle of his pick-bar and said, “Steady as she goes.” More gently, the young man stabbed the grout holding the center stone and then slid the flat underneath to pry the edge. Kieff used a pick to pull it up from the other side.

By lamp and sunlight they saw a host of fist-sized spiders furiously squealing and shrinking into the dark ooze. It smelled like old death. All three stumbled outside. Nag Kath sucked tea into his nose and mouth and blew it out before holding his breath to replace the stone.

A minute later they were sitting back at the table. The Elf was trying to get the sting out of his nostrils when he asked, “Does the soil of the Faithful usually stink like that?”

Kieff hacked then chuckled, “How dare you impugn our fair city? Lieutenant, challenge him to a duel!” 

Houlmanath was still rubbing his eyes and scraping his tongue against his teeth. He managed, “Not our finest temple, is it?”

Nag Kath said thoughtfully, “Not a temple, a grave.” 

Appetites gone, they left the nuppers for the seagulls. There wasn’t much anyone could do without considerable thought. Men with strong stomachs might be able to destroy the building but the very stones were tainted. Who knew what was underneath and what they were waiting for? The short-term plan of minding drinking water and cleansing was good advice anywhere. Kieff decided to put a few upright citizens at nearby business on the payroll reporting who visited regularly. Nag Kath had what he needed for the King and would see Kieff at the party.

______________-------______________

After reeking of pumpkin the last time, the Elf went back to the inn for a double bath before presenting himself at the Maedegon home. He never did get new clothes but still had an extra set rolled tightly in the bag that could be cleaned and smoothed in time for Phylless’ thirty-eighth. 

She curled next to him on the couch and asked, “Can you tell me now?”

Nag Kath looked in her eyes and said, “Yes, and excuse me for being so distracted. There is an old poison from the fell lands that is leaking into one of the rivers in Ithilien. Some of it makes its way here and folk have fallen ill, not deathly, mind, but off their feed and slow of wit, me too, but less than most. The government has been very capable and they will try to get people to use Sirith water until the mountains can be cleansed.”

In his same believable tone he added, “I would ask you to keep that between us. Distress only makes it worse. Folk will get through this.”

She asked softly, “I meant the little girl.”

With difficulty, “I am having a marker made for her resting place. It is more for me than her, poor thing.” He brightened, “Now, we have three days before your celebration. I am at liberty. What shall we do to pass the time?”

The next night they saw a melodrama, a bit like Catanard with less singing. The main players were the usual dastardly male villain, beautiful but witless lass, even dimmer hayseed suitor and a female troublemaker who got all of the funny lines. The actors were local amateurs. Most people in the audience knew them and sang the familiar songs. The regulars knew when to hiss or cheer as schemes unfolded. One poor man who had not seen parody before stood and shouted, “Do not take his word, for he is a scoundrel!” Nearby patrons assured him this was not actually happening. He took it well and would buy the first round at the Tall and Wide after the evil-doers were shown the error of their ways.

When he and Phylless weren’t together, Nag Kath scoured the bookstores. A lot of written lore passed through Pelargir over the last four thousand years. Given the financial insecurity of travel, some documents were traded for coppers along the way. And the city did not have a vibrant scholars’ guild to make sense of them. He wasn’t sure he could either but there might be pearls among the dross.

Shops of the three triangles were routine and expensive. Shops of the eastern circle had been picked-through by the vendors of the triangles. But in the workingman’s western side of the city, shops were not so neatly specialized, or even identified. Some places sold anything they thought they would bring a groat. Many owners did not even read. Nag Kath developed a pattern of walking in, asking if they had books and staying or leaving depending on the answer. He could tell by the paper when books were written and by whom.

On the day of the party, the royal cards fell in order. A shop that must have been a warehouse had the sort of owner who was sure everything he offered was made of Florins. Nag Kath thought he must own the building because there was no possibility of him paying rent and never selling anything. The Elf poked his head in the door and asked, “Do you carry books?”

The old boy shouted, “Of course we have books. Big ones, small ones, all kinds!”

Walking in he realized he had the only eyes in the city capable of reading big or small books inside the windowless hall. With the same bonhomie he rejoined, “Then let us see them!”

The proprietor was within ten years on the wrong side of a hard fifty. He was putting some of his stronger wares near the door and wandered up looking for something in the pockets of his apron. It wasn’t there so he used his hand to arrange his hair and then said, “Books? I know we have some, or we did …” a hand to the chin brought no clarity. “I could make you a very good price on several bolts of linen!”

“Perhaps another time, good sir.”

“Books? Books! We have all manner of books. Let me see …” The man scuttled down the darkest corridor in the building and shouted out, “Here we go … no, don’t suppose you need a Gondoran tent? It was never used in the war!”

It was nearing the three-bell and time to get clean for Phylless’ celebration. He had no sense that this fellow had or could find anything written but this was the last shop on the block so he gave him the benefit of the doubt. The shopkeeper tipped a crate over with a muffled ‘dougsh’ and then called, “How about these?”

Nag Kath walked back and looked at several bound volumes in both Sindarin and Quenya, not much the worse for wear either. They were mixed in with an assortment of papers, other books in Westron and who knew what else in the near blackness. The crate itself measured about sixteen inches square and was half full. The Elf looked at it and said, “How much?”

“How much for what?”

“The books.”

“Which ones?”

“All of them.”

The man adopted his horse-trading approach and said thoughtfully, “Well, I have to take them out and see. Some of these are very valuable, you know … yes, I have refused high offers from many for such treasures!”

Nag Kath knew the game. He really didn’t care what they cost but the man had to tell him the opening price. He did some chin-holding of his own and said, “Why don’t you take a look? If my boat is delayed, I can come back on Friday and you can tell me what you decide.”

Paying no attention, “That’s right, high demand for such things among the lordly in Eärnil! Someone might snatch it from right under your nose.”

It was time to go. Nag Kath figured there were ten or twelve books in the box, imagining the proprietor thought the same. He said, “It is hard to see in here but what do you have, twenty books in there? At ten groats each that’s four silvers. Let’s call it three.”

“Three! Impossible!”

The unconvinced shopper observed, “Most of them are written in a foreign tongue.”

“Someone will read ‘em.”

“Then let us take them into the light and count them out at twelve groats each.”

The shopkeeper would lose on the exchange and said, “Five! And not a groat less!”

“You drive a hard bargain, sir. Three it is. Can you put the top back on for me?” And hide how many books the simpleton had actually purchased? Sure, he could slide the top back in the groove.

The hoodwinked customer counted out three silvers, and not a groat less, dropping them into the waiting palm. The fellow counted the coins twice but did not bite them. Then he smiled and said, “How are you set for linen?” After setting an undignified pace through the Ancient Market and across the bridge to his inn, the Elf changed into the last of his clean clothes and was only slightly late to the gala.

______________-------______________

Like Nag Kath did on Syndolan, Phylless hired an organizer. Two of her three interior servants were older than her parents. It was better to hold someone else responsible for broken plates. He came inside with a couple who smelled of the leather trade and used his height to find his hostess. She saw him first and came over to gently take his hand in welcome before veering to untangle poor Mrs. Emerlawn’s scarf from the foot of her chair. 

Lentaraes left her a grand house but it was better suited for intimate gatherings; few large rooms near the front and the kitchen in the far back. No matter; people were talking, drinking quite moderately and seemed to know each other. Folk smiled at him and he kept repeating this was such a lovely gathering until rescued by Phyll. She led him to an older couple who looked like her, “Mother, father, this is Nag Kath who knew Lentaraes.”

The sharp-eyed yeast millers both smiled and mother said, “It is good to meet you, young man. Are you enjoying Pelargir?”

“I am, ma’am (he never asked Phylless’ maiden name). I had business in the government block and the good fortune to meet your daughter.”

Da said, “Are you here by ferry?”

“No, sir. I rode from Ithilien and will return to Minas Tirith from here.”

“Good lad! You need some ale.”

The Elf was handed a mug at the beverage table and when he returned, her folks were talking with old friends not seen since last year. Phyll took him firmly by the elbow towards people her own age saying, “You handled that well. They are very protective of their little girl.” Nag Kath wasn’t sure how ardent she would be tonight with her parents two doors down the hall but he could be very patient. 

There was a lull in the conversation when Vellund and Mrs. Kieff handed their hats to the hired doorman. Folk thought they knew who he was and that was confirmed when he clasped Mr. Rothelburn on the shoulder in fellowship. His pallid missus wasn’t so sure about all of this. Like many of the city quality, she had been drinking Anduin water for the last year. He wondered if this was the after-effect of a heaping dose of burney.

Phylless was prepared to discount her lover’s fanciful imaginings in exchange for his physical charms so actually seeing one of his boasts come true was a bit of a shock. They made their way across the room to shake hands with the Elf who said, “Good evening, you must be Mrs. Kieff.”

She was trained to respond correctly, “Yes, I am.” 

“Mr. and Mrs. Kieff, may I present your hostess, Mrs. Phylless Maedegon?”

Kieff bowed and said he was honored. Phyll took him by the arm with the missus following to the counter and found them two cups of a fine Lebennin wine. That was his preferred drink and he had a quiet hand in its popularity. With the Umbar brigands whipped, their local vintage was making a dent in the Dorwinion market upriver. Phylless lived well up the Sirith, but if the silly Elfling had actually told truth about the Eïthil grandees drinking polluted Anduin water and this poor woman among the first to purge, their hostess could sympathize. “Mrs. Kieff, can I interest you in cook’s lovely leavened crackers?” They were as bland as oatmeal; just the thing to calm a roiling stomach. The woman took several.

Kieff looked at him and said gleefully, “You need to change your name back to Solvanth for a couple weeks until order is restored.”

They clicked glasses and both said, “To health.”

Another of Kieff’s acquaintances stole them away leaving Nag Kath and Phylless alone until Mrs. Dystran approached, smiling but cautious. Her husband was only a few seconds behind. Their first impression of the towering blonde was a drunken description by Yante’s cousin being sorcerously dragged across a restaurant and choked near death. This one was a strapping lad but did not seem murderous.

Phylless had prepared for this moment, “Yante, Glendis, please meet Nag Kath who is visiting from the White City.” All shook or bowed according to sex and custom. They both remembered Florice, the stunning, miserable woman whose baby died shortly after she arrived, how she would walk the strand crying and talking to herself. They remembered Irvien, drunk as a pirate, eager to win his next fight after being humiliated by Flor’s seedless husband. 

And now here he was. Yante and Glendis also knew something of Phyll’s tastes and realized that if this creature had not fathered a babe, it was not for lack of effort. Yante said, “Welcome to Pelargir, Mr. Kath. I am sorry your visit could not be without sorrow.”

“Thank you, sir. I took the liberty of having a stone carved for Helien’s resting place. I hope you do not mind.” They hadn't thought of that and had no trouble believing Irvien hadn't either. 

Glendis said, “Thank you, Mr. Kath. It was a time of upset.”

Mr. Kath smiled, “Please, this is a time to celebrate our Phylless’ birth. Let us continue in that spirit. Now, as I understand it, you trade in …?” All four of them thought that well handled.

No one was completely sure of the tall man and glamorous widow’s relationship but guesses were close to the mark. Her parents had a splendid time seeing many of the same people they saw on their side of the river and retired early. The Kieffs weren't far behind them, she the worse for wear. He said to the Elf, “Lord Kath, might be a good idea for you to stop by the guv’s before you see the King. Fondiscar did a little digging of his own.”

Kieff gave him a wink and a bow to his radiant hostess before escorting his wife out the door. He was here to deliver that message and she was here because he was here. A brave woman. Phyll just stared at her lover. Lord? The governor? The King? All those laughable yarns about poisonous water and pumpkins?! 

Her parents were sound sleepers and didn’t hear a thing.


	33. The Temple of Water

** _Chapter 33_ **

** _The Temple_ ** ** _ of Water_ **

Kieff, Fondiscar and Onathal were sitting around the governor’s desk when the Elf arrived at the official start of the government day. He joined them without the usual bowing and protocol. Onathal was spryer than last he saw him and nodded to the city works manager who started, “Mr. Kath, I went back to the Hall of Records to see if I could find anything else commissioned by your Mr. Yvsuldor at about the same time.” He smiled, “Put the archivists to work. They are still at it.”

Fondiscar took a sip of tea, which reminded the governor his guest had not been served so he poured a mug and slid it across the desk. After his sip the manager continued, “Several gourds washed up here on Eärnil, straight across from the main well.”

It seemed to those present that Nag Kath’s sigh took an eternity. The Elf leaned back in his chair looking at the ceiling before gathering himself and saying, “Mr. Fondiscar, you are the very best of servants for the good of your people. Let us see your well”

All four of them went along with two hulking guards. People lined-up with water buckets made room but most stayed to see the august company. The winch-horse was stopped as the Elf walked up to the trough. Nag Kath did not often use sorcery in common view but he made an exception here. Civilians were asked to leave. The knife showed blue. No one left expected him to dump the bucket over his head. He raised his hand to the sky and turned silver. Slowly the water about him evaporated into steam with a sickly green vapor swirling about his chest and flowing from his arm into the ether. 

The effect ended and he knelt on one knee where he stood in the little puddle, staying there for fully a minute with his head down, eyes closed. Nag Kath rose normally and smiled wanly to the lordly host saying, “We should repair to your office, governor. 

On their way in, the Elf asked for a pitcher of tea, knowing it had been brewed with Sirith water. He drank half of it in a swig, swishing it in his teeth several times. Then he folded in the same chair he had earlier and looked at the eyes looking at him. Speaking to no one in particular he started, “Gentlemen, this was not supposed to be common knowledge but you are the lords of this realm and deserve to know.

“I was in Mordor a few years ago to destroy a warlord bearing a ring of power.” By now some of them knew. “This warlord was the chosen by a much older group, the descendants of Sauron’s higher servants, led by the Witch-King. They called themselves the Yvsuldor in the dark days.” He smiled grimly, “It seems they have a taste for nuppers.

“They are all dead now, but I believe there is a source of power waiting for direction, holding the near-dead in thrall. We see it in the marches, Dunland, the Barrows, probably others, men and beasts that will not die. Your water is tainted by a pit used to make the fell-beasts. It might have never been found except the top of a mountain collapsed and now the river washes through it.”

Nag Kath swallowed another slug of tea and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I believe that foul water is drawn to your harbor by whatever was, or is, under that temple. Mr. Fondiscar, please keep looking for more of them, and I need to see every scrap of paper in those files again. I do not know if I have the power to defeat what may be found. Elves and other wizards capable of such feats are long gone. And if I can, wide berth will be needed for brave men to bear it away. I know not where.”

The governor listened carefully and now said, “First things first.” He called to a guard, “Send in Scribe Waltath.” The scribe, one of the civilians here the first time Nag Kath came, was waiting in the hall and bustled over to take notes. Onathal continued, “That main well is condemned. I want all available workmen to bring in water from the greater Sirith channel for the southern arrows as far up as they can get it. All public events on Eärnil and Faithful are to be moved to suitable facilities elsewhere. Folk with complaints of the type we know are to be treated with such supply of those herbs as we can manage. Ask the healers if others remedies will serve.”

The governor took a big gulp himself. Watching sorcery dries the palate. “Lord Kath, can you stay?”

“I think I should, sir. But I need to send a long letter to his Highness by fast rider. Mr. Kieff, can you detach young Lieutenant Houlmanath as my aide and find us quarters here on this island with a meeting room?” Kieff nodded. “Governor Onathal, I am at your command. I will make sure you are notified of my progress at your convenience.”

The governor held his chin and finished, “There will be no containing this. I would rather look busy than stupid. Mr. Kieff, devise how to salve the worries of our people without them deserting their homes and farms.”

“Yes, governor.”

“That is all for now.”

As Nag Kath and Kieff were leaving the soldier said, “Oh, nice party. Our hostess was lovely.” Not all ‘old friend’s widows’ were so comely. 

Houlmanath’s first assignment was to find clothes in Nag Kath’s size. After pumpkins, undead vapors and Sauron’s water, the bulk of his wardrobe should be burned. He had one last pair of underwear at the inn and he changed before checking out and reporting to his new quarters. 

There was tension in the street. People sensed something was wrong. It wasn’t actually worse than it had been for a year but some knowledge was more dangerous than none. Nag Kath and his aide went back to the temple. It had already been blocked-off. The guard outside started to say, “Sir, this building is closed until …” before realizing these were two of the few who had business here.

Houlmanath has still not gotten the blast of sorcery off the roof of his mouth. He stared at the flooring and waited for the Elf to say something. Nag Kath didn’t. He stared too, wondering what could be down there. Was it living? Had it lived? Was it just nastiness in the arsenal of doom? One thing was certain, they had to be ready.

Fondiscar appropriated all of the records and had them sent to the Elf’s quarters. They arrived before he returned from the temple. He started with the drawing of the floor stones. Houlmanath, who seemed to have Tumlen’s ability to find anything fast, produced a large fire glass for examining the papers in detail. The floor-stone layout in the picture was different than on the ground. Was the difference between them the message?

At the late twelve-bell, Nag Kath wandered into his room. Houlmanath was snoring. The Elf shook him into another position and tried to sleep-off the water sorcery of the morning. He would finish his letter to the King first thing and have a note sent to Phylless. Today was supposed to be a cordial tea with the governor.

He slept well. The aide rolled over and snored again but Nag Kath didn’t notice. He would insist his soon-to-be-promoted First Lieutenant get his own bunk. The letter to the King, in Sindarin, took half a bell for a single draft; scribbles and a few pictures. He could tell Ambassador Reyald as much of this as he wanted.

His note to his lover was just that there was new excitement and he would visit when he could, or she could ride down and tear him away from his labors. Yes, Houlmanath needed his own room, but not until after he sent a messenger with authority to demand mounts at every changing station from here to Minas Tirith, and should see if the King was at his farm on the way by. The rider took the note to Phylless on his way out. This city works man who surprised them at the temple asked for and got some of Nag Kath’s time about moving water inside the city. There was no slope to work with. The man had actually seen the aqueduct which helped in his deliberations. With respect; the statue was a poor likeness! 

In the streets, people were taking things well. Kieff tactfully spread the story that taint from a tributary on the other side of the Anduin was causing a mild palsy here. Folk should get their water from the Sirith. Most of them did anyway. Only the better-heeled citizens were affected and they immediately solved the engineer’s problem by contracting with barge drivers to take on ballast at the north point and pour it into troughs near the tethered barges that created the floating drawbridges. The cause and what was under the flagstones was still closely known. Folk complained but cooperated.

After lunch, Governor Onathol called a staff meeting with four new guests. Colonel Vondenbrand was head of the local marines just back from patrol. Ostensibly under Minas Tirith, he and his fathers had swept this area of Umbars before and after the unmaking of the ring. He controlled river traffic. Mr. Kempas was counselor of the public good. His office supervised emergency measures with the same pirates Vondenbrand fought on the water. Public granaries were in his portfolio and he knew the private ones too, including Maedegon Mills. Lestar Punith was the engineer Nag Kath met the day before about water. His men would get the wretched job of dismantling the temple. He needed to know what to tell them, and when. Finally there was Lupar of the Guardi, Vondenbrand’s opposite number on land. They were more police than soldiers but would have to fight whatever came out of that hole.

Kieff had already explained the situation in a morning meeting. This was about what to do. They talked for an hour with sensible questions and answers. None among them tried to be heroic or pompous or claim another’s responsibility. Onathol had chosen his advisors well. When the conversation played-out, the governor said, “Lord Kath, what do you recommend?”

“First, sir, I think you are doing the right things now. Men should start dismantling that temple with great care not to disturb the floor. Tainted blocks can be stored on barges until we decide the best way to destroy them.”

Kieff broke in, “It seems there are other herbs that can be used effectively. Word has already been sent to Osgiliath for more stores.”

Onathal nodded to Kieff and Lupar. Then he cracked his knuckles and said to his scribe, “Prepare a council for the other four District Marshals in Lalomen as soon as possible. I want them to keep their ground free of troubles while we wrestle with this confusion, particularly Lebennivet. They get this water after we do. Lestar, we will need your stout lads to start taking that building down.

“Anything else? Dismissed. 

Back at the Elf’s quarters, Houlmanath did himself proud. A full wardrobe of quality apparel in Nag Kath’s size was hanging or folded, including boots and shoes. He found a stall for Charlo too. The young officer was not a handman so his seconding would have more soldierly duties soon. Nag Kath told him to commandeer a horse after making sure the lad could ride.

______________-------______________

The slow part had begun. Nag Kath took the rest of the day off to see Phylless. She had learned not to worry about her men but the new one was of the school that honored their partners. “I got your note. Thank you for that. I take it there are more troubles?”

“You could say that.”

“You don’t say much, do you?”

“I am sorry, dear Phyll. It is an old habit. I often find myself in neck-deep and do not want to jeopardize folk if I can avoid it. There are troubles, but the governor has good men and this will pass. How are you?”

“All agreed the party was a success, even if it does celebrate me being less young.” She touched her lip suggestively, “I think I am holding up rather well.”

He smiled, “We shall put that to the test shortly.” More seriously, “I may be here much longer than anticipated. This was supposed to be a three-day stop to see Lentaraes. It went much better, but now there is you, and you are holding up so well.”

She smiled too. “Thank you.”

He added, “I could see this lasting some time, but I travel at need. How do you see your future?”

Oh my! She hadn’t considered this conversation. Without knowing it, Phylless Maedegon was in a much stronger position than most of the Elf’s loves. She had means. She could ride. She liked adventure. She wasn’t much concerned about propriety. Nag Kath seemed to have resources and a deal more standing than she first thought. And when he said he could not father children; that was to the good in her ledger. 

On the other end of the scale, would he abandon her as she aged? Phyll was practical about that. She would be old anyway so why start sooner than she had to? Mother and father were across the river and she did not want to be away from them for long periods. No, part of Nag Kath was better than all of most men. She knew that well enough. And she did not have to make any decisions while he was here.

She would have dragged him upstairs but he started pouring over his trove from the junkman. The Elf appropriated the large table and spread his treasures out according to the language, starting with the ones written in the strange, ornate script. Phylless was smart but a poor reader. On the river, women were seldom taught to read even their own tongue, but merchants' daughters could always count. Watching her thumb-through the texts reminded him that a trip to the spectacle-maker was in order if she wasn’t too proud.

They had dinner out that night. A pub just down the strand had blue Odar baked with their secret recipe. It was sublime with one of the wines from Caragost that was pale rather than red. They walked it off going home. The servants knew not to be underfoot or hear too much. Yes, she thought later, this was fine for now.

Nag Kath was a working man. Before she woke he was already on Charlo heading for the island. Men would start removing stones today. They did not know why but he wanted to be there for surprises. There were none, other than a man crushing his thumb. Nag Kath was able to save it. The beautiful, tainted blocks from the temple were hauled on wagons to the drawbridge and loaded on barges waiting in the still water around the monument. Even with a full crew, it would be a week to remove them since they could not just knock the walls over and pick-up the pieces.

He kept coming back to the floor stones; one drawn, one built. They were different shades of gray. Did they form a symbol, a number? It would be something too simple to understand. A thought formed in his mind; Orlo! Something to do with the old wizard in Rhûn, what did he say? “Lieutenant!”

The Elf put his boots on and collected Charlo from Houlmanath. A block before the Healing Guild office he tethered his mount to a post and walked the rest of the way. He did not want them to hear the clatter of hooves before he showed. The same girl was counting deej berries to put in little sacks. Since the tall one paid cash, she climbed off the stool and collected her granna in person. The old woman came to the counter and said, “I guess you found him, then.”

“In plain sight, ma’am.”

“I already told you, the man is not in the Guild.”

“Nor should he be. I need to find someone who is, someone who can draw.”

“Young man, I need to explain that is a dangerous profession. Not everyone who comes here on a government horse appreciates that.”

So much for sneaking up. Trying not to make it sound like a threat, Nag Kath said, “You have a sweet granddaughter. Is there something in the back she can get for you?”

The blonde came up coppers last time so she took the risk, “Dear, would you go count those thistle leaves for me?”

The child smiled, “Of course, granna.” Thistle was next to the sweet-cane stalks. 

The Elf knew he would get little from the old woman without extensive vetting on her part and a sizeable bribe. Bribes he had. Time he didn’t. Confusing her would not get her best recommendation either. Nag Kath gently took one of her hands in both of his. They slowly turned silver surrounding her faint yellow for fully ten seconds. The pain of arthritis in her twisted fingers disappeared. His hands changed back to their usual color as he put his elbows on the counter.

“I need the best. Soon." He pulled a nipper out of his vest and slid it across the wood. “Now you know I’m not the sort to cause trouble with the guardi. You split that any way you like, but I mean; soon.”

Against every instinct, she left the quarter Florin on the counter and looked up to meet his eyes for a moment before demanding, “No one gets hurt?”

“That’s right”

“Who’s the patient?”

“Me.”

She slid the coin into her apron pocket and asked, “Still at the Navigator?”

He pulled a slip of paper and stub pencil from his tunic and scribbled Phylless’ address. “First thing tomorrow, she is there to help a gentleman with a sore knee.” He wasn’t sure he needed to add this but did, “I am sure you won’t disappoint.” The old woman did not look like here feelings were hurt. 

When he reached Phylless’ house she gave him a kiss and whispered, “My monthly bill arrived today.” 

That could be touchy. A lot of men would leave for the week or leave for good. He kissed her behind the ear and said, “What would you like to do for dinner?”

______________-------______________

City-center bells were faint here, but about nine in the morning there was a meek knock at the door. Vergere opened it and welcomed a slip of a woman with a large straw hat carrying a carpet bag. She was shown into the picture room and asked to wait. A few minutes later, Nag Kath walked in with a tea pitcher and closed the door behind him. Under no circumstance was anyone to open it, no matter what they heard. He gave her a friendly smile and said, “Please, sit right there.” She did with the bag at her feet. He sat in the chair next to hers and said, “My name is Nag Kath. Have you heard of me?”

She nodded slowly, “Kath of the Water. Folk call me Scilla.”

“It is good to meet you, Scilla. Can you tell me your gift?”

That was a hard one. She could pull an infection and heal deep bruises, so better than average. But Mrs. Millitosh said this one drew pain from her bones so he was strong, stronger than anyone she had ever heard of. The problem was; Kath of the Water was from Osgiliath and two known witches from there were now dead as Durok. She also couldn’t bluff her way out since he could not be fooled. Scilla needed the money so she took the risk. 

“Fair. Bruises, cholic, hangover, the usual. What’s wrong with you?”

She would do. He pointed at the pitcher and said, “That’s vou tea if you need it. Have you ever countered a confusion spell?”

Oh no! Wasn’t that what old Mrs. Ingralls did before she was poisoned? No, she caused them, not cured them. This was still dangerous. Scilla rasped, “No sir. Never done that.”

The Elf sat back and said, “Then, I’m going to teach you. What was your split?”

He did not say of the nipper because that certainly never came up. Normally she would tell anyone who asked to mind their own business, or something more colorful. Not this one, “I got two silvers.”

So; a fifth-share. The Elf reached in his pocket and gave her five more. “Scilla, let me tell you what I need. Seven years ago, I was fooled by a sorcerous glamour of great power. It was for the good. A much stronger wizard tried to give me a message but I could not tell at the time. I will try to show you how to pull that memory from me. I have never done this before. It should be safe and easy on you. Whether it works or not, you keep the money and maybe learn something you can use. Is that fair?”

Scilla blinked and gulped; ascent of sorts.

He added, “And this stays between us?”

“You got that right!”

“Please, give me your right hand.”

A bony wrist slowly made it halfway there. He took it with one hand and put his other alongside her face. She only saw the hand on her wrist but it glowed! What seemed like an instant later, he released her. Scilla’s head was a bit clearer. She wasn’t so afraid of the towering blonde sorcerer either. He asked her, “Did you feel how I did that?”

With a strange confidence she replied, “I think so. You were anchored in water and pulled in high from the neck vein and temple, yes?”

“Very good. I will do that again and I would like you to think of something you know you knew but can’t remember anymore.” He did it again but held the spell almost half a minute. 

When it was over she said, “I still don’t remember. I saw what was around me but not what I was supposed to do.”

“That might be good enough. “Now, you try. Do not let the wrist pulse confuse what you tell from my neck. Just for a moment, at first.” Scilla had to move her carpetbag out of the way but she turned to the much taller healer and placed her hands as he had done to her. It was weaker and she only held the draw for a few seconds but she could tell something exchanged.

He told her, “I’ve had to use that twice on people afflicted with a Lostorin binder, made me sick as a dog. When someone is fine, it hardly leaves a trace. Now I would like you to try for as long as you can. Stop if you feel dizzy.”

She took the same position and did her best, holding the spell for a quarter of a minute. Scilla was in no pain or confusion but the drawing felt complete. The strange man turned to a ready pad and pencil and furiously drew what looked like an eastern counting rack. She did not see that. What else was in that head? The blonde man quickly drew the little balls in position and then took a huge breath. She asked, “Can I have some of that tea?” He poured them both mugs. She drained about half of hers but was not ill. 

Then the sorcerer said, “That was all I needed. Take it from me; you do not want to be known for the confusion side of that spell.”

“I heard.” 

He rose, “Thank you for coming Scilla.”

She lived, with another five silvers to boot! Her luck had never been that good. Scilla thanked him through a fog of new confidence as he showed her the door. Flopping back on the couch, he put his stocking feet on the low table with his hands behind his head. 

Phylless minded his request to keep away while the healer was here but she was down the stairs the moment the door closed. Her Elf looked disgustingly pleased with himself. “Well, aren’t you the cat that ate the mouse!”

He just sat there looking at the ceiling with that silly grin. Had the woman turned him witless and emptied his pockets? “Naaaaaag?”

He blinked and looked at her, “Sorry Phyll. I have a great deal on my plate.”

“I should say. Did you learn anything?”

“I am not sure. I am going to find out. Are there any shops nearby that are owned by eastern people; Rhûn, Khand maybe?”

“They are everywhere. I think Voulad the baker on Vue Robald comes from there.”

“Then come with me, dear woman. We will do some counting.”

The orc was beyond irritating! The healer had made him simple! He asked the price for four loaves and then wondered if he added two of the little rolls and took away one of the full loaves how much that would be. The poor baker’s wife clicked the little balls on her bead rack for each of five possibilities until the insufferable creature finally said, “Fine, I will take four loaves and two rolls and give you another ten groats for your clacker.” That got him an almost toothless smile as the woman put the loaves in Phylless’ shopping sack and the handsome couple strolled home with far more bread than they could possibly eat, him chuckling at his bargaining prowess all the while!

She did not know whether to be amused or vexed. Managing to hide the slightest trace of humor in her question, she asked, “And that solves the problems of Pelargir?”

He became serious very quickly. “If I can use what I learned, it might save thousands of lives.”

Phylless had some thinking to do. At first she thought him a charming artist with certain physical talents. Then she thought him a foolish boaster with certain, well, talents. Then she discovered that his most absurd yarns were actually true. The man who brought his note had a King’s mail patch on his shoulder, the highest authority to commandeer horses and food from anyone at any hour. And now the beardless one was fair silly because he overpaid for a clacker? Phyll thought she had one in the cupboard that a Swerting gardener forgot. As soon as they got home, the Elf took his new toy to the Dukks table in the picture room and matched the beads with his drawing from the healer. Then he took two more drawings from his satchel and compared the pattern of the beads to the flagstones, both in the original drawing and his sketch.

Phylless sat next to him still trying to understand that infuriating smile. The healer knew she was there but his mind was elsewhere. He remembered the old boatwright showing him the simple counting device in the imaginary compound;

** _He placed the beads according to his count and showed _ **

** _it to Nag Kath saying, “There, now you can remember.”_ **

The beads looked nothing like either floor pattern. Orlo had shown him the device held flat. Some of his beads were spaced in-between rather than correctly positioned up or down. Nag Kath did not get frustrated like men. It was only one more way not to be right. He had Vergere bring a handful of tooth twigs from the kitchen and stuffed them in the loose bead holes to hold them in place. Setting the rack on its edge, he studied it for several more minutes while Phyll thought of a graceful way to leave. He shook his head and rose from the table, catching it with his thigh and knocking the clacker over.

Cook made lamb, Phylless’ favorite. Nag Kath ate one of the rolls. They said little at the large dining table. Even the servants knew not to speak. Saruman’s trip hammer was pounding in Nag Kath’s head. It was there. It must be there. He saw the clacker just as the old man had shown him, storing that pattern in his brain until it could be remembered at need. He wondered if he had been given a spell to be remembered with a clarity spell of another sorcerer. Later he took Phyll upstairs and held her chastely. No one had ever done that before.

She was uncomfortable. Normally her cycle made her irritable but did not always come with the cramping many women suffered. This was one of the bad days. The Elf nestled behind her and reached his lower hand under her face and his top hand over her womb. It the pitch black she saw a silver glow coming from the hand on her belly that was met by the faintest yellow at his fingertips. She thought she was dreaming. Then she slept.

______________-------______________

He was up with the dawn. Cook was too, but didn’t the ungracious pleasure-man understand that fires had to be lit and water drawn? He was always polite, and therefore mildly forgiven, but why couldn’t he sleep late like rich people? Phylless was up earlier than usual too. That spell only lasts so long. She still thought it a dream but felt she was through the worst. 

Nag Kath wandered into the picture room holding his chin, staring at the clacker he knocked upside-down. Realization slowly dawned and he yelled at the top of his voice, “By the scaly balls of Glaurung!!”

Phyll and the servants ran headlong to the hall in time to see Nag Kath stuff the clacker and pictures into his satchel and speed past them out the door. He called behind him he might be a while. For anyone else, a guardi would have charged a fine for riding a horse that fast inside the walls.

Despite the speed, governor Onathal was already in his opening staff meeting with Kieff, several of the folk from the water meeting and two more functionaries. Nag Kath told the guard he was here and had something folk inside would want to see. That would have gotten anyone else a buttocks-and-collar escort down the front steps but the tall blonde man was to be heard. The guard opened the door and the Elf walked inside to bow.

Onathal looked over and told the unneeded advisors they would take this up another time. Then he nodded for Nag Kath to sit. The Elf said, “Sirs, I have to beg your indulgence for another long story. I can only say now it will be worth it.” 

He outlined preparations for the Dorwinion campaign and the little man in the fantasy garden, a powerful wizard, perhaps as potent as his mentor Gandalf. That name still meant a lot on the Anduin. He described how Orlo had put the clacker in his face after calculating nothing at all. Kieff would know part of the next bit, “I hired a healer to go back in my memory to produce the exact arrangement of the beads. They are as shown here.” He pulled the device from his satchel. “They meant nothing. I compared them to the flagstones as they were intended and as actually put in place. Nothing. 

“Then the clacker fell over on the front side. The pattern from behind is the symbol of Orlo, of right-living combined with Patience and Calm.” He admitted, “More or less, like how we embellish a star constellation. That is the emblem of those who have quietly opposed Sauron for thousands of years. 

“The original symbol means nothing to us because it is not for us. It was facing down to whatever is under that stinking dirt. This picture from the file is how it was meant to be installed. Read from the bottom we have Fûl, symbol of power. The one next to it is Patience. The third; War. 

“I believe the Righters replaced the original floors with their own design, then covered them over with the stones they removed to hide their own message. The reason they are upside-down is because they are not a message to those walking above. It is a ward against something beneath them. Those flagstones kept allies of Sauron from coming forth to join his armies.

“May I respectfully suggest, sir, that we stop removing the stones, lest even one of them falls and cracks that floor.”

The men around the table just looked at each other. Having fell servants constrained had to be good, but that meant they were dangerous and powerful when unleashed. And all the while, sewage from Mordor was pouring into the Great River against little more than nettle tea! The governor said gravely, “I will write a letter to the King myself. With troubles in Ithilien and now here, this is for Gondor to solve. Every man here; do your duty and may the Valar bless and keep our sovereign.”

______________-------______________

Colonel Vondenbrand was displeased. His family had lived on Eärnil for nine generations. He was not about to start taking old women’s elixirs for sleep sweating. This was just the latest niggling thorn on top of his barren wife’s recent malcontent. Few babes had been born to any women in the better districts this year.

He believed Onathal would not come out of this well. Surrounded by blood Princes west and east plus the King himself barely a hundred miles north, Lebennin was disdained, merely a way to get from one important place to another. And now there was this beardless exquisite, who looked like a singer from Dol Amroth, ordering the governor to stay his hand and leave a bad situation for better men! For two days, Onathal had done nothing to protect his land. Vondenbrand would. He had the marines. He had the stomach. Lupar did not keep many of his guardi in the Quarter of the Faithful even now. The man would see the fitness of force. 

His only problem was Kieff. Smart, loyal, uncorruptable; Kieff knew every ear in the city. One thing Onathal could do was keep a secret. The Colonel’s Lieutenants would know little of the governor’s womanish inaction. When ordered, they would fly to the threat. A hundred twenty stout marines surrounding that squalid little temple could manage whatever came out. Sauron was dead. Power now belonged to men of the west!

Vondenbrand called his chiefs the next morning, except for Vespule and Kalägin who were on ships patrolling the Ethir Anduin. He cleared his throat, “Gentlemen, the governor asked us to settle a problem. I call upon your discretion. A foolish foreigner claims one of the little temples along the Walk of the Faithful is cursed. Officially we are to leave it be. Unofficially, the marines are called to destroy it and put paid to any notion of sorcery before common men riot. Jrondigad, Ithel, I want your men ready at dusk tomorrow. Bows, swords and pikes. Lebellid, the flagstones of the temple need to be removed. Have a dozen stout men ready with pry-bars and picks. It is the third temple from the west. Most of the walls have already been removed. We meet there at half-past the six-bell. That is all.

“Uread, a moment.” The quartermaster held back until the room emptied, “What ever happened to the smuggler Dousou?”

“Nothing. Kieff made it plain that he would go back to his strumpets on the Ethir or pay his shipping taxes.”

“Spread the word he is back.”

Uread, Vondenbrand’s most political officer, tilted his head slightly. His Captain counseled, “The old men have had their turn, eh?”

Uread nodded just as slightly and saw to his labors, not knowing that Kieff was downstream talking with river-men there.

The next day saw nothing surprising. Two guardi stood vigil over the remaining temple during the day but did not interfere with folk visiting the others. Phylless was feeling herself again and took it out on the defenseless Elf when he rode to her house after a long day in the archives. Meanwhile, Vondenbrand and his officers approached the two fresh guardi sentries. He told them, “Soldiers of Pelargir, we are called to action. This floor must be destroyed to counter fell sorcery. Can I count on your bravery?”

They both snapped to attention in assent. The Colonel nodded to the men who would remove the floor and they started hammering and picking with a will. It wasn’t two minutes later that they were all retching and puking with eyes and nostrils burning in pain. Lebellid told the same number of men to get in there and complete the work. They were fouled too but the first men took the worst. They recovered and twelve men piled the flat stones away from the center of the temple. 

Had Nag Kath been there instead of in Phylless’ arms, his magic eyes would have seen black and green plumes rising from the stink. A hundred apple-sized spiders scurried about from the surprise and then burrowed into the rank mud. And that was all. Two companies of marines stood-by staring at the festering ground. After a few minutes, archers were told to un-nock but hold at the ready. Fifteen minutes later, even the mud spiders were buried. Vondenbrand tried to recover some dignity from his bold action against the blonde alarmist and called, “Well done lads. Someone will pay for calling us here under false pretenses!” More softly to his officers, “Send them home. We’ll considering this at the morning meeting.” Men trudged to turn-in their weapons before finding a public house in the fading light.

______________-------______________

What the vainglorious Colonel did not know is that trolls do not wake until well after the sun goes down, especially trolls who have been sleeping for thousands of years. By the nine-bell, the mud spiders would have alerted them that the ward spell had been broken. It was time to come forth. They were two of the large, old trolls, a cross between cave and mountain beasts common at the time of their creation. Slow and stiff after their long nap, they clawed their way to the surface for air. No one was about in the temple sector after dark. Naked and unarmed, they could see lights in the homes of their next meal.

Vondenbrand got one thing right; Sauron was dead. These lads were of the Witch-King and knew nothing of the dark lord's reduced circumstances. That did not matter now. They were fierce and hungry, perfect for their intended role against the enemies of the Yvsuldor on nearby Eärnil island. 

They moved north to find water. A closed public trough served. Gate posts were wrenched from the ground as cudgels. Another block down they reached the home and shop districts. One of them slammed his post through a door while the other bashed the hole large enough for them to fit. It was not enough so they hammered the walls to shake the screaming residents down. The parents were eaten. The children were in the rubble.

Guardi whistles began shrieking throughout the Quarter, followed closely by horns sounding for armed troops. It was of no moment to the trolls who saw people fleeing on foot and easy dining in the row apartments. Gate archers fired on them but the arrows could not penetrate their thick hides. A few that hit flush stuck head deep, fleabites to the twenty-five foot monsters as they crushed anything in their way and sent cinders into the night. The alarm was now sounding city-wide through a series of horns and bells to identify the quarter in jeopardy. It just so happened that two companies of marines were unexpectedly in the Eärnil across the bridge. In various states of sobriety, they returned to the armory and reclaimed weapons held only hours before. 

Pelargir generally and the Faithful particularly had mostly stone or brick buildings but the roof rafters and interiors were of wood as you got further from fire-ballista range along the river. Those homes and shops became furnaces inside their stout walls. 

Lieutenant Ithel was first to the drawbridge between the Eärnil and the Faithful. He could see the fires but realized this was what his men were to stop before finding the ale-houses. Ithel ordered his troops across and that the bridge barge was to be pulled open so no one else could follow. With luck, the commander of the Ancient Quarter guardi would make the same choice above.

Nag Kath heard the whistles, and then the horns. He abandoned his lover and ran to the roof trying to get a glimpse of the trouble. In later recollections he was not sure if he felt the presence or heard the troll scream. Flying downstairs he dressed, grabbed his weapons and rode Charlo bareback. 

The fastest way to get to the fires was through Eärnil. He took the Ancient Market road instead thinking that would be the last drawbridge opened to isolate the Faithful triangle. The decision gave him a broad avenue from one side of the arrow to the other but it was poorly lit. Charlo had to trust him.

By now, Vondenbrand had mustered the remaining marines on Eärnil and ordered two patrol boats off main Sirith to contain trouble on the bank. Unlike Ithel, he did not suspect more than a fire or pirates run amok. Reaching the drawbridge, he ordered it winched for crossing and waited while the terrified horses were calmed enough to pull. Most of the other sixty men along with thirty guardi ran across as soon as the barge touched the stationary pier. 

Onathol and his house guard of another forty were not five minutes behind. Vondenbrand stopped to survey the wreckage behind the northbound trolls long enough for the governor to reach him. Onathol shouted, “What happened?!”

A wounded guardi struggling back from the fires yelled, “Trolls, sir. Two of them. Big as sin and powerful. They are fighting their way towards the Ancient. Onathol turned to his aide and said, “See if that temple is breached.” The man was off like a rocket and back three minutes later.

“The floor is gone.”

“Dougsh! Hornsman, sound ‘open the northern drawbridge!” He knew if the monsters had crossed, no one could obey. 

Nag Kath heard the horn but did not know the calls of the city. He was pushing Charlo across the moveable middle section as men on both sides began to untie the cleat ropes. Not yet! He kicked Charlo and put his head down hoping to make the span before it pulled away from the permanent foundations. Fortunately, those bridges were meant for routine traffic, not emergencies, and he only had to jump five feet as the center barge lumbered alongside the pier.

The trolls had stayed to the lit sections of the quarter and were now closing on the navigational Guilds and mausoleums near dense residential sections. One of them roared in pain as a toe split in the rampage bled a trail of black. Following the window candles, the creatures boxed themselves in near where Nag Kath had just crossed. 

He saw them. How did they escape? Was it lifting that flagstone the other day? No matter now. There were these two and who knew how many nearer the temple. Boats along the quay were filling with townspeople and making for the other side. The wind was against them from the north so they tacked east as hard as the sails could hold, trying to make the Eärnil, the place they had been created to destroy. Most subjects were trapped. Ithel’s company closed from the south past the great monuments near the base of the arrowhead. Archers were told to only shoot if they had a chance of hitting the beasts’ eyes. One of them had as the monster’s hunger turned to rage. Like Nag Kath, they were made to die. 

Ithel had not met Nag Kath but a charitable interpretation of Vondenbrand’s description told him this was the one who understood what actually happened. The Elf approached him and shouted over the din, “How many of them are there?”

“Just these two. They’ve burned a swath up from the temple sector. I think we have turned them towards the Eärnil bridge. I ordered it left apart.”

The tall blonde man seemed collected and surveyed the bridge sector before asking, “Are there any ballista?”

“Nay, only on the Anduin corner-points and those face the river.”

What neither knew was that Vondenbrand did not order the bridge-barges separated when he crossed. Eärnil was wide open if the trolls turned the corner and made east. They did know the beasts would be trying to flee and that was the path of least resistance. No one knew the Eärnil was where the trolls were conditioned to wreak the most havoc. The Elf shouted, “Lieutenant, you have no idea who I am but I hope you will take your men back to the bridge. I will ride there now and make what I can of the ground.” 

When Nag Kath arrived, the bridge was still in place. He screamed for the men on the other side to winch it apart. When they stalled, he used his Gandalf-voice and the two men whipped up the horses.

It would not be in time. The trolls rounded the bend of the center triangle and were bearing down with nothing in their way. Nag Kath turned his horse and gathered himself before projecting in the Black Speech for all to hear, _**“Stop now. Your work is complete.”**_

They did stop to look at each other. Then they decided Charlo was the tastiest thing on this miserable island and began limping towards him. Nag Kath slid off his horse and slapped him hard across the rump. Then he climbed the drain-spout of the three-story Pilot’s League building. One troll was looking side-to-side as his one-eyed companion stared at the bridge. 

Ithel’s archers began shooting from the south which distracted the monsters enough for Nag Kath to put an arrow in the wounded troll’s other eye. It bellowed in pain and anger, groping its way to the bridge. The other followed alongside the building. When they were close enough, Nag Kath took a running leap astraddle the sighted beast’s nose and buried his sword between its eyes, hilt-deep. 

Not being terribly smart, trolls don’t need their brains as much as men. It took a few seconds before the muscles and nerves realized they were dead. In that time, the monster waved his hands about his face as if shooing flies and knocked the Elf into the street and up against a cornerstone. 

He could not move his legs. He could not feel them. Everything went black. 

______________-------______________

Eye-witness accounts agreed the blind troll rampaged along the canal bank doing considerable damage but not killing anyone else until the sun rose. A modern troll, one of the Olog-hais, could have withstood the breaking day. A two thousand year-old troll was only made for one night without finding shelter. With the dawn, his muscles began to solidify, followed by his bones and finally his internal organs. He toppled into a bank of market stalls.

Two hundred seventeen people were lost that night. Four times that many were hurt, mostly burned. A goodly number of marines were numbered in those tallies. Nag Kath wasn’t found for a few hours. His crumpled body was breathing but his back was clearly broken. Men placed him as unbent as they could on a stretcher and he was evacuated with the wounded soldiers back to Eärnil. His Elvish regeneration could not pull separated spinal bones back together. He lay unconscious as healers occasionally poured sips of water in his mouth. They knew it was only a matter of time.

While Nag Kath waited for Mandos, Onathol asked questions. Maybe the trolls had dug their way out, but they hadn’t neatly piled the flooring stones near the entrance afterwards. It wasn’t long before plenty of marines said they were ordered to destroy the circle in the center of the temple. 

That night, Vondenbrand considered his father’s sword, a fine weapon that had brought honor to their family for generations. He lovingly polished the blade as he had almost every night of service. Then he stood with the point to his chest and fell forward. Onathal later declared that his fortune be distributed among the survivors and victim’s families.

______________-------______________

Nag Kath opened his eyes two days later. At first he stared at the ceiling and timed his breath. It was not strong. He tried to move but his body did not respond. An orderly saw him wake and rushed over. The creature was not expected to regain consciousness. In the armies of the Anduin, it was considered good luck to be aware in the final moments, to make peace and instruct one’s heirs.

As the young woman approached he whispered, “Where am I hurt?”

She said nothing, instead hurrying to a doctor not far away. He came close and was asked the same thing.

“Your back, Lord Kath. It is broken just below your shoulder blades.”

The Elf closed his eyes for the longest moment and said, “My jack … jacket.”

The young woman fetched it from the stand at the footboard. He breathed, “Pocket … pockets.”

There were several. First she found his counterfeit service insignias, then a notebook and pencil, a small sack of reddish leaves and finally several slips of paper in a strange eastern script. She had to hold them over his face since he could not turn. With what strength remained he croaked, “The woman, big woman, heals in … in …” The Elf coughed specs of blood over his bedding. “Bring her.” Then he slept.

When he woke the next morning, the powerful body healer was sitting at his bedside. The man had been kind to her so she came and waited. Phylless was sitting with her, knees together, hands folded; the universal female position of concern.

His lips would not open until the orderly gave him a sip of cold tea. “Hello, Phyll ... Rough night.”

She was near tears. The physicians said there was nothing that could be done for him. That he woke at all was amazing but would only lengthen his pain, if he felt anything at all. She found her courage and replied, “Rough night, Nag.”

Then he said the healer’s name incorrectly. She hovered over his face. Nag Kath concentrated very hard and said, “P, p, put bones together.”

Beshugya of the Nûrad knew the bones would not rejoin. Men were not built that way. But the nice man asked and she would comply. The woman drew the blanket and sheet off and flipped the casualty like a rag doll so he was facing down. He did not moan or flinch. She tore his sleeping gown away and used her powerful arms and shoulders to push the lower half of his body in alignment with the top, asking for help from the doctor to keep the torso still. Nag Kath said nothing. They could not even be sure he was alive. Beshugya gently felt his spine to be sure the bones were touching, even if there was no connection between them. 

With reactions ranging from astonishment to terror, Nag Kath’s visitors watched his back glow pale silver, most intensely below his shoulders. His face grimaced in silent agony for nearly a minute until his body returned to its usual pallor. Then he slipped into deep sleep.

It was dark. No one was there except wounded soldiers in beds to either side. He tried to move his toes. He couldn’t tell.

A different female orderly walked by in the morning with tea for the other wounded. Someone had covered his nakedness but he was still face down in the pillow. Nag Kath was able to turn his head and watch the pretty girl tend the others. Two beds over, she saw him looking at her and froze. Then she ran to get the head physician. He was in the other ward and took what seemed like forever to arrive but he knelt beside the bed and took the Elf’s pulse. It was stronger. The doctor turned to the lass and said, “Help me roll him over, gently now.”

She had never seen a naked man before, let alone touched one, but she did as told and put Nag Kath on his back. He was able hear his toes wiggle enough to make a scratching sound on the blanket. In his conversion from Uruk-hai to Elf, he remembered his back tortuously remaking itself. The teeth were worst and the hands a distant second but his spine got an honorable mention. He would have to do that himself this time.

Beshugya came every day for three weeks to align his back, always followed by his own healing. He sat up in the bed. In that time, Oronthal visited several times. Phylless was there every day, feeding him with a spoon. Sometimes she stayed in his quarters a few doors down. Kieff and Houlmanoth came by frequently, thought they were sore busy tending to the damage among the Faithful. The broken troll-stones were used to reinforce the breakwater at the western tip of the quarter. One workman spent two days chipping the fine Elvish sword out of the creature’s stone head, though it would take a talented swordsmith to grind out the scratches.

When he was strong enough, Phylless took him home in a hired carriage and installed him in a bed brought to the picture room. Two weeks later he took his first steps. Beshugya kept coming even though her shop was suddenly very busy. Even Onathal was persuaded to have his balky back straightened by her understanding hands. Phylless read to him which improved her skills and he spent time on his hoard of big and small Westron books. He made sense of the old Sindarin. 

Two months after the rampage, he was walking stiffly. Charlo was found the day after he was, grazing in the graveyard of the heroes along the western bank. It took a while to discover where he belonged but he made it back to the granary well before his master. 

Nag Kath did not feel up to riding just yet so he took the long, slow walk to the government island. Kieff met him at the office and they shared tea. Houlmanath made full Lieutenant. He hadn’t loosed a shot but he did take charge of the fire crews and saved quite a few folk trapped on burning streets. The only man responsible was quietly buried and his wife pensioned off among her people downstream. The rest of the officers were absolved with Ithel promoted to Captain of the City. He earned it.

Elf and Lieutenant walked across the bridge to the Quarter of the Faithful. It would be a long time rebuilding and not the same. There was no cry to duplicate monuments for men who died so long ago. They would build a few new ones, though. The restaurant that served the delicious nuppers was untouched so they ordered a basket with fine ale to wash them down. Life would go on.

Nag Kath sprawled on Phyll’s couch in the main room after walking both ways. The servants had softened their view of his being there, especially when personal letters from the King and Prince Faramir arrived with thanks with wishes for a speedy recovery. Lentaraes never got royal letters! Family and friends in Minas Tirith wrote too. Against orders, Shurran rode down for a week to punish the nuppers and Odar. It was good to see the big Northman! 

After Shur rode north, Phylless got home from shopping finding her Elf still on the couch. He was now past sleeping but took more waking rest, sometimes twice a day. Making sure cook and Vergere were out of sight, his nurse sat on the edge of the cushion and put her hand on Nag Kath’s thigh. A soft kiss on his lips opened his eyes and she said, “Now that you are better …”

Phylless curled against him. He woke her gently and said, “You have nurtured me back to health.”

Thinking of the evening she smiled, “Yes, a complete recovery.”

“Tomorrow we should have a picnic.”

Nag Kath spent most of the next three weeks helping heal the injured. He learned to work with burns. Many people still needed care, even after his long convalescence. He also rode, ran, swam and built his strength, an unfair advantage for his kind, as Mrs. Skilleth pointedly told him. He enjoyed his time with Phylless. She marveled at how he could take her monthly pain away with the lightest touch.

By the end of October, the White City called. That night he held her close and said, “Phyll, I must return. I would dearly love for you to come with me. The only life I can offer you is what you have just seen. If you can find in it what you need, I hope you will become my wife.”

Phylless had been expecting that for quite a while. She had grown a great deal in caring for the changeling. The woman turned to face him and said, “Yes, but now you have to tell me all the things you haven’t.” As much as he got out took days. After confirmed reports of him leaping off a building and stabbing a troll in the forehead, the rest did not seem that outlandish. He treated her like a lady. That was enough.

As they prepared to go, she said, “I still get my stipend from the mill but I cannot help much up north. Can you afford this?”

The Elf looked like he was calculating how to make ends meet when he walked over to his satchel and returned with five gold Florins. Dropping them in her palm he calculated, “That should keep the place up for a while and let you buy-out Missy from your niece, unless you would rather get a horse when we go by Lossarnach.”

He did it again! Money hadn’t come up in his explanation of wizards and orcs. He seemed to be doing all right. She was. But five full Kings lolling in his art bag? They would take the ferry upriver and get married in Minas Tirith near Syndolan Day. He had a few things to attend first. And her parents must come up!

Phyll put her foot down. Even though she knew many people who went up and down the river, she always imagined it to be like hiking through Dunland. Her parents were old! She told him firmly, “Mother and father are not fit for such a harsh trip!”

“Harsh? Dear Lady, taking the transport to the Rammas gate is like driving your living room with three good meals a day and plenty of Dukks. If they use man-carts, their feet don’t even have to touch the ground. This time of year; seven days up, four back, we’ll rent the boat both ways and you can have all your friends visit.”

Phyll lost confidence for a moment. She was considering a move to one of what seemed several homes and realized how little she knew about the wide world. In a meek voice she murmured, “I won’t know anyone there, Nag. Will I be alone?”

He grinned the famous Nag Kath grin, “You’ll have more friends than I do. My mother hens will put you right.” Mother hens? Who were they?

Missy stayed. Her niece loved that horse and rode her much more than Phylless. Phyll could get another. Most of her things stayed too, to be here when she came back, often, she imagined. The newly built River Goddess took them in comfort to the City of the King.


	34. Inheritance

** _Chapter 34_ **

** _Inheritance_ **

Except for Mordor, all of his returns were the same. He saw the same people, added new stories and booked meals for two weeks out. This time he had his girl with him. Younger than Tal and Ardatha, she would become the constant third at Thursday tea. Talereth saw something of herself in this one too. 

At first people were not sure what to expect. Of all his unfathomable adventures, this one was well chronicled. He was really famous now with monsters slain in single combat before hundreds. And he had been badly injured. Would he return as an invalid? In his letters he told everyone not to visit, although Shurran ignored that and enjoyed the nuppers. People sang hearty ballads in taverns of him destroying between two and a dozen trolls, enough that he needed to carry extra groats to find them in following childrens' ears. And who else would throw the Syndolan party?

With introductions to his ‘mother hens’ (not to be called that in their presence), Phylless had no trouble learning the city. Turnlie liked her as well and put out feelers for a lady’s maid. It took a week but a Mrs. Fennel had recently been released after her mistress moved home to live with a stingy son. The woman was fifty, smiled only under duress, and would make sure the lady of the house was always correctly presented. She took the room upstairs.

One of Nag Kath’s first tasks was writing the King that he was back. He expected that to follow the usual pattern of a reply with a specific appointment to visit. Not this time. Turnlie opened the door and her mouth dropped before she curtsied deeply and said, “Please come, Sire.”

Nag Kath and Phyll were upstairs deciding where to put his archives. Mrs. Fennel joined Turnlie at the door, bowed and said, “I’ll just get him. Tea?” In most households, the lady’s maid outranks the cook. Turnlie had seniority but was a natural follower. It was a working relationship. 

King Elessar Telcontar smiled, “Tea would be lovely, thank you.”

Turnlie retreated to the kitchen and fortunately had some hot and ready. Mrs. Fennel went to the stairs and saw the couple ready to descend. The woman's eyes widened and she gestured to come down NOW. When they reached the floor, both of them bowed deeply. As he usually did, the King bowed as well. Then he walked over and shook hands with Nag Kath saying, “I did not know if you were up and about. You seem hale enough.”

“Right as rain, Sire. May I introduce my fiancée Mrs. Maedegon?”

The King gave a small bow again and said, “A pleasure, ma’am. I hope you do not mind my stealing your fellow away for a bit.”

“Not at all, Your Highness. I was just leaving.” A quick look at the staff told them they were just leaving too. The women put on their wraps and passed a half-dozen stout fellows to get tea of their own since dinner was already purchased.

Aragorn looked around, “I have never been here before. My fault, you have invited me many times. I expect you have one more extraordinary tale to tell.”

They spoke nearly two bells, long enough that the ladies thought they were safe and returned while Aragorn was still there. Phylless brought them new mugs but the King rose and said he was glad to have met her and that he would be in touch. As he was leaving, Nag Kath asked, “Sire, I will be needing a gentle mare. Who do I see about that?”

The King smiled, “I’ll have Bessandal look in.” Then he was gone.

Since Aragorn did not touch his second mug of tea, Phylless gulped half of it and set the mug on the low table. Yes, her man did know the King, who dropped by for tea! He wasn’t silly at all! She got more lordly councils at a belated dinner with Reyald and Ardatha’s family. Phyll had knew Ardatha from Tal’s tea but this was the whole brood. Uncle Nag’s new lady met with approval. She already liked Shurran and who was this beautiful child? 

In Nag Kath’s convalescence, Reyald had been given a four year renewal as Ambassador of Dale. All postings were shortened from five to four years so they matched the Thainmoots. The whole family would go home next season for an overdue visit. Granna was still doing fine and looked forward to seeing them. 

Shurran had finished his study in architecture. Now he had to decide if he was going to use it, and, if so; where? In the modern King’s Peace, there were not a lot of pure soldiers in the world. One could not rise in the old style as a commander of standing armies. Realms maintained small, permanent troops built to travel fast and hit hard, but fixed-line infantry were largely militias now. As second heir, he wasn’t sure how much cousin Bain wanted him in charge of an army. Shur was a man good and true, but he wasn’t needed. Caladrion said he should come visit Dol Amroth and see the sights. Reyald came into some coppers lately, why not?

Eniecia watched Phylless, presumably a woman of appetites. She wanted to be a woman of appetites. Now that she had set her sights on the handsome aide from Belfalas, the world could get on with it. Her problem was that the young man traveled a lot and she wasn’t sure if he felt the same way about her. He would have choices. She had even more, but what was that to her true heart? She had gathered from her tight-lipped brother that Uncle Nag was a lover so the well-preserved creature with him was pleasant company. Shur’s Khandian enchantress had not come up.

There was a little business to discuss and since Phyll was nearly family, Reyald said, “Broughtur and I finished the last purchase three weeks ago. All are businesses except the last which will need extensive repairs before we decide what to do with it. I like the man, Nag, Sylveth too.”

Uncle Nag asked, “Should we get more?”

Reyald held his chin and answered, “Best wait a bit. Broughtur said things seem a bit high.”

Phylless was fascinated but kept her face impassive. They owned property?! To add to the drama, Nag Kath said, “I need to get over and see Tumlen too. He was about to buy that wharf on the west side when I left. It will take some coin to make it presentable.”

Reyald said, “He would have told me. Besides, you seem to know all that happens there.”

The famous grin; “Flattery is wasted, old friend. There are hundreds of Elves in the middle of Ithilien and I had not a clue ... growing food and planting new forests. If one of their rivers hadn’t gone bad, I still might not know.” He looked to his intended, “Of course, it all went fine in the end.”

Eniecia said out of nowhere, “You stabbed it in the forehead?!”

“Aye, landed on his nose and jabbed down. Big one, the size of Bilbo’s trolls. I thought them all dead ... hope there aren’t more above Arnor.”

They retired early. Ardatha was putting on a brave face but she was uncomfortable. Her da sensed it and sent up herbs the next day from his recent travels. A healing draw might help too. 

There was a slightly awkward moment the next morning. “Phyll, would I be a complete swine if I mentioned you need spectacles?”

“Of course you would. But you are right. I’ve never seen up-close well.”

“I think women with spectacles are irresistible.”

“Um hummm.”

Undeterred he said, “I can’t get them for you. The master has to test your eyes and measure your face. It takes two or three fittings.”

“If you laugh I will strangle you in your sleep.”

“I will try.”

“Fail and I will strangle you somewhere else.”

“I will try.”

Three days later that conversation was forgotten. She saw detail. These were amazing! She got a full pair, a reading pair and clever boxes to keep them out of sight. 

  
Their next lunch with friends was interesting. Timalen Brushta was the third artist. He knew Lentaraes better than Nag Kath. Before the King’s northern refugee arrived, they were the only students for five months when Quastille was keeping the wolf from the door. And now here was Mrs. Maedegon. Marie was lovely and kept the conversation moving. Tim kept thinking how much she looked like Nag’s first flame, Kataleese. 

They talked about the mural. It was holding up well. Nag Kath had completely forgotten to show Phylless. They must go down. Some of the troublesome yellows needed touching but overall it was still attractive. They should do another. Timalen suggested one of the Fellowship of the Ring now that Nag knew what Legolas looked like!

That afternoon Phyll got a gift that took her breath away. Trooper Huron of the King’s outriders was waiting at the front door with the most exquisite horse. Her name was Maida of Lossarnach Farm, five years old with a colt now out for his first training away from mother. Maida was a chestnut with perfect tack, saddle, kit and manners. The trooper said she was for the future Mrs. Kath as a wedding present and for taking such good care of the King’s knight. He saluted and handed Phylless the reins. Without even going in the house they took her down to the stable with fellow Lossarnach horse Charlo until another stall opened up. Walking back Phyll said, “Lord Kath, you have such lovely friends.”

______________-------______________

The timing was good. Saddling-up to see Tum and a trip to Osgiliath was a good test for her new mount. Lossarnach was now synonymous with fast and if Maida wasn’t pure speed like Charlo, she could keep up. She was the right size for her new owner. Phylless never stopped smiling and gave the horse some honest turns on the way to the river city.

Tumlen was a bit rounder than in the spring. He did not have the height to hide weight and his plump little wife was a superb cook. No matter, he gave Nag Kath a fierce hug and shook hands with his new woman. He did not watch officially, but the problems of broken parts on the aqueduct were in hand. Sections of the trench cover had to be replaced so the water men simply got it over with. The wharf property was stalled with in-fighting among the city council. Tum did not have the influence on the west side that he did here, bunch of ninnies if you asked. It wasn’t expensive, just slow. All the other properties were rented and fine, outside of a planned new roof for the collier’s. 

Nag Kath and Phyll took a room at the Great River and walked the strand looking at the shops and restaurants. Osgiliath was much more like her home than the austere White City. It was slowly becoming the art and music center of the empire too since they would take risks. When they settled in for the evening Nag Kath told his future wife that someday he thought this would be more home than across the river. Dale always called to him too.

It was time to prepare for their nuptials. This time, Nag Kath left that entirely to the mother hens. He would write the invitations and show up. The Syndolan party was hired-out too -- same people, same guests. Alas, his fireworks powders were all gone. He kept forgetting to ask the King what happened to the ones from Orthanc. They were chronically short of Hobbits too. Nag Kath had faith it would go well. True to his word, arrangements were made for anyone who wanted to come from Pelargir to the wedding on December 14th would get free, luxurious passage on the River Goddess arriving a few days before the ceremony. The captain was a given a deposit so that wedding guests got preferred bunks with the same treatment on the way back, a sweet deal for the master of the boat who gobbled it up without demurrer. 

On the 10th, the boat arrived with Phyll’s parents, the Maedegons, the Dystrans, her niece and nephew on the Maedegon side, her best friend Dethel from the west bank and a cousin she hardly knew. Her parents stayed at Nag Kath’s house and the rest were lodged in quality inns nearby. Two days before the ceremony, the menfolk had a very tame bachelor party at a local eatery. The groom was reluctant to show any magic tricks but people insisted on hearing about his storied past. He smiled and let others tell the threadbare tales. 

Phylless had her own party now that there were some females from home to mix with her new friends in the White City. She was settling in quickly. Phyll left Lentaraes on her own terms and made a life for herself ten years before his went to his reward. She knew her priorities. Phyll liked intimacy and pursued it discreetly. She liked riding and getting away from the yeast factory when she wasn’t needed. She was not driven to have babies, though they would be loved and welcome. 

Now some of those people were here. She would visit them downriver too. It was as simple as staying in her living room and playing Dukks while the boat did the work. Of course, Ardatha and Tal were there and arranged entertainments for the visitors in what would be on the order of two weeks between docking at Rammas and getting back on board. 

Phylless was no blushing bride. She did not need reassurance. Like Eniece in some ways, she made her decision as she spooned her changeling fish stew while he was flat on his back. Phyll was busy with preparations and left her groom to whatever he did. He told her, many times, that something was brewing in the north and that he would be drafted if the powers-that-be followed the trail. He spent time reading the books he bought, sketching and disappeared for a half day at a time to visit the archives. Shurran came around several times just to say hello and see if his back was fully healed. It seemed to be, but her Elf dutifully stretched and bent every morning before dawn after completing his wakeful rest. Phylles also decided she liked his feather bed, now the third generation from a fowler in Dale. Her cycle started the day before and she worried that the wedding night would not be to his liking. He comforted her and used his talent to reduce her symptoms. 

The big day was much like with Flor. They had a ceremony in the local tradition of Saying and testimony. A registered officer of the city performed the rites and the whole lot of them repaired to the Merchant’s hall to punish assorted casks. And as before, the newlyweds slipped out at the height of the gaiety and left everyone else to clean-up. 

Syndolan Eve was different. That was Nag’s party. Lots of the same people, including the Pelargir contingent, sang songs, danced and watched the next generation grow into their mantles welcoming the New Year. And, as always, Nag Kath and Tal sat on the front bench to watch the King’s fireworks. She said, “I like her, Nag.”

“She came every day. Many women can fall for the dashing hero. Not all will spoon-feed a cripple. That was when I knew.”

Tal was getting cold, “Let’s go back in.”

______________-------______________

One of the reasons Nag Kath wanted little to do with preparations was waiting for his summons. A meeting was set four days after Syndolan.

Nag Kath sat down at the large oval table. The Elf had not been in this room before. It was for military planning and had maps of the Reunited Kingdom on the walls. He sat next to Reyald joining Lord Aragorn, Lady Arwen, General Velladath, Minister of State Felandrulas, governor Onothal of Lebennin, Ambassador Donaol of Arnor and two scribes. Walking in from a conversation in the hallway a few minutes later were Prince Legolas, Prince Faramir and Lord Gimli of the Glittering Caves.

They nodded. More fulsome greetings would have to wait. The King said, “Welcome, all. We are met today to discuss ancient poisons. Prince Faramir, would you outline the situation in your lands?”

The Prince began, “Thank you, My Lord. As you know, one of Sauron’s old pits was exposed in a landslide and now taints a river running through Prince Legolas’ community and then to the Great River.” He smiled at Nag Kath and continued, “There has been considerable upset downstream.”

The King looked at the faces and said, “Perhaps roilings of that tortured mountain range?”

Faramir answered, “It cannot be known, but enough rock tumbled down to divert a fair river.”

Nag Kath piped-up, “Sirs, ma,am, I drew sketches of the mountains and the vile pool.” He handed them to the General to pass around the table. Everyone looked much longer at the lake of monsters than the landscape. The long-view was done there. The rest were from memory last week.

After the King viewed them it seemed he was about to say something and then shook his head slightly and waited. Governor Onothal was the last to receive them. He looked at Nag Kath and muttered, “Looks like our new friends.”

Nag Kath responded, “Aye, sir. About that size.”

Legolas took a turn, “Nag Kath tested the waters to the source. Did you test them downstream as well?”

“Yes, My Lord. The sorcery diluted but the Temple drew the poisoned water to it, making it stronger again. With the trolls gone, it dissipates as it should. It is still just as harmful in Lord Faramir’s lands.”

The King then asked, “Legolas, you have long maintained that these are residual sorceries of the Lord of the Nazgûl. Are you still of that mind?”

“Yes, My Lord. One of our learned foresters thought the pool might be of his craft to create the riding drakes when horses proved unreliable.” 

Aragorn held that thread, “And you think there is something in Angmar that keeps these places from dying even after the Witch-King is destroyed?”

The Elf Prince shook his head, “It is merely the first place I would look. Dol Guldor is worth an inspection too. My thinking is that the places in this world still afflicted by menace were all under his supervision. Gandalf said that he was a powerful Numenorean sorcerer before the ring, and was not completely enslaved until many years later. He may have had devices of his own, either in the service of the Dark Lord or kept in reserve against his own deliverance from their frequent defeats.”

General Velladath looked sideways and asked, “Nag Kath, are you concerned that the troubled places could field men and arms against our Lord’s peace?”

Nag Kath held his chin for a moment and replied, “I recall the Army of the Dead. Three in this very room called them to fulfill their broken oath. They brought terrible power yet had no substance. I saw them pass through my cell as the Steward’s guest.” That raised one of his un-Elvish grins. “Are the dark soldiers in the dead marshes that much different if restored to their former service?”

Even the King had not heard the Elf’s worry put so plainly. As they mulled that, Nag Kath said, “There are pockets of them all about, waiting impatiently. If a lesser sorcerer could wield small power with the wrong ring, another might do the same with tools still hidden.”

Aragorn brought the discussion back to the dreadful pool, “My Lords and Lady, in the meantime, what might be done for the hurt flowing from the mountains?”

No one had immediate ideas. If the picture the strange Elf drew was accurate, it would be a lifetime of moving mountains to steer the headwaters away from the catch-pool. Again, they spoke quite a while with Nag Kath observing. Faramir was quiet too. As a master of stone, Gimli took most questions on what was possible.

When the discussion reached no conclusions, King Elessar smiled grimly, “You have been quiet again, Nag Kath. That always worries me.”

The Elf started slowly, “As many of you know, I do not care for flesh. Before I had any say in what I was served, I had to pick the meat out of my stew and make do with the rest.”

Most around the room looked at each other waiting to see where this led. Arwen did not. Her gaze never wavered. In his next breath he said, “I do not know if it is necessary to move the rocks or the pool. Strain the meat out of the stew and burn it.” He grinned the obscene grin again, “Though it will be the worst job of the age.”

It proved the old saying that sometimes the volunteer is the one looking at his boots when everyone else stepped back. Florins to groats it would not be Elves winching fell-beast haunches out of that swill. Nag Kath managed to keep his grin behaved as he considered the labor. He threw them a rope, “The men of Mordor might be interested in such work. They are not far away and work cheaper than orcs.”

This time everyone stared. Aragorn grinned as badly as Nag Kath. Arwen looked alarmed. Everyone else saw wisdom in supervisory roles. Since he started it, he finished it, “I am on good terms with the rulers of the western Nûrnen and speak a bit of their tongue. Next summer I could travel over the back of that mountain and parlay. With terms, perhaps your Lordship can arrange Mûmikils to travel through that low pass from in the Düath for the heavy lifting. Better yet, just have Haradrim do all the work. They did well on the water-path.”

Nag Kath looked to Minister of State Felandrulas and asked, “Sir, are conditions such that I can get a letter to Bror Dulgov? I get along well with the old rascal and he might grease the skids into Khand for us.”

Faramir said with a smile, “Have you been planning this all along, Lord Kath?”

“Nay, sir. I surprise myself. I hadn’t thought of it until I remembered the stew of my Rohan trip. It seems I stumble into water despite my own lazy intentions!”

**_My Lord Dulgov, Rightful Bror of Rhûn,_ **

** _I hope your reign continues to be blessed. I may shortly embark on an embassy to the Nûrnen concerning old sorceries left by the Dark Lord. It is an engineering matter on our eastern border. I wanted to let you know this in no way interferes with our cordial relations. A like message is being sent to his Excellency the Khagan. _ **

** _With my best wishes for your long rule, NK_ **

______________-------______________

Phylless was always interested in affairs of the lordly, and this meeting was as lordly as one could get. It was not fawning absorption, more a study in management. At the yeast mill, she saw that minor decisions of the high often meant years of labor for underlings. Phyll curled on the couch next to her Lord advisor and asked, “How was your council?”

“Good I think. I probably volunteered for another trip to Mordor. Fortunately, I have offers to share bitter Nûrnen beer among the lords of that land. Oh, and Lord Gimli is coming for dinner on Wednesday so we'll need a demi-cask of red." He asked, “And you, my love. No dark servants in your morning?”

She smiled more broadly, “Fewer. Eniecia took me to tea. She is sweet on a young man from Belfalas who seems to be much engaged in his career.”

“She is perfect for him.”

Phyll arched her eyebrow. It would not rival Tal’s but it signified none-the-less. “So I heard. That is the nature of girls. I was only a few years older when a distinguished man swept me off my feet. With Eniecia’s looks and rank, she has her pick of suitors. Do you know who replaced you?”

He grinned, “I had an unwitting hand in their introduction. Cal is a fine man and will be important in affairs of Middle-earth. He may not be of a mind to marry as early as my granddaughter.”

“I have a hard time thinking of you as a grand-da.”

“My reason for being Uncle Nag. Uncles come in all ages. It is a fair day. Let us don our coats and go see the painting.”

Being from Pelargir, Phylless did not mind walking. Steep climbs were new. They made their way to the base of the switchback road and looked at the work in fair light. She put her hand over her mouth first then asked, “What is this, Nag?”

Still looking at the mural he said, “A likeness of a garden on the sixth, not far from Ardatha’s house. If I am ever less Knight-Errant, I will do more. The sixth level and up is not allowed to most folk because it houses government for this vast land, like the Eärnil in your home. If they cannot see it, this is almost as good.” He said softly, “It makes me proud.”

Caladrion was back! 

Ardatha heard Eniecia humming catanales so much she was humming them herself. Shurran and Nag Kath thought the same thing separately; if Cal was in the market for a wife, he would not do better than Eniecia. 

Uncle Nag had Belfalas Ambassador Vertandigir and his wife for dinner with Caladrion. He did not arrange any surprise meetings with bashful lasses or interested relatives. They liked Phylless. The folk of Pelargir and Dol Amroth have a lot in common, along with some rivalries that make life interesting. One uniting thread was the only recent end of widespread piracy along their shorelines. Umbar corsairs were still hard to dislodge along the Ethir Anduin. If enemies were willing to hide in those mud islands, you would lose more men than you slew to get them out. 

Nag Kath coached Phyll to ask the Lieutenant’s plans after his posting. He was as vague as most young men would be with no mention of a sweetheart waiting breathlessly on the pier. It was a pleasant dinner with talk of music, trolls and river defenses. The women might find time for tea. 

Summer lazed along. The King and Queen visited Pelargir on a state visit thanking the brave subjects for their pains. By ritual, Nag Kath and Phyll met Tim and Marie at the Steadfast, once the Wayfarer, for the Feast of Tellarian. None of them drank very much but it was a beautiful day in the spirit of renewal. What made it special was that Marletta came with a man about ten years her junior. Timalen waved her over and began introductions before he realized circumstances had changed. Marletta introduced Mr. Lensenar of the glass trade and joined them. 

She took a few moments for her to recognize the Elf in fitted clothes, and how much Mrs. Kath looked like Kataleese, wherever she was these days. It had to come up. Marletta asked, “Tim, did you ever hear any more of Lentaraes?”

Tim and Marie went bloodless. Phylless had no trouble at all, “I married him years ago but it did not stick. He died four years past.”

Marletta touched her arm and said cheerfully, “I nearly tied the knot myself, child. Looks like you escaped cleanly!”

Phylless, cut from much the same cloth as the previous love, said as brightly, “Indeed, then Nag Kath came to visit and got me instead. It is a small world. In Lentaraes’ drawings is a very flattering image of you, Marletta.”

Marie had never met the footloose artist/miller but had heard about him for thirty-five years so the womenfolk had a gay old time while the menfolk got words in edgewise. Lensenar was a nice fellow, and not so young or poor to be a woman’s toy. It happened they knew a few of the same folk. Time flew so they stayed for dinner.

Strolling home Nag Kath offered, “That went well.”

“I thought so too. Nag, you seem to know nice people. That says a lot about you. What does Marletta do?”

“A bit like you. I think she inherited a modest stake before we met and does what she likes.”

Phyll thought a moment and asked, “Would you mind if I saw her again?”

He stopped in his tracks, “No, see who you want. I’ll wager she knows things about Minas Tirith you won’t get elsewhere.”

“Thank you, Nag.”

In the mail slot was a packet just arrived from a Dorwinion address. Inside was the Bror’s signet stamp and one word, “Understood”

______________-------______________

The King asked after a sip of Dorwinion, “What do you think, my friend?”

“Me; I would march a hundred Haradrim with two of their small beasts up there and net the foul flesh. It may take two or three seasons. That might not find the sorcery but it will clean the water. The men of Mordor are not ready for that labor. But I would send an embassy to the Nûrnen with gifts asking leave to travel through their lands. They are young in their countries. The right encouragement might steer them towards freedom, and they are not very far from your door.”

The King wondered, “Do we approach our foulest enemy so soon, Nag Kath?”

His liege did not understand. “The men of Mordor were pack mules, lower than orcs. They lived in misery and hunger. Forgive my presumption, Sire, but we know a great deal more of their lore than they do. They were slaves and now they are not. Khand already trades with them. I think a Lordly embassy of friendship from this side of the mountain serves both.” 

Nag Kath sipped his tea and added, “Please do not think me clever. That notion comes from the much wiser Amiedes Tallazh. Buy something of theirs for much more than it is worth and let them know we are not the monsters their parents feared. I can be there and back before the snows. We will still need those oliphaunts, and they will have to carry everything up with them next spring.”

King Elessar held his chin and looked at his tea, “Leave the Haradrim with me.”

Nag Kath felt he needed a serious talk with his new bride. “My dear, I am called into the fray again. This should be not be all that dangerous, but neither was my visit to Pelargir. I want to tell you how my affairs are arranged.”

She whispered, “Please, do not even consider such things.”

“I hadn’t before, but after being so badly hurt, it is much in my thoughts. Let me finish and then I will hear your mind. My will is in the file chest with a copy at the bank. This morning I put fifty Florin in your name free and clear. If I die, most of the Minas Tirith and Osgiliath properties go to you, something like another three hundred Florin, plus the rest of the ...”

“Three hundred … three … oh dear … what?!”

He smiled wanly, “Enough to get by for a season or two. I left Flor an income for life. Tragic woman. If I die, she has no claim on what is yours and her income ends if she makes a fuss. I would not have that. If you ever meet her, be nice.”

She put her head on his shoulder, “I hope never to collect. Take me upstairs and reassure me.”

______________-------______________

Nag Kath rode to Emyn Arnen alone and was joined by a dozen of Faramir’s best, including his Chief of Staff Raynar Unthold, son of the great hero of the Pelennor. They would add more Elves in Emyn Vierald to assess work as engineers and then continue south with plans to cross at the hidden pass above the Poros headwaters.

They only stayed a day with the Elves. Legolas was not there but Cristigir was in the company of six riders and it was good to have his experience. Knowing better than to assault the lake directly, they came from a valley one peak south and tracked across as they had done last year. 

Everyone looked down. Being told what to expect helped but it was still nauseating. A fell-beast hatchling floated to the surface when they arrived and then descended to the invisible bottom. Two of Faramir’s men were Engineers. Hurnadlan had been very junior on the aqueduct. Nag Kath did not remember him. They got on well. All of the builders spent time wondering how winches could be placed and what would be needed to keep that many men warm and fed. Two days later they were gladly back down the mountain.

They could have gone directly east but that was rough country. The last trip suggested a lower pass to the south was better suited for hard travel. A good guess was that the Liûrzrant River was about even with the Poros on the other side. That would take them directly to Ûniarra Nûrn, Hurm Rydovosh's new capital. Had they known, they would have gone east first. A sawtooth ridge of razor-like rocks stretched several miles over what should have been the easy part. Further south was a better crossing but they still had to lead the horses on foot for a day. 

From there it was just a matter of following the river for another ten days past the frightened stares of occasional herdsmen. Nearing the capital the stares became more suspicious. They anticipated this and rode in formation slowly enough not to seem attacking. Ûniarra Nûrn had no gates. It did have a guardhouse. Two sentries who looked like they would rather not be there stepped out and ogled the nineteen riders on tall, smooth horses. Nag Kath held up his hand in their salute and said what he hoped was the local equivalent of “Greetings, we come to speak to Hurm Rydovosh.”

That was a gamble. His head could be on a pike. The two men talked a moment. One raised his hand telling them to hold while the other made tracks back into the city center. The Elves and men of the west waited in the saddle for the twenty minutes it took the guard to bring his superior.

It was Captain Orvous. With the sun in his face he did not recognize Nag Kath until the Elf said in a Westron blend, “Hail, Orvous. It is Nag Kath returned to pay homage to the Hurms of the West!”

The smile was slow in coming but he turned to the sentry who had brought him here with a message for the Hurm. Then he waved them to follow. Nothing had changed. It was the Visitors who built more than mud huts in Mordor. With them gone, it might be a few generations before anything grander was commissioned. Orvous pressed two troopers as grooms and the western company was taken towards the main paddock. Nag Kath dismounted and gave Charlo’s reins to one of them. The Nargil cavalry captain grinned, “You come here! No more Visitors.”

Nag Kath imagined those who died on the field got off easy. For the first time in a while he wondered about Chûran’s son. Was that him? He would look for other pretty men but figured the Assured’s spawn were at the top of the hatchet-list. Their luck held. Rydovosh himself stalked out of Nulvanash’s old palace, as it was fancied here, and gave him a warm two-armed greeting. In their rough Plaintongue he barked, “Good. You come. Come. We eat!”

They passed the good citizens of the newly combined Hurm-holds of Nargil and Ûniarra Nûrn who were agog, though not as scared as they had been not so long ago. Rydovosh was not a kindly ruler but he did not torture for amusement either. Nag Kath had told his company only the officers would be acknowledged, it was nothing personal. Dinner was a few hours away so the company was taken into the great hall while the Elf introduced Unthold and Cristigir as representatives of their peoples. They wore their best travel clothes for distinction. A couple of the Hurm’s officers arrived to balance the mix, one because he spoke passable Westron. As planned, Nag Kath let the two western Lords do the talking. They brought gifts to recognize the lordship of Rydovosh and Aômul to the north. The Elf watched the Hurm’s face closely to see if that raised concerns. They had no facial subtlety. If that alliance had gone sour, it would have shown. It didn’t. 

Both representatives brought forth items Nag Kath thought Tallazh would have said could ‘move the market’. Western Nûrnen was self-sufficient in grain but so was everywhere else so it had no trade value for luxuries from Khand. Rhûn got most of their luxuries from Khand too. In his first offering, Unthold gave the Hurm a finely-wrought sword that was close to the style used here. It was engraved with Rydovosh’s name and what Nag Kath remembered of his rough crest. 

Again; no subtlety. He beamed like a child at such a wonder. There would be several more gifts over the course of their stay, with the full understanding that their only reward would be ghastly food. Not to be outdone, the Elves presented fine jewelry for the Hurm’s wife and daughter. Although told it was for women, they wondered if the Hurm might accessorize. By this time, ale was brought in a demi-cask served in their usual assortment of heavy mugs. To Nag Kath’s surprise, it was drinkable. Beer was the first national improvement of the western delta. The Elves were polite. The Ithiliens seemed pleased.

Dinner was almost edible. A sheep was slaughtered as soon as they guests arrived for stew. Without the meat it would have been tasty because there are a number of herbs here that were not found anywhere else. Nag Kath took the liberty of eating a quarter of a genuine Lembas cake before they arrived. He was concerned that the Elves would look like they had been captured by trolls. Either they enjoyed themselves or were under orders to appear that way in dumb-show with the Nargils spread around the Hurm’s table.

In some ways, men of the Nûrnen are like Northmen who do not stay up very late. The dinner was over about what would have been the nine-bell in the west and the company was shown to a barrack cleared an hour before. Elves resist fleas. The men brought harsh soap to kill the bugs at the first stream on the way home. Some slept outside, a western custom, they explained.

Another thing unique about Mordor management was that there were no scheduled activities. Soldiers did what they were told but there was no drilling. Non-combatants did all of the daily functions. Some of them looked like former soldiers of Nulvanash. His regular army was spared but not embraced. The first thing their company did was check the horses. A middle-aged fellow shuffled up to Nag Kath while he was lolling near the main water trough and bowed saying in Variag, “Welcome to Ûniarra Nûrn, best of sirs.”

Thinking it no more than a greeting he returned the gesture, “Thank you. May the High smile on you.”

Saying anything was quite forward of a peasant but the man continued, “The High are favored among right-living.” 

Nag Kath got a better look at his face and said, “Indeed, Orlo is generous in his blessings.”

The man smiled and finished, “I am sure old friends would like your tidings if you have a moment to share them.”

“I shall make a point of that.”

The fellow bowed slightly and offered a small, woven reed charm. Nag Kath handed him a groat to make this look like he had favored an unfortunate. When he had a chance, the Elf told his company that old friends were here and he would take time to meet them when he could.

That turned out to be easy. Hurm Rydovosh spent his mornings with his soldiers so the guests fended for themselves. With leisure, some of them spent time talking about the installations needed at the foul pool. Others curried the horses and took the chance to inspect the local mounts. They were not as bushy as the Rhûn horses but had not fallen far from the tree. As Reyald explained; they were cart horses, still, closer to cavalry than marching.

______________-------______________

Dinner that night was started with the next round of gift giving. This lot was more practical with a saddle that one of the donkeys carried. It was finely tooled leather with the same set of crests. On short notice, the Steward of Nûrn and two aides came to represent Hurm Aômul and received almost identical gifts from the strange, generous travelers. There was more drinkable ale, more mystery stew and they were abed not long after dark.

Late the next morning, one of the Hurm’s aides came to collect the leading guests to meet with Rydovosh and Aômul’s man and the interpreter. Nag Kath recognized them from from the Mordor campaign dinner. Rydovosh gave the floor to the Nûrn steward who had a little Westron himself. The man put his hands on his knees and growled, “We thank you for your gifts. What do you seek in exchange?”

This had been rehearsed. Unthold explained, “Only friendship, honored legate. We wish you to know that you have friends in the west and that old troubles are behind us.” That was easy to believe. No one hated Sauron more than these men.

Rydovosh clearly respected the northern Hurm’s envoy and they spoke for a moment. Then he continued with unexpected humility, “We cannot offer fine gifts in exchange. This man …” pointing at Nag Kath, “knows of our lands.”

Nag Kath said, “You are young places, only just free of our shared enemies. That alone is basis for good terms.”

The two Mordorans spoke again a little longer this time. Steward Worscha nodded gravely and said, “Then it is accepted in such spirit. Is there no token we can offer?”

They knew this was coming too. Face required that they make a reciprocal gesture. After considering dinner the other night, Cristigir of the Elves said, “There is, Your Lordships. We enjoyed succulent meals with spices and herbs not known to us. I am sure many would value such things. Perhaps supplies can be brought over the mountains as trade.”

Nag Kath would ask if they had Red Colish and burney roots too. In the meantime, letting the Hurms give away weeds answered the forms conveniently. As much as they wanted could be gathered by the time the embassy left.

All was going well. Enough Westron percolated through the local tongue that most members of their troop could talk with soldiers and townsmen who had been told to present their best faces. One of those was a small boy who weaved his way through the tall strangers to reach Nag Kath, saying in Khandian, “Your pardon, best of sirs. Can I interest you in small woven charms?”

“Why yes.”

The youngster was so excited he skipped two lines of his script, “I am sure mother has the type you wish at home if you will come this way.”

Looking as bored as he could, the Elf waved to his lads that he would be back in a while. The lad took him a half block south, away from the river. Making sure no one was looking; he slipped in an alley and double-backed two buildings to a modest brick home. The door opened from the inside and shut after the Elf entered as the boy continued down the lane.

The fellow who approached him before was pouring cool tea from a thick jug. It was made at night to avoid daytime fires in the hot home. Drinking water from the delta was not wise. If you had to boil it, you may as well flavor it. Another man was already holding a mug in his lap.

The sitting man said in good Variag, “Hello Nag Kath.”

Handed a mug, the Elf sat in the last chair and said, “And to you, sir. Have we met?”

“Once. I am Borandil, a helper in Hanvas Tur. Not important then or now.”

“Forgive me for not remembering. I hope things go well in that blessed place.”

“Rather well since you scoured the delta. We have flourished. Curtish and I come here as merchants, bringing things they don’t need for money we don’t get, a fair exchange.”

Curtish finished with tonight’s tea pot and added lightly, “It leaves us time for contemplation.”

The men Nag Kath signaled would cover for him at council. Stomach complaints were common among both locals and guests so excuses did not need imagination. Meeting the two right-livers was pure chance. They had arrived a few days before to observe and would have left a week later. Seeing the Dunedain scholar, even with his new hairstyle, was too good to pass. They gave him a thorough report on the cause and Khand. The summit with the Bror and Khagan went smoothly. Almost nothing was settled but it was the first time rulers of those lands had met since Sauron. 

The Khagan’s second son was becoming a problem. His tastes were hard to disguise. Critical comments about his father eased slightly when the two Visitor spies were apprehended. The fanatical soldier resisted his interrogators, to their enjoyment. The diplomat negotiated a quicker end. Transcripts of their comments found the ears of friends. Alas, Nag Kath’s clever map was lost.

He told them of the temple seal in Pelargir. Curtish knew more of Gelansor than the soldierly Borandil and listened intently to the inverted ward against Sauron’s menace. There were probably more. He sketched the flagstones as well as he remembered them and asked about the symbolism of the counting rack. Neither man knew of his enchantment in the false garden. He did not mention it. They would meet again tomorrow after the men spoke with other Righters here at great risk. 

When he got back to the square, he hadn’t missed a thing.

______________-------______________

Tonight was the third and last presentation of gifts. In the greater Nûrnen, good things came in threes. The Elves offered silver spurs with gold filigree for both western Hurms with their names elegantly engraved. Men of the west gave them both finely crafted horns with silver fittings, Kingly clarions for men who would be heard! Rydovosh insisted on blowing his but only managed a spitting ‘blat’ without practice. It didn’t matter. The Hurm and Steward laughed uproariously. 

It was time to mention the small matter to the west. Nag Kath said, “My Lords, the enemy left a mess just over the mountains. We may need to bring men along this side of the ridge to make it safe. Do you know who rules those hills?”

The two Lords, sitting side-by-side, looked at each other for a minute. Then Worsha replied, “No one. Small tribes. Our new friends can do as they like.”

So much for their prepared negotiations! Shaking off the surprise, Unthold said, “We will keep you informed.”

There was no need for a lad to fetch him the next morning but they had to wait for some old-fashioned healing. The local diet was running through Faramir’s men as soon as it entered. With years on the aqueduct, they had the right healer who brought the right remedies. A few of the Elves gurgled too.

After some wrong turns and the ‘fast’ to reach the little home unobserved, he found both men having cold tea along with a woman covered head to foot as local females must. Curtish said, “Nag Kath, this is Mrs. Ilpoul.”

The Elf bowed and greeted her in Variag. She replied in a deep, soothing voice, “And you, best of sirs.” They found a fourth chair for today. 

She was here to answer one question, “Mrs. Ilpoul, this is a drawing I made of the floor stones of an Yvsuldor Temple in a great city to the west.” Flipping to another sheet, “And this is what it replaced. Have you ever seen either of those designs?”

“Fül we see many times. The first, no.” He turned the thin first sheet so she could see it through the paper. “Yes, Orlo, but the old one. Mr. Curtish, this is more your area.”

Curtish needed spectacles too. He squinted at the faint drawing in the poor light and said, “I see it now. Is it of moment?”

“It was a pattern placed over a troll nest by right-livers over a thousand years ago to keep the beasts from rising. When it was destroyed, they woke. 

Borandil recalled, “I saw a building once below Lhûg that had the evil one over a door lintel. There was a large hole in the floor. The blocks had been used for other things. An egg no one wants to hatch?”

“A big one. And the counting rack?”

Mrs. Ilpoul said, “It signifies nothing, but it is similar to the little looms women much further east use to weave the patches they make their clothes with. I do not know more than that.”

They spoke this time of people he knew. Idgshtok married a fat Khandian woman who now had a fat baby on her hip. They weren’t sure what he was doing but it seemed to pay. Shelturn stayed mostly to the center learning more of himself. Nenwûla of the Viersh had an admirer and had almost forgiven herself for compounding Nag Kath’s sorcerous laxative. Both men thought that hilarious. Mrs. Ilpoul did not smile, but then, she never smiled. The Ghur’s were well.

Nag Kath asked, as if throwing it in with no weight, “And Chûran? How has she fared?”

Borandil thought for a moment and said, “Well, I think. After the battle she spent nearly a year in thought at Hanvas Tûr and then returned to her home refreshed. Perhaps the ending here brought succor.”

Nag Kath thought; two endings.

The men were to give his best to the scholars and Nag Kath made his way back to the barrack. On the way, a young lad approached and said in Mordoran, “Someone would like to thank you, sir best.”

The Elf nodded slowly and followed. This boy made no effort to conceal his movements and even waved to a friend fetching water at the trough. They left the city proper towards a large field with a few of the shaggy horses fattening for the winter. At a small barn with its own paddock there was a man with his back to them telling an identical lad to shut the gate. Then he turned. A disfiguring scar down the front of his face did not keep him from smiling. Could it be? Why not?

In halting Mordoran Plainstongue, which is halting indeed, he told the boys to go help their mother. Then he rasped, “I did as you said and bought horses.”

“Indeed you did Ghougash. Indeed you did.”

The former orc still had the bowlegged gait of his kind but in mannish clothes and a hat to cover his scalp, he passed for the hardened war veteran he was. The tall Elf and short man walked along the rails quietly. Then Ghougash said, “I marry widow, her two sons. Make horses, sell. Good.”

“So I see. Are you well?”

“Pain. Not young. Old man pain. A small price.”

Nag Kath wondered for himself if there would be any more children for the happy couple. It did not matter. He had done an unselfish thing to bring a fellow survivor of the dark lords into the light. He would be proud for the rest of his life. They sat on the top rail of the pig pen and watched the river. There wasn’t much else to say. If what the right-livers believed was true, the world was better for this.

______________-------______________

Phylless managed to entertain herself for the two months he was gone, a short trip in Kathian measure. She introduced Tal to Marletta. Of the same age and sense of humor, they got on famously. Ardatha was busy thinking of their trip north next year but would not miss Thursday tea. 

Ardatha’s big news was that the aide of Dol Amroth came to their home for dinner. After the meal, Shurran announced he had things to do, which he actually did, and the Conaths left their daughter and guest alone in the garden to discuss whatever young people discuss. Ardatha said the next morning she almost tied a string to the girl’s ankle to keep her from floating away. Eniecia said nothing of the exchange but it must have gone well. Nag Kath wondered; could it be that Queen Nepthat would continue on among us? 

It was militia time. Nag Kath asked for and was granted the honor of teaching the children not to shoot each other with padded arrows. One kid, smaller than the rest, always hit what he aimed at. He told the boy’s parents and gave them the bow and arrows instead of putting them back in the supply bag. The changeling shot some with the Second to keep his eye. It had been long enough that a new man was tempted to wager until older hands set him wise. Reyald was up-to-speed with the property business. He and Mülto hired a full-time manager and a secretary since they had either duties or retirement on their respective plates. The new man was a Tumlen of the west.

Elessar Telcontar of the Reunited Kingdom graciously accepted his bag of Mordor herbs and gave them to his cooks to see if they could manage something. The main reason for going was to assess the work needed at the beast pool. Inquiries were being made in Harad. Over the winter Nag Kath and Hurnadlan of Ithilien would draft the plan for the equipage and quarters needed. It was familiar ground.

The rest of the time, the newlyweds spent doing whatever they wanted. Bored without a project, Nag Kath decided he would put some spare time into another mural, this time by himself except for buying the paint from Feurgil across the river. It was a project that would live as long as he stayed in Middle-earth. In Emyn Arnen he slyly got Lord Faramir to show what Boromir looked like from an old drawing his father the Steward commissioned when the his eldest was about twenty. The two sons were obviously related but could have been cousins. The Elf burned the image into his brain. Frodo’s picture he saw in the Red Book along with a spate of relatives. He now had all of the faces he needed to memorialize the Fellowship of the Ring. Where should it go? 

There was a sheer rock face on the third level just below his home that had never been rebuilt after an orc trebuchet flattened a three-story house. It created a wide space in the switchback that locals used as a park with benches and tables for eating in good weather. Kathen Properties quietly bought the little park.

Nag Kath did not tell anyone about this, not even Phylless. He just said he had an art project and would explain when it was ready. That was fine by her. He was only there three or four days a week and always home by dinner. The sketch seemed to take forever. The men were tall. The Hobbits were, well, Hobbits. Gimli was perhaps a foot taller and broad as a tavern. Arranging them on paper was almost as bad as herding children into their family portrait. Should they be stern or glad or heroic? Boromir’s tale didn’t end well. He would be honored anyway.

When he finally got a sketch he could stand, Nag Kath had one of Mülto’s crews put up a fence around the area for privacy. Folk thought someone was finally going to build in the uneconomic little dent. In a way, they were right. The work was about twice real size, so, much smaller than the garden mural. 

When the Elf came home stinking of pitch-paint, Phyll washed him gently and snuggled on the couch to compare their days. On one of them she had wandered by the brewer’s sector on the first north of the prow, not far from the healers. They could not smell that on their side but when she was close, she was home. As it happened, her family knew the yeaster who worked here. He was a grim, untalkative fellow but she enjoyed the single visit. 

Overall she was adapting well, thanks to the instant supply of old friends. Phylless also learned a lot about her husband. Nag Kath never told his own stories as well as everyone else. He spoke even less of his little kindnesses. She was starting to press on his secret painting too.

It was ready at the end of November. Nag Kath had the building crew remove the fence by torchlight so the painting would be there at dawn. It was a sensation. The Hobbits were happy, the men were soldierly, the wizard was wise and the Dwarf was hairy, hard faces to capture; Dwarves. It was a family portrait with the small in front and tall behind. Around it he installed more stone tables and benches for folks to enjoy themselves with a fair view over the rail towards Osgiliath. Flagstones circled a curious eastern mosaic.

A few days later Tim came by Nag Kath’s house and shouted up at the bedroom window, “You old rascal!”

The Elf opened the window and said, “Thought you would like it.”

“I am jealous. Now I will have to do something.”

It was said Aragorn came to look at the dark haired Ranger. He had not commissioned many works of himself. As Kings of the world, his ancestors chipped their faces on every rock in view. This Lord was more modest. His was not a grim, gray, intimidating face. It was the face of a man who had done his best and done it well.

Grand-da was famous for leaping through the air and stabbing a troll. Now he was famous for painting the most celebrated expedition of an age. That was enough for Eniecia to join Uncle Nag and Aunt Phylless for lunch on the fifth. Her girlishness stayed longer than hard-put lasses. Cultivated; she had time to blossom. She and Caladrion were forming a bond. There were few sudden marriages at their age and station in life. Some had been arranged before the baby-teeth fell out. Cal’s term as aide would end next spring with Ambassador Vertandigir’s appointment and he would be a full Lieutenant in Dol Amroth’s professional defense. He made enough of an impression that he might also serve his King from here, but home seemed more likely. 

Ardatha thought that terribly far away but understood. Dol Amroth was rougher than ferries on the river but with the pirates under heel, not a treacherous voyage. They must return to Dale next year. If the young man from Belfalas asked for her hand, marriage would have to come afterwards.

______________-------______________

Nag Kath joined Thursday tea with Eniecia. The young dancer surreptitiously watched Phylless’ every move. She recognized in her a woman of passion. She wanted to be a woman of passion, with her man, with life, with whatever she did. Her parents hoped her romance would remain chaste. Uncle Nag would have been glad to loan them the spare room, but orcs are not courtly. Ardatha’s movements were efficient. Phylless, Tal and her grandmother Eniece were languid. Something as simple as raising a scarf over their heads started ever so slowly and finished with a flourish. Eniecia practiced elegant movements almost as if dancing. Men noticed such women, even if the women had no idea. 

The new dining trend was Khandian food. You could always get that on the first but up here on the fifth it was somehow more fashionable. The meal went well went well until the bumbling Uncle Nag stepped in it as badly as on the trail to Edoras! Through the main course, the women had referenced romance as if describing someone else. He blurted to Eniecia, “So, are you going to marry the fellow?”

Shurran came close to asking twice at home but buttoned his lips at the last moment. Now this! Everyone else had the breeding to hint. Wasn't it up to Caladrion to pop the question? Forty possible comments passed behind Eniece’s eyes before she said primly, “No one else has asked that, grandfather.”

The best defense is a good offense. In the Elf Lord voice she hadn't heard before he proclaimed, “That is because they treat you like a child. You are the grown granddaughter of a King!”

Eniecia realized she had just received the highest compliment of her life. All other praise had been in service of preparation, urging progress towards what she might become. She would become it now! The greatest hero of her lifetime just told her to take what she wanted. Phylless wasn’t sure if the girl would breathe again. When she did, Eniecia sat up in her chair and declared with confidence, “Yes, I am.” 

That was that. The next time the young people met, she must have twisted his ear until he confirmed his feelings for her. A man can only drag his feet so long before the best deal of his life is gone. By December, a simple announcement was made that Countess Eniecia Conath, daughter of Reyald of Buhr Austar and Ardatha, Princess of Dale was engaged to Caladrion Ivandred, officer of Dol Amroth with details to follow. Tal had Nag Kath to tea the next week. She looked at him proudly and said, “What a team we make!”

“They never had a chance.”

Not quite as importantly, men who were not allowed to use torches rummaged through the King’s stores looking for the crate from Orthanc. They found it and Mr. Doroust was engaged to produce the finest Syndolan rockets. Several packets of each color were sent to Nag Kath in a box of Gandalf’s abandoned projects. 

Caladrion and Eniecia had several formal outings beforehand but Uncle Nag’s Syndolan party was their first unstructured public event. The gathering was the usual rambunctious affair. No one got maudlin or made speeches. A new Dwarf couple had fine voices and were taught Catanales by southern residents. The King’s fireworks were the best ever. Ecc and Tal both stayed in against a very cold night.

Best of all, Phylless was the Neurae. Their wedding was too close the last time for her to take on that role. Syndolan was not as widely celebrated on the river as it was further north but with a year in the White City, she sparkled. When the guests left, she snuggled. 

______________-------______________

Year 38 of the Fourth Age started a period for Nag Kath much like his years in Dale. He traveled more, but seldom into the unknown and usually with the adventurous Phylless. Their first trip was back to Dale with the Conath’s. Reyald needed to meet the King, see family and feel the earth of his homeland. 

This was Phylless’ first long road trip. She fancied herself a rider, being out as much as a day in the rolling hills above Pelargir. A week of constant travel, swatting mosquitoes and wearing dirty clothes was an adjustment but she was fine by the time they reached Rohan. Dornlas and Annlie never seemed to change. He got old fast and stayed that way but was still fit and a reliable sword. They had two grandchildren and another in the oven. 

King Éomer didn’t ask about wargs this time but he was fascinated with tales of Mordor. Queen Lothíriel was enchanted by the bride-to-be, engaged to the handsome young hero of her home. She told Eniecia she would fit right in. Prince Elfwine and Princess Tillith were in residence and they welcomed her kind from the Buhrs just as warmly.

Two days later they were on their way to Mirkwood, not stopping to ask after wizards. It was slow going after rain and took a full week to get through the forest. The mortals were dead tired and they thought themselves fortunate to find the last room in each of the two inns when the reached the Anduin Road. The Kaths were in a small inn/tavern and Conaths were only two-hundred paces away with plans to do some serious sleeping. After getting his wife settled, Nag Kath went back to the common stable for his heavy bag.

The lad hurried over to help, favoring his left leg.

Injuries can happen at any time in life and it isn’t good manners to notice, but this wasn’t a long-term limp. The Elf asked, “Got a bad wheel?”

The youngster was good-natured about it, “Stepped on a nail a couple days back – put it right through my foot.”

Rusty nails and horse dougsh are not a good combination. Nag Kath asked, “I am a healer. I can have a look if you like.”

The boy considered that, “I cannot pay you.”

“We’ll worry about that later. Take off your boot.”

The boy sat on a bale and painfully untied his laces. Yes, it was infected – the sort of wound that would soon fester. Nag Kath took the foot in his hand and said, “I hope you aren’t squeamish.”

Silver hands glowed over the swollen hole with more time than the Elf expected to draw the poison. Throughout, the lad seemed more interested than shocked. Nag Kath took a clean sock from the bag he came out to collect and tossed it to him saying, “I’ve get a few remedies inside, and I’ll need to do that again tomorrow to make sure the wound stays clean.”

At this point the hole in his foot didn’t hurt any less but the puffiness was already smaller and less purple. The stable-hand carefully put his boot back on and smiled a painful smile in relief. The Elf carried the bag in himself.

Emmert’s Haven was the same sort of inn you found everywhere on this stretch of highway. Business was good tonight. Emmert junior served all travelers, just the sort of host for the folk who plied the Iron Hills to Anduin route. The room was clean and a warm dinner was just the thing after way-bread and water.

Phyll was sound asleep so Nag Kath stayed downstairs and got a pint of a fair local tan, telling his careworn wench that he only wanted bread and vegetables. A few other travelers came down to join twenty townsmen and women just completing their labors. Not long after, six Dwarves helped themselves to a large table near the door. They would be camping outside, leaving their menthivs (sons) to guard their goods while the elders fortified for the night. 

The longbeards kept to themselves. Tan beer went down as quickly as their preferred red. About the right time in the evening, one of the local men began singing “Carry Me Home!”, often the first song of the night. By the second verse, most of the room was lustily contributing in varying pitch. Oddly, the Dwarves did not join the traditional, inoffensive ballad, staring and mumbling to themselves in Khuzdul. They would certainly know the song and always spoke good Westron.

That was their business. The Elf took his mug to the bar since his server was cleaning a broken pitcher at a merchants’ table. While he was standing there, one of the Dwarves glowered his way. Mug charged, Nag Kath was returning to his table when the longbeard growled, “The company here leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

His fellows were suddenly silent. The song died quickly as a pall descended over the room. Nag Kath noticed too but sat down and had another sip. The Dwarf repeated, “I said the company here is too womanish for my taste.” That was followed by a swig, a burp and another stare.

In his long history with Durin’s Folk, the Elf had learned a few things about their social skills. Sometimes one or more of a group would be aggressive but nothing would come of it as older, wiser heads prevailed. Ignoring them wouldn’t work though. This had to be acknowledged. How was a delicate matter. Thankfully, Reyald and Shurran were nowhere near.

Nag Kath raised his mug as if he had misheard the insult. Alas, confusion spells probably wouldn’t work on Dwarves. Magic seldom did. The Dwarf table was between him and upstairs or outside. He started eating again when the fellow stood, nearly as broad as tall. He was clad in good cloth and sported a fine, braided beard reaching his belt. Diners and drinkers quickly drifted towards the edges of the room or out the door, except for those who would not part with ale they paid for under any circumstance.

The changeling said evenly, “You seem upset, my friend. Yet you dine among folk of good cheer.”

The Dwarf put his hands on his hips. Fortunately, their axes were stashed at their camp, but they would have a lethal assortment of smaller weapons secreted in sleeves, boots and surprising places. His sword was on his bag by his feet.

When his friendly comment got nothing but glowering, he added, “Sit down and remember your manners.” 

The longbeard said with a heavy accent, “You are not welcome here. I would tell you to leave, but I'd rather teach you a lesson first.”

“Brave talk at six-to-one, Ghazd (youngster, in this case, a slur). Are you sure your parents would approve?”

That was a terrible insult, enough to have the antagonist run across the now empty floor. Since a fight was coming, Nag Kath needed to know if the others were behind him or if he was acting on his own. None of the others stood, even seeming concerned this was getting out-of-hand. All were old enough to sourly remember Elves abroad in the world even if men had nearly forgotten. The changeling took another pull of his beer. It was the Dwarf’s move.

The longbeard walked to the center of the room and pronounced for all to hear, “Doesn’t take more than one to settle accounts with a beardless elger (Elf).”

So; a single hothead. Good. Nag Kath reluctantly rose, scraping the feet of his chair as his legs pushed it away. Then, to the surprise of everyone in the tavern, he was sitting down again laying his naked sword on the table next to what looked like a dead groundhog. He took another swig of his ale paying no attention to the Dwarf.

Every eye was glued on him at first but then glances went to the belligerent Dwarf standing alone on the planks. Murmurs rose. One of the other Dwarves started to snicker. Dwarves don’t snicker well so after one snick, it became a guffaw. The aggressor turned back to his table to gauge the situation and they started laughing uproariously. As Dwarves often do in times of contemplation, the fighter reached for his beard. It wasn’t there! He looked down and saw his tunic for the first time in years.

Knowing his fellows were not in the mood for a brawl, the former longbeard howled and stormed out the front door with a flurry of Dwarvish oaths. Nag Kath called to the bar, “Innkeeper, another pitcher for my friends from the mountains halls!”

Normally the Elf would walk upstairs to check on Phyll, but there was no telling if this lot would be on his heels so he slowly quaffed his beer to get see what they did. After a few minutes, the crowd was talking again -- just another squabble in a place you should expect them. Then the oldest of Durin’s folk came over with his mug and sat uninvited. Neither of them said anything, sipping and staring at the heap of beard next to the scratched Elvish blade. Finally, the Dwarf said softly, “Twas you melted the ring to Stonehelm’s wrath.”

“Aye.”

“We have parted ways with Erebor as well.”

“I hear the King loses favor.”

“It was time to find new places.” He smiled, “New customers!”

Nag Kath said neutrally. “Will I need that sword when I walk outside?”

“One always needs a sword in the hard places of the world. I am glad yours only sliced what it did. I will have a word with my nephew tonight. We of the road have more in common than he realizes.”

The Dwarves were gone by the time Phyll stretched and smiled with the sun. Nag Kath attended the stable-boy’s foot and collected the Conaths on the way north. 

______________-------______________

The first stop at home was the Carstors. Nag Kath was not the featured guest this time either with Eniecia sporting a rather valuable engagement band. Family got along wonderfully. From time-to-time, Nag, Reyald and Shurran would walk outside and let the womenfolk chat by themselves. Carstors joined them when he wasn’t officially needed. 

Word was that King Bain and Xondra were expecting a child as well. Carstors grinned, “I am nearly off the hook again! Nag Kath, thank you for the idea of losing my son-in-law. That worked rather cleanly.”

Next was granna Borenne in Lake Town. Her hip was fine, more evidence she and the Nepthat’s of the line had more than a drop of Dunedain. Seeing her great grandaughter as a woman gave them both pause and made the old lady wish she could remember her own mother. Uncle Nag sketched them together twice.

He and Phylless took the family to the restored bell-tower where Ardatha’s great grandfather slew the dragon. The Princess had walked by it thousands of times but had never gone up. She didn’t want to this time either but her children raced up the steps like they were twelve. Eniecia had never been up here. Shurran showed her Smaug’s angle of approach and she stood where Bain the First had as her brother imagined the shot in his mind’s eye. They were of Dale. It was in the blood.

Torrold and Gerda had already arrived for the Thainmoot along with Reyald and Ardatha’s oldest, Haldiera, her husband Gerruld and their two children. The youngest, Gerrulith, was finally old enough to ride a small horse and did better than the boy who had a wicked pair of saddle sores. Uncle Nag saw to that discreetly. They were in the family apartment so Reyald’s family stayed with Nag Kath they way they always did. Ros arranged a cook and maid within the day as everyone started renewing acquaintances.

Brenen and Nedille were their usual selves. His breathing was not good but not worse either and he said he was walking regularly. A place in the country he bought with Bard helped. Their children were all the same with a lull in grandbabies. There were six, which is still a handful. Bren’s mother Aleurn was now in her eighties and lived in the little home just below theirs. Her sight was poor but was still good enough to rule the roost when she minded her great grandchildren. She did not cook much.

Burry looked the same. His grandchild count was holding as well. He moved a little slower from a lifetime of soldiering but was his hearty self. Lola was always a love. Nag Kath told them he was only here for a few weeks but they would manage a pint or two once the schedule was settled by those in charge. The Elf admitted the monthly silver was from Kathen. He did not know if he would make it back here when he told the bank. Now it seemed he would do it often.

Nag Kath took a little while to visit long acquaintances in craft. Master Golord never seemed to change. As long as Dwarves lived, they stood still compared to the men around them. He was fine. They talked about the same things and wished each other well. His next trip was business. Swordsmith Monteg pulled the Elvish blade out of the scabbard and said, “Looks like the rock put up a good fight.”

Nag Kath told him the tale. It was already known but another thing to see the sword that stuck the troll. Monteg said, “Give me a week. I will never get these deep gouges out, but it did not really hurt the edge.” When Nag Kath got home he took Lord Altheras’ weapon out of storage. It needed considerable silt-buffing for rust but cleaned to a fine gleam. It was the wrong weight for him. Someone should carry this rather than letting it tarnish in a closet. 

The next day he dropped by the original Kathen Properties with Shur. Barthanid and Turenon were there and glad to see them. They were the managing partners now. Brenen still came by on his walks but to catch Bard you had to find him. He would be around now that the family was in town. 

Shurran asked as directed, “Oh, Bart, did you get those things at Nag’s?”

“The women’s clothes? I took them by but Grace was at work. I left them on the doorstep.” So much for Nag Kath’s grand matchmaking! He should have told the young man to take the lass in his arms and make the point that way. He would if he got another chance. She might already be married.

King Bain was busy with the Thainmoot but did see his cousins to congratulate Eniecia on her nuptials. Xondra was in her confinement and healthy and wished her best. Between the moot, family and friends, Nag Kath’s house was a hive of activity, not much of it to do with him. With time to burn, he saw the Brightens brothers, had the beer with Burry and finally met Bard back from his and Bren’s shared lodge out the Erebor road. Ros was fine. 

There was another walk to take. He waited until everyone else was busy. The same quiet, dark woman opened the peep-screen and admitted him. Nag Kath always appreciated the mix of local and eastern furnishings here where he met Prince Voranush now some years ago. The owner came out and bowed, knowing his guest knew better than to touch hands. He didn’t say anything either. Nag Kath merely said in Khandian, “Should a traveler reach his Excellency, I wanted him to know that our visit was satisfactory.” 

Considering things Variag, he and Shur were sitting on the porch watching the little bugs that could light for a few seconds weaving their courtship patterns out of the grass. Shur said, “Do you suppose she is still here?”

Not taking his gaze from the bugs, Uncle Nag mused, “Her or one like her … be hard to chase the whole family out of the house.” When Shurran said nothing, Nag Kath added, “Pelighur, seventeen, Alley of the Arrow. You might say Ostren referred you. Don’t wear your best.”

Shur repeated, “Seventeen.”

Just thinking of that made Nag Kath take Phylless by the elbow up to the comfortable Khandian carpet beside the bed. Shurran said he was going to visit new friends after dinner. His parents told him to be in early.

______________-------______________

Nag Kath had nothing to do with the Thainmoot. With the Conath’s occupied he wandered through the town with Phylless seeing old things. An unexpected, though not especially old, thing was Graciel who was having a snack in front of the little store she minded two days a week. They recognized each other at the same time and he walked over to give her a kiss on the cheek saying “Hello Grace. Phyll, this is Graciel Iömendel …”

She said, “Still is.”

“Grace, this is my wife Phylless.”

With the vast majority of men in the world, this would be the very definition of awkward. For Nag Kath it did not signify at all. He had no secrets with women and Phyll could guess what she didn’t know. Attempts at discretion early in his life had all failed miserably so he didn’t bother anymore.

The two women bowed slightly in what Phyll had learned was the Dalish fashion and neither glowered. To know Nag Kath was to understand. He said, “We are up with Shur and the family for the moot. How are you?”

“Good. About the same and that’s good. I heard about the troll. Did your slow swords help?”

He laughed, “Probably! We didn’t practice that.”

Phylless took charge, “Graciel, we were just about to get tea. Can you join us?” She could accept or gracefully decline.

Grace looked around the shop. Seeing no customers lurking she said, “That would be lovely.” The tea shop was right across the street so she could keep an eye on business.

A pot of the local blend was ordered with finger biscuits. Phyll studied her husband’s most recent love. Yes, she was lovely. He said she needed ten years more seasoning. That was what Phyll brought to the marriage. Pity about the young property manager. Nag Kath didn’t see the delay as an impediment and launched his re-emersion into Dale, “I’ve got the whole brood at my place. It is too big until it isn’t. How is Lilac?”

“Her da paid her husband off just like you did mine, for a good deal more.” She still lives at the hill-house with little Reillen. We see each other now and again.”

He remembered their only connection was their now ex-husbands. With Grace in mind he mused, “I would think she has admirers.” Phyll nearly kicked him under the table for his lack of empathy.

Grace giggled, “I think there is a fellow working his courage up. She's in no rush.”

Phyll now saw the design. Graciel continued, “That was sweet of you to send Bart. Sorry I missed him.”

The Elf took a long pull of tea and said, “You haven’t.”

Both women said at the same time, “Oh, you are terrible!”

He gave Phyll a very tender kiss on the cheek and said, “What would Tal do?”

Grace saw the sweetness and asked, “Who is Tal?”

Phyll would manage things from here, “She was his first love, a dear woman and notorious matchmaker. She and the Elf here combined to get his granddaughter engaged.”

Grace knew the answer but she asked anyway, “Are all your former loves friends?”

He said thoughtfully, “They seem to like each other.”

Grace said just as gently, “If Bart needs anything at the store, I hope he says hello.” 

Just then a woman walked into the linen shop. Grace had left it unlocked so she said her goodbyes and bustled across the lane to help. Phylless bit the end off a finger cake and followed it with a long pull of her tea now that the temperature was just right. Dabbing her mouth with the cloth she asked, “Bart is the tall one?”

“Umhumm.” 

She asked seriously, “And he’s not looking for a blushing virgin?”

“That leaves too much to chance.”

“What is your plan to have them cross paths again?”

“Oh, I’ll just tell him to come down here at the closing bell and take her out for dinner. He’s on his own after that.” 

The next two weeks went by at leisure. Lords of the realm were to and fro with the moot and business deals that went with them. The Easterlings were behaving but the Bror never really had complete control of his least productive lands east of the Redwater. Dalish militias never forgot that. Phylless found Hobbits curious. They had such extraordinary manners! Lotold and Lorens now had the full heads of curly gray hair their old Uncle Stifo had when he first met them. They ate with the Hobbit wives in the one tall room of their home and talked about what had changed in Dale. The Dwarves came out of the mountain less to trade and some had left for good; politics or some-such.

Both brothers decided that ale was only for after five except for special occasions, a truce, of sorts, with their better halves. There was less word from distant relatives in the Shire. The Fellowship Hobbits were now mayor, master and Thain and still in their prime so all was well. Nag Kath told them about the trolls. They couldn’t imagine anything finer than Phyll making yeast for the most heavenly of beverages!

On the way home she said, “I can see why you come back.” They strolled hand in hand back to his house and watched a messenger swing off his horse and run in. He kept walking and took her to the King’s Arrow Inn for a quiet night alone.

The Thainmoot adjourned. That was more and more about commerce. King Bain added an extra meeting this year just to talk about militia training. He wanted to be sure that their disparate methods would still work together in a pinch. The Eastern Thainholds practiced that way.

Nag Kath left Phylless with Ardatha and sauntered down to Kathen. Bart was there with his assistant who, with a wink from the Elf, was sent on an errand to the other side of town. Without preamble the Elf said, “Bart, you need to go to the linen shop on Vorandus Lane next Monday at the six-bell.”

“Do I need new sheets?”

“Grace works there. You should take her out for a lamb dinner.”

“Gracie Iömendel?”

“Yup”

Barthanid bit his lip slightly and said, “I thought you were …” 

For most men, the idea that a former lover would not care if someone they knew visited their old patch was rare, especially in traditional Dale. Many men also believed the only women one actually kept were either untouched or respectably widowed. That probably kept her unattached for so long. Nag Kath doubted Bart fell in that camp. 

Uncle Nag said, “I was. She needs to stay here. I can’t do that anymore.” There was a little of the Elf Lord in the last statement. Bart hadn’t heard that before. Nag Kath could have just used a confusion spell but the man deserved free-will.

“Monday?”

“Or Tuesday.”

A chaste lass Bart had been considering didn’t seem very bright and he didn’t like her parents. If Nag Kath said he should buy a beautiful, if somewhat experienced, woman a lamb dinner, he would. He liked lamb. On the way home Nag Kath thought he hadn’t seem much of Shurran either.

______________-------______________

There was one last piece of business. The Elf and Reyald walked up from Torrold’s residence to the palace and were admitted on sight. King Bain, Rosscranith and another minister Nag Kath hadn’t met were waiting in the King’s office. They both bowed and took chairs. The Elf went through the witch-pool, Pelargir and what was known about Angmar. This was old news, most of it forwarded by Reyald through the post messenger.

Bain mostly listened. Rosscranith said, “The orcs on this side don’t say much but they still take the fish. It could also be that the Dwarves hear more than they say. They are more closed than before. Better than a hundred of them left for new horizons last fall. It seems you met a few.”

The King asked, “What of the other side?”

Reyald said, “Nothing, for now, Sire. Angmar is causing no trouble.”

Nag Kath added, “And we would not know what we seek. More might be learned in Ithilien. That could take years.”

The Minister Solvain was known to Reyald. He remarked, “It is a very long way to go and stay, even from Fornost.”

Reyald confirmed, “That is the thinking of our allies. Let us be watchful. Stonehelm is first in line. Do you get any sense they feel trouble?”

Rosscranith stared at the table for a moment and said, “That is the trouble, Reyald. As Nag Kath found, with power they become more isolated. That has been the history of their people long before us. Then they wonder why no one comes to their aid. My friends among the longbeards here are not included in the councils now. We have not even seen the Prince in a year, and he is their ambassador.” He looked at Nag Kath with a combination of gravity and humor, "It seems the mood of those leaving is not merry."

Solvain said, “We do not think they mean us any harm. They just want to be left alone, save for trade. The Iron Hills aren’t so stand-offish, but they are not close to Angmar.”

Rosscranith chuckled grimly, “In short, our ears are not hearing.”

The King concluded the meeting by saying, “Thank you both for coming and for your efforts, and your best wishes for the Queen. She is fit and strong.”

Nag Kath should have taken his dismissal but asked one more question, “Sire, how fares your mother?”

“She is well too and looking for grandchildren. I will tell her you asked.”

On their way back to Torrold’s Nag Kath got the feeling his use in the Halls of Dale were coming to a close. He was a sword of last resort. Things were going well. If the Elves were right and this was the age of men, they had men.

______________-------______________

The Conath family was both pleased and sad. Everything had gone so well. They knew they would gradually lose touch. Regular post service helped. Granna wrote weekly, even though two or three letters arrived with the same carrier. No one looked forward to getting back more than Eniecia. She had been a dutiful daughter and wanted to see her man. Every hour took an age. 

Shurran was subdued. Thinking of his little sister tying the knot made him consider his future. Nag Kath wondered if he was unsure which Shurran would go courting. Was he a drone-Prince, a builder, a soldier, some combination? No overtures were made in Dale for him to shoulder governance so his future there seemed no better than Uncle Nag’s. Good! He needed to narrow the field.

After a few visits to the Khandian quarter, the young Northman thought he would like to be a married man. Nag Kath showed there was more to females, and he wasn’t a man at all! The Elf liked passionate women who didn’t think themselves too queenly to make tea at a campfire. Shur knew he could parlay his position well up in provincial nobility but did not see the advantage. Not having to marry for money helped. Da said not to worry there. When the young man decided he would marry the right woman and actively put himself in a position to do so, the weight fell from his shoulders. He didn’t have to do this for country.

Phylless was just glad to get home. Roughing it was rough. It was nice that she and her husband had a private room at the inn near where the Elves lived but most of the time the tent was crowded. She knew she could do it.


	35. Settling In

** _Chapter 35_ **

** _Settling In_ **

The ladies of the house were happy to see them. They got along well but without the master and mistress installed, there wasn’t much to talk about. Tal had a summer cold. Nag Kath fixed that. Mülto’s complaint was becoming chronic. Even with new skills, healers cannot replace what is lost.

Much of their agenda was decided when Cal and Eniecia said they would like to get married in the fall in Dol Amroth. Ambassador Vertandigir said he could live without his aide for a while and had a few things to discuss back home in any event. Reyald and Ardatha agreed. Nag Kath and Phylless would go to Pelargir for two weeks and then book passage to Belfalas along with later arrivals from the White City. Reyald and Ardatha would take their son and daughter on the same ferry to Pelargir but keep going to reach Dol Amroth in time to make arrangements.

This was not a royal wedding like the west had seen lately. Eniecia had the blood of Kings and Thains but so did a lot of people and Ardatha had never played that card. They were well respected by Prince Elphir already. One could go no higher in Belfalas.

Tal and Ecc would come. He had never been down the Anduin and she had only been up it. Between them and two of Eniecia’s friends, with one or both of their parents or a chaperone, they had close to half the River Goddess booked for the mid-August run. There was quite a range of ages. Nag Kath imagined the old-folk would play cards and drink in the main salon and the youngsters would do anything to avoid them. 

It would get more interesting on the open water. This was all timed to avoid the winter swells of the sea but even occasional squalls roll and pitch those ships like corks.

Nag Kath and Phyll did not do much in the two months before they left. He painted in watercolors with mixed success. She saw friends. Tim got a big commission for a large horse sculpture near the gate, just the horse, no one on it. They paid in advance.

The Goddess docked a day early. Advanced booking only meant you had space based on the when it got there. That depended on wind and river flow. Everyone’s things were packed in advance and waiting at the Rammas Dock warehouse except for personal items. The people they knew were all in wagons early the next morning and boarded by the eleven-bell.

The ferry was built after the days of river pirates. It was defenseless. If brigands rose again, she would need an escort. That made it very comfortable for civilians. Some brought servants. Phyll did not need to travel with her lady’s maid. They were told by men on deck that some voyagers brought the whole household. No one on this trip had horses.

Nag Kath was always armed when traveling. He shot a few target arrows from the deck just to get the feel under his feet. Men like Caladrion seldom practiced any other way. He figured a warning shot from this distance might discourage the wrong vessel until an old hand said only the slaves were visible. 

Phyll liked going downriver better because the boat didn’t have to tack back and forth with the wind. It just wallowed in the channel and tried to avoid hitting things until docking for the night. Little towns along the north bank serviced that trade for folk who wanted to stretch their legs or to vary the fare. Other entertainments were also offered. The day before they made Pelargir, Nag Kath asked permission to climb the mast. No one had ever asked before but he was a paying passenger. He took off his boots and ran up the ratlines faster than anyone expected for a good look at the Telengaur pouring into the Anduin. It seemed the same so he shinnied down.

Official greetings could wait. Most of their party took lodgings at better inns at the wharf waiting for deep-water ships leaving in a tide or two. They would see them in two weeks. 

Vergere almost asked if he could help before he recognized his mistress and the curious suitor. The ladies came running and curtsied before getting their hugs. Phyll thought coming down that it might be time to pension Vergere off now that she had extra coin. Then she thought with her gone most of the time, he was already retired and had never lived anywhere else. 

She hit the pillow face-first and did not move until morning. Nag Kath took only his rest next to his wife. She got used to that fairly soon. Flor never did. With the dawn, he went downstairs. Cook knew she was not expected to serve him at that indecent hour and prepared meals as usual. 

The two were together every evening and some of the days but attended separate matters too. Phyll saw her friends on the east bank. A husband would have ruined any chance of juicy conversation. He strolled down to the Eärnil Quarter to check on the government. Kieff was seeing to things in the upper provinces but would be back shortly. The governor had him in for a quick tea and an assessment of water quality, which was fairly good. Wells on the outer islands were usable but enterprising folk still sold bilge water from the Sirith at the troughs.

The Quarter of the Faithful was slowly rebuilding. As they thought, beautiful ancient buildings dedicated to long forgotten men did not generate a lot of donations. Men of Pelargir were proud of their Numenorean roots with lore, not with cash. A balance was struck to sell prime commercial lots to pay for rebuilding homes and stores. Nag Kath said he wanted a look at the temple since he had only seen it intact. Onathal chuckled and said that property might be on the market for a while. Expecting levity in return, the governor was surprised when the Elf said soberly, “If anyone shows too much interest, I’d let Kieff know.” When they met, Nag Kath would tell him to look for red on their collars and men who avoided whisker-fish. Some of those lads would have been in the hinterlands when the hive was destroyed.

Two days after they docked, Phyll took her husband to her parent’s. It was a half-day walk hopping the islands like stepping-stones. They had a good idea when she would be here and rolled out a splendid welcome. An afternoon party was organized for tomorrow with her western friends including; old folk who did not come to the birthday, men and some women of the mill, assorted vendors and a relative everyone told Nag not to talk to. Of course, the fellow dogged his heels speaking of fell sorceries bubbling out of the ground and the return of Nazgûl. It would have been cruel to say he was responsible so the changeling listened and impressed all with his tolerance. 

A much smaller group had dinner afterwards and the couple took a walk to digest. There was plenty of room at her parent’s place. Her older sister had died before Phyll was born so her parents always knew they would sell the business someday. Someday seemed to be getting closer and there had been ready buyers for years. A good manager ran the place now so her folks were almost as retired as Vergere.

They stayed three days and would be back in six weeks so they took the long stroll east and she collapsed in her pillow again. Nag Kath wore his worst clothes, things he only brought in case he had to walk home naked, and went to the temple. After nearly a year it still stunk. The flagstones were cleaned and left where they were at his request. He hired a local lad from Jool’s shop to help arrange them as they were. At first the apprentice was frozen in fear but agreed to lay them down so long as he got nowhere near that hole in the ground.

There was nothing new. He looked at both sides of every rock. Fûl and Orlo are nothing alike. The right-livers must have held their noses and cobbled together such stones as they could find to replace the entire circle. A fiver later, the lad was back at the shop and Nag Kath changed into better togs to visit the shop where he got his books. After the horror of the days after the last purchase, the proprietor did not recognize Nag Kath at all. The Elf walked in varying his opening only slightly, “Hello, good sir. I came to see if you carry books.”

“Books?! Of course, we have big ones, old ones, books with pictures!” If there were any, they were still in the bowels of the warehouse. The Elf was sure the man tripped over the same box of surplus tents on his way back. A candle might burn the contents like a Syndolan rocket. When nothing jumped out, the man shouted, “Weldin, better come and lend a hand!” From a sound sleep, a fellow who looked a younger and drunker version of the proprietor wandered over and waited unsteadily for orders. “See if you can find this man some books, will you?”

Mr. Weldin was not selected for the task because he knew were books were stashed. He was there to move boxes. The man spit in his palms and rubbed them together before pulling crates off the top of the stacks. Nag Kath suggested he open some of them just in case. That seemed a capital idea. Finding a pry-bar meant a ten minute search. Nag Kath said he would be back and walked over to a restaurant for nuppers. 

Weldin made progress. Two of the boxes he upheaved did have books or writings in them. The best looking of them were shipping records. Ones the worse for wear were in Syndarin or even Quenya. They were unbound folios with random sheets. In this light even his eyes could not make sense of them but they were interesting enough to start the grueling negotiations.

“As you know, good sir, scholars and the learned put a high premium on these foreign books!”

“Then it is fortunate that you have hidden them so well.”

Somehow their former transaction kept the figure of twelve groats apiece in the peddler’s mind. The man raised that to fifteen, what the expenses of rebuilding across the river and all. The deal was done at a silver-thirty and they even had a bag for his purchases.

The next morning was both hard and good. Phylless came into the picture room after breakfast and saw Nag Kath sitting on the footstool crying like a baby. Instincts were automatic and she rushed over to see if he was injured. He wasn’t. Her Elf looked at her face and smiled before wiping his cheeks with his sleeve. In his hand was the spoon she brought with her for soup and tea and whatever he could chew when he was paralyzed, brought here when he was carted from the house of healing. It was another aspect of love, the puzzle he would piece together for years to come. They sat in silence for a long time. Now he knew why women wept when they were happy.

It wasn’t long before it was time to round Belfalas. First they had to get through the Ethir delta. Powerful spring flows forced deep channels in the mud of the mouth. By autumn captains knew where. That took a few days and then they made southwest between the cape and the huge island of Tolfalas. At one time that may have been an important port but it was just a rock now. No green, no crops. 

As last time, the crew passed the archipelago of more rocks off the Methrast point and then tacked northwest into deeper water rather than flirt with similar rocks up the coast that could rip the bottom out of any ship. 

Winds were generally against this time of year but not bad and neither were the swells. That was cold comfort to Phylless who was sick as a dog. The river girl had never been on blue water. As it happened, her husband knew a few things. He took her to their bunk and held her closely; one hand against her temple, the other around her stomach. Even that took an hour. He would have to sleep tonight. Phyll drank a pitcher of cold tea and buried herself under the covers until the next day.

__________------__________

It was still another ten days before they rounded the point of Dol Amroth. Phyll had gotten her footing. She even managed to win a little money at the Dukks table, which Nag Kath couldn’t do fit and sober. He just kept hoping they would not hit seas like his return after healing Lord Echirion. 

There would be no night in the gaol this time. Rooms at fine inns were reserved for a number of their party. Most of them arrived the next day with a few as green as Phylless. Tal and Ecc seemed fine. He kept forgetting she had a little healer in her too, not enough to share but she was never sick. Nag Kath knew the palace and the dives so they relied on Caladrion and some friends pressed into guide service, mostly to keep the greenbottoms out of trouble. 

The Elf and Phyll were invited by Lord Echirion and his wife for tea. The Lord had never actually seen Nag Kath. Mrs. Hürna tended him after his treatment. The Lord’s sister Lothíriel vouched for his male healer who was quite respectable when not in the company of wargs. Phylless had never heard that story either so Nag Kath tried to make it interesting after so many tellings.

The Lord’s elder daughter had never quite been herself after her father’s madness. She married, but her husband soon realized why she was available to as lowly as he and moved in with a stout, motherly mistress. Erchirion wasn’t sure why he was explaining this to strangers but it just flowed. His wife wasn’t sure either and wrung her hands. 

Nag Kath asked, “My Lord, did you have Mrs. Hürna examine the girl?”

He shook his head and said, “No, Yeniel will not have it.”

“Neither would you.”

The Lord and Lady were white. This was not the tea of thanks they imagined. Echirion’s father Imrahil told his son of the Elf ripping his mind to neutralize the drug. He remembered none of it. Neither did Durnalath.

Only the birds outside made any noise. Nag Kath went into a persona his loving wife had not seen before, something darker. He said slowly, “In the like case in Dale, two victims were given sorcerous poison to bind the witch’s spells. It came in food. If Yeniel ate whatever you were given, she could carry that to an early grave.”

The Lord of Belfalas was the man he had always been. Resolutely he said, “Lord Kath, I would like you to speak with Lady Hürna at your best convenience.”

The wedding was two days away so his convenience was now. Lord Echieron walked the wedding guests to the former staff officer’s home himself. Tsita Hürna opened the door and cackled, “Well, look at what the cat dragged in!” Then she saw Echirion and added, “Not you, My Lord!”

Lady Hürna was doing well. Evidently she still pulled the occasional rich-man’s rash for silvers but was quite the woman of leisure. She showed the three inside and had her cook/housekeeper bring tea. She cackled again and said, “What brings you to my door, Nag?”

He had to smile. Even as serious as the errand, she was funny, and still probably the most powerful witch in Middle-earth. He started with “Tsita, this is my wife Phylless.”

“You know how to pick ‘em. Pleased to meet you, Phylless.”

The Lord cleared his throat, “Lady Hürna, Lord Kath is here for a wedding. At tea just now, I relived my experience and troubles with my family. My older girl, poor Yeniel, never came up in our discussions but she is very much in my mind now.”

That took the cackle out of the witch. She took a long pull of tea and studied all of the eyes looking at her. Nag Kath broke the tension, “She has been off her feed since before you and I came. The family thought it was sorrow for her father’s madness. I think she may have gotten into whatever da was eating. What would Lostorin do without the confusion spell?”

The witch muttered, “Make you foul company with bad breath.”

Echirion and Nag Kath both said, “Dougsh.”

Hürna was all business; “We don’t want to do this in your wedding clothes.”

They used the same tactic as for her father’s intervention. Lord Echirion told his daughter she was needed and she reluctantly came to their quarters in the palace. In a corridor not unlike the last, the Elf sprang from the shadows and assaulted the woman unawares. Without the spell, he was not that much the worse for the effort and carried her to the next room where Lady Hürna cleaned the residual. Neither healers were sick and drank a lot of tea. It was old Lostorin.

An hour later, Lady Yeniel was sleeping comfortably thanks to a gentle spell Nag Kath applied to let her recover. Phylless and the woman’s parents were sitting by her bed. Leaning against a far wall, Tsita took another swig of tea and said, “They put the old team back together! What should we charge for this?”

He knew she was joking and smiled. “You got my note about the tongue. I later learned it might be gressroot.”

“That’s what I thought, but she might have just eaten blueberries. Run across the like again?”

“There is a fair healer in Pelargir. She keeps that quiet. I’ve learned a lot about the Elves but my summoning from the wizards is stronger. There has been trouble with spells left behind by Sauron’s lot.”

“Stabbed him in the forehead, did ya?”

“Hughmmm.”

“What happened to the blonde?”

“She left me. I’ll keep this one.”

Lady Hürna looked at Phylless nursing the sleeping Yeniel and said, “Good for you Nag. Good for you.”

He said, “Keep an eye on her. I’m at the Drake and Hen for at least a week. My granddaughter is getting married to the son of the victim in Dale. She is fine now.”

The healer became serious, “Are you more powerful?”

“Umhumm.”

“Let us see to our patient.”

Nag Kath and Phylless bid the Lord and Lady farewell and walked back to the Drake and Hen in time to see a guest they didn’t know swinging from a chandelier rope. She steered him right up the stairs.

That night she watched him sleep by candle light. It was like when he was paralyzed, how the powerful woman would align his backbones as he would turned silver until the pain knocked him cold, three weeks, every day. She recalled him crying with the spoon. If he could save the world, she must let him.

The wedding went fine. A guest of the bride’s grandfather was a skinny, well-dressed local woman who spent an extra few minutes speaking with the groom’s mother. Dol Amroth weddings are so long, chairs are provided for the guests. There is rich history in this place and they will have you remember that. In his secret heart, the changeling knew Caladrion would not come up for air for two days. Queen Nepthat lives on!

_______________--------_______________

Nag and Phyll strolled the city. Except for the nauseating voyage, she could spend time here. The water was so much cleaner and better smelling than the Anduin. Kath of the Water had no argument there. He had forgotten about the Sindarin library in the old sector. He said, “Darling, just follow my lead.”

They walked in the entrance and approached the desk where an old fellow was as near to napping without falling out of his chair. Nag Kath cleared his throat gently and asked in Westron, “Your pardon, sir. I was hoping to follow-up on my research in the Elvish sorcery section.”

Nag Kath’s hair was now four-years long. He was an Elf. The fellow looked twice and said, “Don’t get your kind here these days. Follow me. The couple did and spent twenty minutes, her standing, he reading, until they walked out after thanking the archivist. He thought it was more fun the last time.

Most of their party would be taking the same ship back to Pelargir. The older folk were tired. They could get some sleep on the sea if they had the stomach. Nag Kath made a discreet trip to the palace to visit his patient the day before. Like her father in his time of need, she had no recollection of him or what happened. Her mother introduced him and the woman rose to offer her hand. There would be no repairing her marriage. Her husband was a good man but he had another family now. 

Eniecia, Cal and his parents waved them off. His granddaughter looked so happy. The power of Catanard!

The trip home was uneventful. The sea cooperated. Those who were sick coming were sick going, including Phyll. The Conaths were fine. Shurran had the makings of a sailor. He and Uncle Nag helped trim the sails just for something to do. Tal and Ecc were a little queasy at first and then recovered to let the women clean the greenbottoms’ purses at the Dukks table. Nag Kath and Phylless stayed a week in Pelargir to see her parents again and were in Minas Tirith the week after that.

After a romantic evening in their own bed, she said not quite seriously, “When I told you I would come with you, I said you had to tell me everything. And then I find you healed some lord with spells and gutted a wolf with your bare hand!”

“I told you about the Revanthars.”

“Tal told me about the Revanthars.”

“Oh. I told you about Mordor.”

Only slightly mollified, “Yes, yes you did. What about this Mrs. Hürna?”

“Professional courtesy.”

If it wasn’t dark he could see her eyebrow arching. “Yes?”

“She was very brave to help that woman. Some would cut her throat for that. Thousands more would kill me if they could, or you to get to me. People would kill Shurran to keep him from being king and some who would kill so he would ascend. I told you I was a poor Dukks player. But I keep my mouth shut. I don’t tell things that could get those I love hurt.”

Phylless was expecting a worse excuse as he rambled, “The pattern for those like me is to accumulate power. They have to hurt people to get it and keep it. They lock themselves away. They trust fewer, they love fewer. One day; they don’t even love themselves.

“The wizard who created me was one such. He was sent here with two others to obstruct Sauron. Saruman betrayed them, betrayed us all. Little by little, his sense of right eroded until he could justify anything. That is the essence of evil. Every day I ask myself if something only I can do is right or merely justified. If I stop asking, one day I will be no better than Saruman.”

That was the first time Nag Kath had taken his thoughts that far. He was trying to explain his reticence to Phylless and kept going. That was why Gandalf feared his talent, told him to heal. It bought time to temper the power drawn to him. Phylless was stunned. He released the girl in Dale, a woman who would be attractive longer than Phyll because he trusted Phyll. She was strong enough to be his wife. She would tell him when he was wrong. Who else would?

______________------______________

Cleaning the beast pool had a slow start. The King’s representative contracted two Mûmikil crews and another eighty Haradrim to build the site in the spring. The man was vague on the work needed. When the Southrons discovered the scope, they went home. A new man was negotiating now but it was too late to get much done before the snows. There was no great groundswell of concern about Angmar.

Nag Kath and Phylless settled into married life easily. She made friends her own age too and while her cooking and sewing never got any better, the spectacles allowed her to read. The Elf had accumulated quite a few books. Many were in languages she didn’t know but fully half were in Westron. Ardatha loaned her some of Eniecia’s books. They rode to Osgiliath often since was the perfect distance for a leisurely lunch and back before dark. For longer trips they went to Emyn Arnen and around the Rammas ruins. 

Reyald kept busy as Ambassador and was pleased to announce that Queen Xondra had presented King Bain a healthy baby boy. In some ways it closed the book on Dale for Shurran. Shur bought a junior partnership at Helbst and Son, Architects. The Helbst there had been the son and there wasn’t another so it was just the two of them specializing in restoring historic buildings that owners wanted to look original. Sometimes there was no helping it and the work had to be done in modern style or be prohibitively expensive.

Nag Kath tried to do one fresco or mural a year in a public place. He got better with the Elvish water color painting too. At militia time, he and Shur rode with Captain Bessander in close-quarter formation. Both also shot with the Second Archers. Another new fellow had a Northman bow bought here from a shop that got them from Dale.

Before they knew it, it was Syndolan again. That came on the heels of news that Eniecia and Cal had a new son. Mother and babe were doing well and they named him Field, after his great grandfather. Ardatha planned to visit come spring. After the party, Nag Kath and Phylless visited her parents in Pelargir for a month. It was such an easy trip before the spring rains. 

Those rains were heavy in FoA. 40, the first real test of the water supply across the river when the plains flooded. A nasty stomach complaint laid many low but few died. It would have been bad ten years before. In the summer of that year, Nag Kath was called to visit what was known as the beast pool. Two Mûmikil crews were engaged but they used primarily men of Ithilien for the hard work along some of the original Haradrim who would rather have worked the year before. And it was hard. A huge wooden derrick was sunk along the rocks that would drop cargo nets into the stew. When pieces of the fell-beasts floated with the current, men would spear them with pikes on ropes and drag them into the net. One oliphaunt would wind a winch until the flesh cleared the lip of the pool and then pivot to dump the remains on the bank. There would be no burying them in solid rock or under the shale so the lumps were dried and then burned with wood carried up the hill. The large fell-beasts were roped and pulled up until they broke into manageable sizes. The other oliphaunt brought food and materials from a staging area in the foothills.

It was a miserable employment but it paid very well, especially for the Haradrim who came with the Mûmikil crew. They worked from mid-May until the end of September and earned a year’s income. Men learned to deal with the smell. The manager wondered how many would come again. Nag Kath tested the water from there to the edge of Elvish lands. Sorcery was still present but it was going down. They would never get all the little parts. In a few years, the threat should be gone. 

Unusually, Legolas was in Emyn Vierald when the Elf stopped through and so was Gimli. Their unique friendship had them visit each other’s homes every so often. Nag Kath got the impression Gimli had never warmed to the dense, close forests in Fangorn, but anyone could appreciate Ithilien.

At militia time, Nag Kath and Shurran did as they had and the Elf resumed teaching the little tykes basic bow skills. It amounted to an hour of babysitting but he liked it. With winter coming, Nag Kath broke out the bundles of books and papers he rescued from Pelargir. Nothing seemed very sorcerous. He applied for a dispensation to use the royal archives. As a Lord he could have just helped himself but he wanted to respect the Scholars’ rules. One man was engaged privately to help him with Quenya. There was no time like the present.

Other things got him more than he bargained for. An entire folio of large, loose leaves was architecture and building plans from the middle of the Third Age. Most were of Osgiliath but a few were of Tharbad. What they were doing in Pelargir was anyone’s guess. Shurran arranged for him to meet four scholars who specialized in Gondoran history now that this wasShur's bread and butter. Full sized maps of the commercial capitals from that era were scarce and individual renderings only less so. These were large and in good condition. They were also signed with a chop and the two wanted to know if other examples of the man’s work were out there.

All went fairly well until the two younger scholars started remonstrating against the unfairness of the craft. The older red-caps told them to pipe-down to no avail. Why couldn’t men of our time enjoy the glories of then?! One of them gave Nag Kath a nasty stare. When the meeting broke into a shouting match, Shurran scooped up the folio and the guests made for the door, passing two other scholars rushing in to silence the argument.

On their way down the hall Shurran huffed, “Halvers!”

“Eh?”

“Halfers, or halvers, I’m not sure. There is a school of thought that the middle of the Third Age was the golden era of men. Since then it has been nothing but war, dark lords, pox and trouble. Some would restore those bygone days. One builder will only take contracts for work in the old high-style.”

Nag Kath could still hear the yelling behind them, “Good luck with that. They need a lot more people. Until then, someone’s got to sow the wheat and make the shoes.”

“Spoiled kids. They don’t seem too happy about you, Nag.”

“I noticed. I was outcast after the war, even a few years into Dale. Wounds were still fresh then. Still, folk got on with their lives. It was commonly known that I was one of Saruman’s orcs. Few believed it, but a few picked fights.”

Shur said grimly, “Hope you don’t have to make some examples.”

Uncle Nag replied, “I would be more worried about Phylless. We’ll keep our eyes open.”

He stopped in his tracks, “Shur, heard anything about the Visitors lately?”

“No. But I never did.”

The Elf stared ahead as they walked, “One of these rich kids wanting Sauron or our old friend Melkor back might want to press me into service. I need to keep my wits sharp.”

Nothing much came of it. The Quenya scholar was old enough to have known Mendies and wanted nothing to do with the upstart halfers. Most books had nothing useful but it was good to learn that language, even if he would never hear it spoken. 

In the year 41, Phylless’ parents sold their stake in the yeast business to a long-time associate. With health and leisure time, they came to visit again. The first floor of the house was finally remodeled and they, or anyone else who wanted to visit could come and go as they liked. Nag Kath also took a page from the King’s and Gandalf’s book and had a study made of the unused room upstairs. It was mostly storage for pictures, books and nick-knacks. 

Every so often, Nag Kath would attend Tal’s Thursday tea. Phyll made most of them. He often saw Tal alone or with Ecc. They were getting on fine. Ectilla’s little girl was five now and carried on the family tradition of wild, curly hair. Their son had not married but was long out of the house. Tal was 66 and still had her mischievous smile. Now that her Elf was safely wed, he did not need as much mothering. Flor came up in conversation every now and again. Strangely, he had not seen her but Tal did once or twice a year.

________________-------________________

Year 42 was notable for babies. Queen Arwen was with child. Was this the vision of a son that kept her here? It seemed so terribly long in human counting but a mere forty-five years in Elvish time. This was not an official announcement. Everyone believed it. Nag Kath had not seen much of the royals after Pelargir, amounting to brief reports on the state of the water from the beast-pool and the occasional gathering or music event. Dare he admit it; he was a creature of war and wars were few. 

The beast-pool was not perfect but it was as close as men could get it by the late summer. Hopefully it would clean itself from now on. This would be the last season with the oliphaunts and Nag Kath’s last trip to test the water.

The other news was that Eniecia was expecting another child in February. Nearing the end of Reyald’s term, he and Ardatha would visit in the spring after his replacement was installed. They asked Nag Kath and Phylless to go with them. Phyll got green about the gills just thinking of the voyage but she agreed. Shurran might go too but he was busy and a little bird mentioned that a young lady had caught his eye.

“Is it serious?”

“Aye, Nag, at least, I think so. We shall see about her.”

Uncle Nag took a sip of his wine and said, “If you ever need bad advice, you know where to ask.”

Shur had a sip as well and answered, “Fair enough. She is a daughter of Minister Vorhees. The middle of three. I like the man but I’m not sure he knows quite what to do with me.”

“How so?”

“Well, I was royal but now, not so much. I’m in a trade. I practice with our soldiers but with a Buhr Austar patch. He doesn’t know whose side I’m on.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“Mine. There’s nothing for me in Dale. Once da retires, I’ll probably buy a reserve commission for Gondor, but I won’t have come up through the ranks with the men I need to know.”

Nag Kath chewed his lip a moment and said, “I had the same problem. My solution is to decide if you want the young woman and let the family think what they like. What does she think?”

“That’s the trouble, Nag. She is a very traditional girl. It’s like Dale. Parents at those levels decide for them. Ma and da don’t care. That helps. Her folks had someone in mind but he disgraced himself in a pleasure-house across the river.”

“It is like I told your sister; decide about her and do your best. Am I a problem?”

Shur shook his head, “I don’t think so. This is probably just about White City gentry. Do you know Vorhees?”

“I met him at one of the Ephel Düath councils. He didn’t say much. I think he has something to do with the purse.”

Shur said resolutely, “You’re right. I’ll ask her what she wants and charge ahead.” He winked at his grand-da and added, “She could do worse.”

The conversation must have gone well because the young lady was invited to the Conath’s for dinner a few weeks later. Julianne was a lovely lass of twenty, a friend of Eniecia’s in the reading group back when. Quite shy, the grownups knew to have a few topics at the ready if the conversation lagged. Shur took her home before dark and came home smiling.

Ambassador Feuran Peliduran arrived in late April. He and Reyald knew each other fairly well and had no trouble ensconcing the man, his plump, friendly wife and two children in the residence. Reyald purchased a home on the fifth months before and most of their things were already moved. The diplomatic community gave a small send off to one of their own in style with promises to see him again. Some might. It was the way of retirement.

Shurran stayed in Minas Tirith when his parents and step-grandparents took the ferry downriver. The quartet stayed in Pelargir long enough to see Phyll’s folks and friends and then took a sailing ship around the cape. Phyll’s discomfort flared again but a practiced combination of herbs and healing made this voyage much more comfortable. 

Eniecia had a little girl this time. She looked like her mother. The little boy favored his father a bit more but their parents looked a lot alike so who could tell? The couple had a home above the war harbor since Cal was active-duty. It was close to the Elvish library but almost an hour’s walk from his parent’s home. 

Nag Kath hadn’t seen Eniecia since she was married so sitting with her as a mother was new. The young woman was fulfilled. She had been welcomed from the day she arrived and thought she missed her friends in the White City, her family and marriage were the priorities now. She nursed both her children herself, not always done here, because that was how it was done in Dale. Caladrion was due back from patrol in a few days so they took their leisure and walked a lot to help her regain her strength. A very capable woman saw to the children along with two household staff. 

When he could get away, Nag Kath paid Mrs. Hürna a visit. She never seemed to get much older, having started old in the first place. Now completely retired, her time was her own. Healers don’t make a lot of friends but Ladies of Galador do, so she had people to see. There had been no further trouble with Yeniel’s poisoning. Starting over was harder. A divorce was quietly expedited so she was at liberty, but she needed new friends too. Her sister helped. Mrs. Hürna thought the biggest problem was living in that imposing citadel. If the woman wanted a new life, she had to go where the people were.

Cal was back a few days later and had leave for two weeks while family was visiting. His parents took them, the Conaths and the Kath’s to a genuine Catanard! An open theater in Old Town had a summer series of them and this was the ‘Sayer Of Tidings’, a comedy. As always, it featured clever villains and hapless heroes who somehow find true love. After the show they found a café serving local wine and finger foods. Nag Kath could see spending a winter here one of these days.

_______________--------_______________

It would have been a perfectly ordinary trip except for a chance meeting. Ardatha and Reyald stayed with their children which put Nag Kath and Phyll in an inn near the wharf only a few minutes away from their house. Phyll liked to sleep-in on holiday so her husband strolled the quay looking at the warships as the sun rose. Above the lintel of a sewing shop he saw a small symbol of Orlo. There was no mistaking it. It had faded since being inked so this was not about his being here.

They would not open for an hour so he got porridge and some of the unique fruits of this land, dividing his attention between the ships and the door. The open sign was twisted from the inside so chances were the owner lived upstairs. He paid for his meal and decided his wife, who disliked sewing, needed thread.

A woman of about fifty greeted him after a little bell over the door rang. He said, “Thank you. I have it on good authority I need to go home with reels of blue and yellow thread.”

“Oh dear, young man. There are all colors and thicknesses. Have you any idea?”

He wanted to see as much of this place and the proprietress as he could so he feigned haplessness hoping the quest would open avenues. Nag Kath shrugged his shoulders. The woman said, “Well, what is your wife, wife right? What is she making?”

“It is a garment for a new baby, something thin for summer, I think.”

The poor man had been sent out with only the barest information so he got a few different kinds of each color and the missus could bring them back if they did not serve. No one ever returned thread so the lady was fairly safe in her offer. He did not see another symbol so as the woman put his thread in a small sack he said, “I am sure these will be fine for right-living.”

The proprietress slowed for an instant before counting out his change saying, “Anything else you need, please come back.”

“What is the best time?”

She looked at him and said thoughtfully, “Closing time.”

The family was eating in that night. Nag Kath made his excuses, which no one ever questioned, and went back to the little store. The closed sign was out but the door was unlocked. As the bell rang he looked at the woman and a man of the age to be her husband. The bell rang again as he closed it.

“I think the thread will serve, ma’am.”

She looked at the fellow who was sitting behind the counter fixing his eyes on the tall customer. A smile came from nowhere to cover his entire face, “It was you!”

The Elf said, “It often is.”

“In Pelargir! You stabbed the troll!”

“Oh, that.”

“What brings you back?”

Nag Kath thought between recognition and the discreet symbol outside the questioning was done. He said, “There is a little glyph above your door, a remembrance of places I’ve been.”

The man lost a little of his smile, “Last owner put that up. I keep meaning to paint it but, you know how it is.”

Nag Kath smiled and said, “It never hurts to ask. Thank you for the thread.”

As he turned he heard, “Stay a moment, friend. Will you share wine with us?”

“Gladly.” The woman walked behind him to lock the door. Then she pulled the cork on a flask and poured a cup to match the drinks they already had. Nag Kath took one of the stools on the outside of the counter and raised his cup in a silent toast. They did as well.

The Harad took a long pull and said, “I am Narvous Untorish, formerly of points south.” One would not know it from his look or speech. He could be from anywhere in the west. The woman was quiet.

“Nag Kath of, well, all over.”

He muttered to himself, “Kath, Kath, Osgiliath?”

The man might have heard the name from Dorwinion. The Mordor adventure was not common knowledge. “Yes, Mr. Untorish, I did some building there.”

Nag Kath took another sip of a fair vintage and continued conversationally, “A symbol like that was in Pelargir too. I don’t suppose you saw it?”

Untorish shook his head, “Nay, sir, never been there. My people came from the southern seas.”

None of this was especially secret so Nag Kath explained, “It was tiled into a floor upside down.”

The woman glanced from face to face but said nothing. Untorish held his chin and asked, “Upside down? Hard to recognize that way.”

“It faced down to keep the trolls at bay. An ambitious soldier broke the seal.”

The blood ran from both the merchants’ faces. She sat down next to her husband. He looked at his empty cup and said, “Mr. Kath, you are well ahead of me in this. Do you come from Nennûrad?

“Never been there. My learning is from the Ghurates of Rhûn and Khand, more recently, Mordor itself.”

The man spat on his wife’s clean floor and glared at the Elf before softening his face. Then a look of curiosity and awakening dawned and he said, “Are you the one called to attend? The one said to be waiting?”

“That would be news to me, Mr. Untorish. But I am enemy to the Visitors and recently destroyed their hive. There are more, I am sure.”

Nag Kath thought he might spit again at the mention of the Visitors but held back. The Elf remembered Idgshok spitting when the Visitors rode past them. Vegad too, as if even the mention of it needed to be purged.

Untorish nodded to his wife who fetched another flask and filled the cups to the brim. Since they were silent, Nag Kath asked, “Tell me of Nennûrad. Is it in Harad?”

“Further east. A place called Chey. I have never been there. It is said to be where the symbol was born. I only know that my parents left Far Harad when my sister and I were small and always kept that symbol somewhere on their home in faith. They said it reminded them of wholesome choices.”

The Elf said, “It does indeed, Mr. Untorish. Are your parents still alive?”

“My father is now gone these eight years. He inked that symbol over the door.”

Nag Kath advised, “You might do well to paint it over as you said. Keep another only you can see. There are those who would do you harm. They are abroad in the world, fewer of them than ten years ago, but not repentant.”

The woman broke her silence, “Thank you for that, Mr. Kath. We will.”

Nag Kath held his own chin for a question of moment, “Mr. Untorish, did your folks leave behind anything of their journey?”

The Southron was torn. They were relics of his family going back generations. But he knew he could not use them. This man could, and he had slain a troll. Finally he said, “Please, wait here.” 

It took him a while but he came back downstairs with a folio not unlike the one the scholars fought about. It was entirely in Haradric. Nag Kath would need to learn yet another language. Not even the Elves were said to speak that one. Nag Kath said, “It may be some time before I can return these to you, Mr. Untorish.”

“I would like them back, but take years if you need them. They are precious to me.”

The phrase took Nag Kath aback but he recovered quickly and thanked him, “I will try. In the meantime, this is a symbol you should avoid. Should you see it, send me a note through Lord Echirion. My name will be enough to grant you an audience.” He drew the symbol Fûl on a scrap of paper. Untorish turned the scrap around and said, “Oh, like the shields.”

“I fear so, Mr. Untorish. I fear so.”

There would be no trips to Far Harad or Chey, wherever that was, on this leg. They had stayed three months so the Conath’s said their goodbyes with promises to kiss Haldiera, her little ones and granna when they visited Dale, possibly next year. Their water blossom was everything they had hoped.

The journey was rougher than coming. Phyll had finally gotten her sea-legs and only needed a little magic to keep dinner down. Nag Kath helped with the lowly jobs on deck both to be useful and learn more about sailing. He thought he might do more someday. The crew worked as a team, seeming to anticipate each other but still paying close attention to the master’s calls. They never took the sea for granted, not for a moment.

______________-------______________

The White City had not missed them. They got home in spite of stronger than usual Anduin flow and settled back in. Ardatha was tired. She was almost 63. Even tough women of the Buhrs slow down. It was Eniecia’s turn to come home next time. Full retirement took no time at all for Reyald. With Mülto slowing, citizen Conath took on a more active role in choosing properties and what work was needed. He also used that as an excuse to visit Tumlen in Osgiliath with Ardatha who still loved to ride. A new Lossarnach mare was her birthday present.

Nag Kath laid the thread-merchant’s folio out on his big table. There were no maps. The paper was not old. These seemed to be some sort of diary combined with transcriptions of lessons, perhaps something like the recitations of the Sayers in Rhûn. 

He couldn’t find just anyone from Harad to read it to him. They had to be learned and not harboring any grudges about the misunderstanding on the Pelennor Fields. 

Chey? Where was Chey? His Quenya teacher was on drinking terms with the scholar who curated the maps. The man knew that it was at the corner of both Khand and Harad well past Lhûg, where Wain Riders were said to originate. None of the scholars were conversant in that tongue, an amalgam of tongues it was said and the changeling knew more about that part of the world than anyone not still there.

He would search unofficially. There were pockets of Haradrim on both the first level and in Rammas by the gate. They were either merchants or those who served the merchants. Travelers brought hammered brass and copper bits of varying quality along with brightly colored woolens and cottons. Most used donkeys as the roads below the Poros River were ill-suited for carts. The folk who stayed competed for market stalls since the travelers could not get preferred locations and seldom spoke enough Westron to dicker on price. 

Nag Kath remembered one old man who was quite heavy and missing a foot, or most of a foot. He walked with a crutch. The Elf took a bench on the second looking down and watched for two days. Every morning the old boy took forever to get from his apartment to his stall and once there, did not leave during the day. Working for him was a lass who might be a granddaughter at about thirteen. She was better-fed than the travelers and might be comely in a few years’ time. He never saw anyone her parent’s age. After the second day, he followed them home. They lived in a warehouse where the sleeping quarters were separated by tarps hung from the ceiling. With no security, they took everything of value with them to work and back.

Nag Kath looked for anything to suggest the man could read. Like all of them, he used a counting rack with blinding speed. Most days, traveling merchants sought someone with a stall to hawk their goods. Sometimes they sold them to the vendor, sometimes they were on consignment. The old man and lass took on inventory they knew and seemed familiar with the travelers. Honest? Not likely. Predictable was a better word. They made their best-efforts to sell their wares and usually settled-up with the merchants at the end of the market-day.

On day three, Nag Kath was about to give up when the woman three stalls towards the prow walked over with a traveler. They handed the fat man a scroll. He looked at it for quite a while and then said something that seemed to clear up a misunderstanding. Both vendor and traveler thanked him and walked back to her stall amicably. It was time to ask.

Yesterday’s inventory was buckles and brasses for horse bridles and they had not sold out. Nag Kath dressed roughly and borrowed a broken harness that had hung in his stable since he moved here from Dale. Making his way down the stalls he saw the buckles and walked over with the sorry tangle of leather seeing if anything matched. Unsure, he asked the vendor in Plainstongue if the man had one the right size.

He didn’t, but it would be good money after bad with the hide in such poor condition. And where would a blonde handyman have learned Plainstongue?

The blonde thanked him and pulled a sheet of paper from his coat. Nag Kath had drawn a series of phrases that were repeated several times in the Dol Amroth papers on one side and instructions from a superior in Westron on the other. Holding it to read the Westron showed the Harad speech to the old man.

In the confused face Nag Kath had perfected when it was accurate, he asked, “Do you know who sells such western horse halters?” Eastern riders seldom used mouth-bits and often just grasped their mount’s manes. The old boy pointed to the end of the row and said in fair Westron, “Two from end. His name is Vhull. What have you got there?”

“I was told to get a bride.”

The man laughed, “Bridle. Men here use them to steer their horses. I meant on the back?”

Nag Kath looked at it as if for the first time and handed it to the vendor. To show just how far the world had grown, and dougsh to the halfers, the man reached in his vest for a pair of spectacles. They were not clean or very well ground but they did work. He took a closer look at the page and said, “Know those persons by care and honor of family. They keep the flame.”

In his best yokel impression Nag Kath said, “Whatever does that mean?”

The fat man grinned a little and said, “It is an old saying from the east.”

Nag Kath took it back and said, “I am sorry. I thought it said leathers for the horse.”

The man grinned a little more and offered, “That is on this side.”

Ever gracious, Nag Kath thanked him and said, “I am sorry for my ignorance.”

“You aren’t very good at ignorance. Your hair is too clean.”

“I used to be excellent.”

The merchant said dryly, “Do you want to tell me what you are doing?”

“I need someone who can read this tongue, someone discreet.”

The fellow held his chin. Oh dear! “Discretion is expensive, young man.”

“And well worth it, learned sir. Are you available for such service? It may take several days.”

“Give me a day to arrange someone to handle my obligations here.”

The unconvincing servant said, “I will have a man-cart at your quarters the day after tomorrow. Bring the girl if she is not safe alone.”

The Elf arranged a man-carter who was strong enough to help the vendor with the steps to his house. They arrived shortly after the nine-bell. The lass carried a small satchel that was older than Nag Kath’s prop halter and the man-carter steadied his fare on the side without the crutch. It took a while but they made it.

Turnlie approached them and said, “Good morning, sir. Young lady, would you like tea with your strawberries?”

Her eyes grew wide as she looked to her elder for permission to accept. He nodded and she said in good Westron, “Yes, thank you ma’am.”

The Elf said to him, “Sir, let me put you here at the table.” On a flat, smooth surface he had no trouble getting there or sitting. Tea was served along with another bowl of strawberries. The girl sat with them.

Nag Kath started, “My name is Nag Kath. Do you know it?”

“Oh yes. I asked a few questions about tall, blondes conversant in several languages. I am Sulvarn. This is Venaris, who has the misfortune to be my granddaughter. It seems you have been busy, Mr. Kath.”

“That is my reputation. If you know that, you know whose side I am on.” That was both a question and a threat. Word leaking back to the Visitors would not recommend.

“Yes. Venaris and I are not so blessed. We are on the side that feeds us. For the past nine years, that has been the White City.” He looked at his granddaughter and instructed, “Child, go see if the cooking woman needs help.”

She rose, bowed and said, “Yes, granda.”

The Elf took her absence to say, “I have a number of documents in a tongue of Harad. I speak a little but do not read it. A reliable rendition will assure your retirement.” Then he cocked his head ever so slightly.

Sulvarn savored a strawberry and mused, “Retirement is as expensive as discretion.”

Nag Kath slid a nipper his way, “Another when you are done.”

That was a fortune. A good day cleared six groats. But Sulvarn knew he had a fish on the line. “Almost enough for a proper dowry, Mr. Kath.”

“More depends on the quality of the work.”

“Of course.” 

Venaris came back to say, “The serving woman needed no help but she gave me these, granda.” On a plate were some of the fried finger cakes made with sweet cane. 

Sulvarn tossed his robes back for comfort and asked, “Shall we begin?”

Nag Kath handed him the folio. The man reverently pulled back the cover and then scanned each sheet, making no notes or asking questions. When he got to the back he sighed and asked, “Do you know what you have here?”

“No, but I suspect it relates to my recent activities.”

Sulvarn said, “I believe so. Was this to be translated in your tongue or just spoken to you?”

“Let us start with telling.” Nag Kath switched to Khandian, “But also consider there may be hidden clues in the writing that do not show at a glance.”

The vendor registered no expression at hearing Variag. It might make explaining this easier. As he started, Phylless came in from shopping and saw the Southron and his girl eating strawberries. This was planned. She was introduced and then said, “Venaris, what a lovely name. I was just about to go buy some new clothes. Would you like to come with me?”

Again the look to granda. Again the nod. She would have some pretty new things when she returned.

The writings were indeed a diary, of sorts. It chronicled the trip of travelers a thousand years ago from the land of Chey escaping a forced call of soldiers. The trip took four hundred years through fifteen generations of folk finally settling above Umbar. Entries sometimes skipped a generation or two. There was Saying and poems like in Rhûn, detailed descriptions of locations, people born and lost. It often remembered right living and, a few times, the unnamed prophet who had started the cause long before this account started. 

The documents were a modern copy in only several hands, perhaps three hundred years old by the parchment. So this was not the journey of Untorish’s parents. They were simply keepers of story. 

There was nothing in the cursory reading to suggest the prophet was Orlo of the garden, but a man would appear briefly for council, far from where he had been and always appearing different over the generations. He did not carry weapons or lead in war. He healed terrible sickness. He seemed to be there for decisions. Without false modesty, Nag Kath had done the same after an ill-omened start. 

There was quite a bit more in the details, more than Nag Kath wanted to commit to memory. Sulvarn was engaged to translate the document in both Westron and Variag. Every day for a week the man-cart took the pair to and from their lodgings. Venaris stayed at the table most of the time but also went with the servants to get food or walking with Mrs. Phylless, even making a splash at Tal’s Thursday tea in her pretty clothes. She smiled and ate everything passed her way.

________________-------________________

On the eighth day, Sulvarn and Venaris came as usual. As they finished, Nag Kath asked in Variag, which the girl did not speak, “Have you considered the cost of retirement?”

Reluctant to name a figure, he said, “How does one put a price on true satisfaction?”

Nag Kath handed him four gold nippers and twenty silvers so he would not have to make change of the gold in the wrong place. Sulvarn opened his palm, looked and closed it. Then he looked at the Elf with a face that held no artifice. This was past bargaining or an opening offer or deflecting gratitude. He smiled, nodded and called, “Venaris, come with granda.”

The girl pouted, “Oh please, the lady said we would get sweets.”

“Perhaps your old granda can manage something.”

Sulvarn kept his stall. But the quality of his wares got much better.

** **


	36. Chûr

** _Chapter 36_ **

** _Chûr_ **

In the year 43 of the Fourth Age there was only one story. On March second, the Lady Arwen Undómiel presented the King with the Crown Prince, Eldarion Telcontar, a healthy baby boy. A general holiday was declared lasting two weeks. Taxes were suspended, rules were bent. Banners proclaimed the event as the city rejoiced.

The auspices were true. Aragorn would not be a single King followed by stewards. This was the line of Elessar, fabled jewel of Eärendil. Gondor and Arnor would be restored. Presents and well wishes flooded the city, so many that most were given to children who had nothing. Faramir and Éowyn came. Legolas came. Gimli arrived a few months later with a number of Shire Hobbits who made the long trip. The King stayed in the White City this year except for a brief trip to the horse farm. Everyone he needed to see came to him.

Shurran’s romance did not go as well.

“She said no?”

“I did not ask. She was not ready.”

“You need experience and confidence in a wife. That’s not what gentry are supposed to want.”

Shurran knitted his eyebrows and was considering a response when Uncle Nag continued, “You are so many different things; almost royalty, an heir, a working engineer, a soldier, well-traveled, not to mention your mad uncle.” He grinned, “Any of those could come to the fore.”

Leave it to the Elf to turn things upside down! Shurran did not need a homely society lass or rich father-in-law to move up in the world. He remembered the Khandian girls. What if a woman did not care for that? She might only marry to escape a horrid mother.

“Experienced and confident?”

“Aye, and it helps if they have more to do than worry and make doilies when you are away.”

_____________------____________

In June the Kaths and Conaths were invited to a viewing of the Prince on the top of the prow. His naming day was still some time off but the lad was a healthy, cheerful sort and it helped for folk to know. It was the largest event up there since the King’s coronation forty five years ago.

Everyone who was anyone and quite a few more crowded outside the lane that the King and Queen would walk. Tailors were booked months-out since everyone would be in their best. Nag Kath was tempted to avoid the crush but Phylless insisted. She did not mind crowds and being tall gave her a better view than most. They had preferred standing closer to the hall steps from the diplomatic area on the sixth so they squeezed in with Ardatha, Reyald and Shurran. Further towards the prow people were packed and helping themselves to mountains of food. 

The royal couple was radiant; he; noble, grave and fit, she; lovely and gracious. Eldarion was carried by Aragorn and other than squinting in the sun, seemed to be in a good mood. Babies don’t always appreciate the moment. He got a little fussy on the return trip so Aragorn handed him to his dry nurse and climbed the steps with the Queen to address the crowd.

** "_Good people of Gondor, Arnor and all of the places we call home, friends and neighbors come to visit and share the Queen’s and my joy, thank you for being here to see young Prince Eldarion Telcontar, second in the new line of Kings." _ **

A great cheer rose from the ranks.

** _It does my heart good to see you all here. We know you have waited long and faithfully for this day, that your leaders are strong and that your welfare is considered. Thank you all for coming and let us together join in the blessings of our new age!_ **

Folk felt honored in the spirit of their country and gave another ovation across the anvil. All eyes were on the royals as they waved and followed the guards. Well, almost all eyes. Using his height, Nag Kath scanned the crowd for familiar faces. He saw one he wished he hadn’t. 

Nag Kath had no legal or administrative authority but he could pretend with the best of them. He turned to a rear-guard Sarn't preparing to follow the royals and grabbed his arm saying in his Elf Lord voice, “Get them inside and lock that door. No one else gets in!”

Then he grabbed Shurran’s arm and said, “We need to do something dangerous.” To the Conaths and Phylless; “Watch for us.” Then they were gone.

Nag Kath said to Shur, “See the one in the black jacket, no cap, leaving the food tables?”

“A dozen of them.”

“Walking towards the main gate in the crowd. On the short side, dark hair, clean-shaved. He is alone but may pretend to know people as he makes his way.”

“I think so.”

“Stick to him like tar on the cat, but not so close he is suspicious. We only need to know where he goes. I will try to circle round and watch from the side. Whether you lose him or track him to earth, I’ll see you at your house.” Nag Kath nodded as the two hurried along and then were lost in the mass.

Being tall and powerful, Shur plowed through irritated citizens to stay about forty feet behind. The man did not seem evasive. There were no double-backs or window-shopping stops to see who behind him studied their shoes. Shurran did not see Nag Kath, which was no surprise. The guest made his way down the switchbacks but also used the short-cut stairs and eventually landed on the second at about the prow and started walking south.

A small crowd of folk left a drinking establishment directly in front of Shurran and then milled about while his quarry kept going. By the time Shur pushed through, he had lost the scent. He stood on a trough to spot the black hair but it was no use. Climbing down he figured one of the skills Uncle Nag had not attributed to him was guardi. The young Northman pushed forward against the chance that the man in the black jacket had been delayed. Fifty paces further, the crowd beyond the switchback thinned and there was no one to be seen. Shurran punched his fist into his open hand in frustration and looked to the sky.

Standing by the guardrail on the third was Uncle Nag. The Elf pulled his head up and Shurran trudged back to the fifth. Nag Kath was waiting two doors down from the new Conath home. Shurran was fit and not puffing but still agitated. With Uncle Nag, he might have been a decoy or hound to drive the hare. Knowing all would be explained, the two silently made their way to the house.

Phylless’ patience was extraordinary. So was Ardatha’s. Reyald’s was learned, but he could not appear more anxious than the ladies so he sipped an ale and stared at finger-foods brought by Loral. They went better with tea. The two trackers walked in and sat down with the others. Nag Kath scratched his nose and Ardatha told the servants everyone had what they needed after cool mugs were brought.

This was Nag Kath’s show so he started. “I saw a man who should be five years dead in Mordor. A young man, of the Visitors, not a likely guest for such an august occasion. I cannot imagine him here for any good.”

Reyald asked, “The same Visitors from Dorwinion?”

“Aye, but this one from the nest itself. I would lay long odds he is the son of the Assured, though how he escaped confounds me. I need to see the King as soon as I can get there.” The Elf looked at Shurran, “Did he touch, speak or even look at anyone along the way, Shur?”

“Not until the second. A pile of workmen lurched out of the Wild Boar and clogged the path. They looked like they belonged there.”

Nag Kath said, “I saw them, hard to stage that sort of interference. All I got was the building he went into but he could have slipped out again and made elsewhere. It will take sharper than me to ask without drawing attention.” He asked Miss. Fennel, “Can you ride?”

“Someone puts me on and points it, I’ll get there.”

Phylless said sweetly, “And what about you?”

He shook his head, “I am not sure. He won’t know me. I had black braided hair and strange costume. How did they miss him?” That last bit was to himself. Of course, the man along the Nargil might have been son to neither of the chief actors, but he was still an officer of the Visitors. Rydovosh settled them proper. That said, Nag Kath didn’t recall seeing his head in the pile. 

He came back to the world and doodled a sketch, “This is what he looks like. You see him, you scream. Better yet, slip a knife in his ribs.” Phyll carried a wicked little sash blade when walking the worse sections of Pelargir, which was most of them. Grooms were bringing the horses as he left.

Reyald offered, “Great River?” Nag Kath nodded and kissed Phylless softly. His first trip was up two levels. Then he would look at brass saddle fittings below.

_____________-------____________

After such a momentous day, most of the palace guards were in their shiny best and sensitive to zealous well-wishers. It would take more than that to stop the Elf. He walked to the preferred side gate and said, “I am Lord Kath. I need to see King Elessar at once.”

The guard was ordered to be polite but no one was being allowed in, perhaps because this very blonde gentleman said so. The man drawled, “Sorry sir. Their Highnesses are not receiving.”

A faint yellow light shone in the guards face as the citizen said, “Fetch your superior right now. It is your duty.”

The man blinked and tried to resist but the command was in his mind and drove all others from it. He turned as if on parade and walked to a nearby corridor to catch the attention of the Sergeant-Major. Both returned. Nag Kath did not recognize the Sarn't and repeated, “I am Lord Kath. I need to see King Elessar immediately. Take me under heavy guard as far as Minister Tarnbohl, but do it on your life.”

His ears were showing. Elves were taken seriously. The Sarn't barked, “As you were, soldier” and pulled his head back down the corridor. Two more guards fell in at the first interior door at a bark from the duty Sergeant and they wound their way towards the royal apartments. Two doors away, a Captain the Elf did not know came forward and the Sergeant whispered in his ear.

“So, you need to see the King? It must be important.” The man was a dangerous protector of his Lord but there was a hint of humor in his comment. He wasn’t there to rough-up the citizens on this of all days.

Nag Kath pulled his ruby pass and said softly, “Get Tarnbohl or die failing.”

The officer looked at the Sergeant and guards growling, “He doesn’t even twitch.” Then he turned on his heels and made it one door closer. Five minutes later, Minister Tarnbohl walked out with the officer and said, “Nag Kath? What’s on your mind, man?”

“Trouble from my lake home, sir.”

That took a second to sink in. Tarnbohl said, “Men, I’ve got this. Back to your posts, and not a word.” The Security Minister pulled his head and the two walked towards the apartments. The man said, “They are busy. You know that. Wait here.” Tarnbohl knocked and entered remembering his briefing after the Elf returned from Mordor discussing the black Visitors. And he spoke with Nag Kath less formally after the incident in Pelargir. No, if the Elf needed to talk to the King, the King himself would make that decision.

Not two minutes later Nag Kath was shown inside. He had always come through a working entrance to the King’s study. This was the family apartment. Aragorn and Arwen were sitting beside each other. Both fixed their eyes on him as Tarnbohl shut the door and stood at attention. They royals were waiting.

“Sire, My Lady, I saw a high Visitor from Mordor four rows back in the viands at your Lord son’s introduction. I followed him to a building on the second but that does not mean he is there. I rather doubt that. If I do not miss my guess, he is the son of King Nulvanash and should dead three times over. I do not think he knows he was identified.”

Now it was their turn. 

Arwen asked, “Are you sure, Nag Kath?”

“Too sure to chance. I got a close look at him just before the battle. He can barely be twenty two, high by birth but unless he acts alone, not in charge.”

Aragorn had not opened his mouth. He looked to Tarnbohl and said, “You were born for this.” Turning to Nag Kath, “Take care, friend. Take great care.”

Tarnbohl and the Elf stalked to the security chief’s office. No guards here; no one wanted to be inside this room. They collapsed into chairs on either side of his desk in silence for a few seconds. Tarnbohl, Levantos' successor, sighed, “Tell me again, everything.”

With back and forth it took half a bell. Tarnbohl whistled loudly twice and an ordinary, plainly dressed man stepped in from a side door and stood at the end of the desk. Nag Kath had never seen him before. That was no accident. This fellow was not to be remembered. Tarnbohl said, “Nag Kath, this is Boradul.” No lord or mister or anything else. “You said number 217A on the second path?”

The Elf nodded. Boradul asked in a careful voice, “Main door?”

“Aye, I saw nothing from the window and could not get down to the first to see if he worked his way out below.”

Boradul said, “You know your business, Mr. Kath. There is a door in that building from the storage pit leading into the tanner’s district. It is usually locked.”

That last sentence meant something. Either the Visitor was able to free it before he chose his route or someone inside helped. Nag Kath was sure Boradul knew who owned it and what happened inside. 

Nag Kath asked, “Minister, can you get me a pencil and paper?” The guardi almost never got assistance like this. The Elf sketched as if it was a cherished family portrait. Both men gathered round as he filled-in a surprisingly gentle face. Done in five minutes, Nag Kath said, “I can draw as many of these as you need.”

Boradul invited himself to look over the Minister's shoulder. “He’s new.”

Nag Kath said, “Half Khand, half Mordor. It is a unique look. Black hair, not much of a beard. He looks clean-shaved. He favors his mother of the Variag. I put him at five eight, eight stone, in Southron clothes, wearing boots with heels, early twenties. 

“Mr. Boradul, you would not know it from this lad, but the Mordor men have close-set eyes, almost always gray, makes them look like they are staring. They are small too and sometimes a bit bandy-legged. It signifies little since his associates, if he has any, could just as well be from Khand. I speak both tongues.”

Tarnbohl said, “How do we reach you?”

“I will stay at my house. My wife is elsewhere.” They got a glimpse of the grin, “I will keep out of your way but there are a few questions only I can ask. If I find something, I will be here. May the Valar protect our Liege!”

_____________-------_____________

Nag Kath walked seemingly unconcerned to his house. He was unarmed, as he always was in the city and especially after attending a royal function. He would stay that way. Miss Fennel had probably already been spirited away to Reyald’s but Turnlie must have just come back with dinner-fixings and was humming in the kitchen. The Elf saw no one interested in him thought he tried not to appear looking either. He shouted in his usual voice, “Hello, Turn. What’s for dinner?”

She turned and wiped her hands on her apron before replying, “I got some those nice gollisks from upriver, sir. They are fresh today.”

“Oh, I do like those. Turn, come here for a moment first. There has been a change of plans.”

She was allowed to sit at the main table with the master and mistress and made herself at home. Her master got a bit more serious, “Turnlie, there has been trouble upstairs.” She knew that meant the seventh. “Mrs. Phylless and Miss. Fennel are leaving for a spell. I do not think it means danger here, but you do not have to stay if you do not want to.”

The stout cook put her hand over her mouth and said from behind it, “One of your old friends come to roost?”

“No fooling you, old Turn. I spotted a bad ‘un. He may want to settle scores. You are welcome to stay with your ma as long as it takes. It will be just me here.”

She said, “I’ll sleep there but come here for breakfast and dinner, make it look normal like.”

“Oh Turn, you are a love. You see a handsome young man with black hair who doesn’t belong, you keep walking, eh?”

“Yes, Mr. Kath.”

Sulvarn had put some of his hard-earned into clothes, used clothes, mind, but a sight better than before. Nag Kath watched his stall for an hour from two angles before he went shopping.

The old boy wasn’t sure of his eyes but gave a modest wave and got back to the customer considering one of his fine soaps. The Elf made a ham-handed effort to be considering wares while the merchant completed his sale. Sulvarn cracked, “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“Neither did I. There’s trouble. Do you remember the symbol Fûl?”

“Hard to forget that.”

“There is a hard man of that order where he shouldn’t be.”

Nag Kath knew Sulvarn had nothing to do with that. The Visitor, he never got the name, would have been on his way, if not already here, before the Elf got back from the river. But Sulvarn knew where Nag Kath lived. If anyone was sniffing around the fourth, it might be because the Yvsuldor put the squeeze on the immobile merchant. 

The vendor puffed up with importance, “Sir, I will be vigilant.”

Nag Kath sidled to the counter and pulled a copy of his picture. Sulvarn commented, “Khandian! High Khand at that. Pretty lad. They don’t mix with common Swertings unless at need. He shows; Venaris will come by for sweets.”

_______________------________________

There was a small annex on the south side of the second where officers used to keep their horses. Now it was only used to store hay. At this time of year, stocks were low waiting for the fall harvest. Men with nowhere else to go often slipped in to get out of the rain. There were two smelly caves further back with stout doors wedged open, perhaps to hold valuables long ago. The rock floors were rough and uneven, always damp in one corner.

Vanteg Chûr took off his boots and poured the sand into the straw. It was clean straw at least. He took a piece of dried meat from his bag to see how much was left. After stuffing himself at the feast above, it might last through tomorrow. He put it with a rolled wheat patty and took a few swigs from his canteen. 

Chûr had never heard of Nag Kath. He was listening to his chief on the river and did no more than glance at the four strangers. As far as he knew, they were just fellow losers at the disaster caused by the Assured and the head of his order, Uvuo. A fool with a magic ring was still a fool. Those two were dying when he rode his flatulent horse into the Nargil and swam alongside her, watching arrows plop harmlessly in the freezing water.

He forded a few miles down and drove the horse near death back to Ûniarra Nûrn. Fortunately he was light and a good rider. Reaching the capital half a day ahead of Rydovosh, he ordered the ferry to take him across, turning his tunic inside-out halfway there. At night, he rode unquestioned where Aômul’s pickets should have been. In the morning, his saddle was replaced by a stolen sack across the horse to look like a merchant’s lad returning home empty-handed. 

Chûr did not know who his father was. He had only the faintest memory of a beautiful woman seen through the lattice of her garden. She looked like him. Any boy would wish for such a mother but she was gone years ago. Uvuo told him he was to become an Yvsuldor, very young. A subaltern by the rout on the river, he was never given command. One did not ask questions. The Assured occasionally inspected his regiment and would interrogate him, looking at him so strangely! He feared the Assured. Life was hard. His gentle Khandian features absorbed more than a few punches from ambitious Nûrns.

The young man made his way to Khand, stole food and trekked along the southern Ephel until he landed among the Southrons. A vile and swarthy lot, they left him alone unless they wanted his trim body. One man was slit from groin to ribs for the effort. The dougsh’s clothes held copper coins. 

It took years to get here after his horse was stolen, always walking, always a little further. His reasons for coming were unclear. It was proclaimed in Mordor that ‘the Gondor’ were the foulest of enemies, a hateful lot who would eat the babies of Nûrn. Uvuo himself said that the Yvsuldor’s purpose on earth was revenge on the men who did this to them and stole their lord with unclean sorcery of dead soldiers. With patience, always patience, he would be returned.

Chûr doubted that. The Nûrn ate their own babies. He was small and beardless, not vicious enough to be a Visitor among such vicious men. But they let him live, they let him stay. Now he was here and Gondor did not seem so foul. When he arrived a week ago, a large woman took pity on him and gave him food from her stall for none of his few remaining brown coins. People smiled. He saw no babies eaten, though quite a few sheep fared worse. And today, of all days, he just walked up the hill to see the great ruler and his woman show their own baby. 

It was so confusing. As he often did in times of uncertainty, Chûr flexed his right hand. It created the soothing yellow color around it, quickly dying to the shade of his olive skin as the tingle eased his troubles. He had never told anyone about that.

______________-------_____________

Guardi scoured the city. The best of them were subtle but the big ones scowled and looked in honest peoples’ businesses. Minister Tarnbohl had not slept in two days. The owner of the building the assassin slipped through was no more than drunk at the baby Lord’s introduction. He left the key in the lock. 

Their target did not eat. He did not know anyone. He spoke to no one. He was unseen. On the morning of the third day, Chûr wandered out of the hay. He had two groats left. Southrons made chew strips of dried organ meats and he could get enough to last today and perhaps tomorrow for one of his groats.

As he weighed his meager choices, an old, crippled man in a soap stall called him over saying, “You look hungry, lad. I have more of this than I can eat.”

Beware Southrons offering something for nothing. He gutted the one but another time did not get away. No, the man removed a warm cholla patty from the leaf and put fresh meat in the center. A fair dipping sauce was right on the counter. Chûr never remembered anything tasting so good. He thanked him in Plainstongue, “Blessings, sir. My road has been long.”

The old man replied, “It is the long roads that show us our blessings. You must come all the way from Khand.”

That was the safest mistake. Mentioning the Nûrn upset men further south. “Yes, from the Khur-Khand.”

The vendor called a shy lass over. She showed Variag blood as well. He gently told her, “Dear, do granda a favor and go tell my friend that we will need more soap shortly.”

She bowed and smiled, “Of course, honored grandfather.”

Sulvarn appeared to wrack his memory, “Now, where were we? Oh yes, I have some of the sweet cane rolls. Do people of your lands eat those?” Chûr had no idea, but people from his lands ate anything they got. The young man nodded and was given the most heavenly taste known to any man. How could these people be so evil and have such things? 

Knowing it would take the Elf at least half an hour, if he was even home, Sulvarn took a risk. He said, “See here, I do not move about so well. I need to put the boxes on the right to the left to make room for more coming. If you do that for me, I will pay you five groats.”

Chûr would have done it for the food. He nodded and started the work. It would only take a few minutes at this rate so Sulvarn said, “Wait, I am sorry. They must be stacked so the blue marks are on top, facing this way.” They were actually boxes of his neighbor’s stall. Sulvarn was watching them for an hour. Arranging the blue marks up still only took fifteen minutes. Running low on ways to dither, the vendor said, “Well done. I am hungry again. Here are your five groats and two more to go over to that stall for more cholla. Off you go!”

The lad might just take all seven and be gone but he stood in line while another Haradrim argued that for such small rolls they should be five a groat! Taking forever, the buyer settled on four a groat which was the same deal Chûr would have gotten but traded one for more dipping sauce.

When he got back, a customer was sniffing some of the vendor’s soaps. Not wanted to interfere, but not wanting the cholla to get cold either, the young man unrolled the flat wheat patties to inspect the meat in the middle and set the dish of sauce on the counter away from the customer. Sulvarn said in the strange local tongue Chûr was starting to understand, “Sir, you should try these. They are still warm.”

The beardless blonde gratefully accepted and said, “Yes, very good. Young man, you should enjoy yours too.” That was beyond comprehension but he knew the ‘eat’ signal in any tongue. The blonde man smiled at him. 

__________------__________

Chûr woke in a sturdy room with no windows. It was not a cell. Cells smelled worse. The Assured made the Ghoranduls take men in for questioning or kill them to prove their loyalty. Cell or no, he was not leaving. The blonde man was sitting on a chair reading something. Chûr would be very still. He was quick. If the fool turned away, he had already planned the fewest steps to the man’s throat. Except, his knife was missing. 

The blonde man set his papers aside and said in crude Mordoran, “Good, awake. Does head hurt?”

Chûr shook his head, the same in any language.

“I am Solvanth. You will tell me everything I want to know.”

He said it so calmly! Like Uvuo. Nulvanash never threatened softly. He puffed large and made his voice painful. The man with long blonde hair said, “You were Richtren. All of the Visitors are dead along the Nargil. How did you live?”

Chûr just stared. The man never broke his concentration. Chûr could never get to his throat in time. How did he know? He spoke the tongue!

The blonde asked, “Why are you here?”

The young man knew a little of interrogation. They start gently. Pain begins either when you are false or to enjoy themselves. That should be a lesser question leading to one that mattered. He did not know it was the questioner’s most important.

“I escaped downriver. Rode, walked through Harad, years to come. They said Gondor was evil. But people feed. I do not know why I came. I just kept going.”

Nag Kath let him talk. In his narrative, the young man used a few Variag words so when it was time for another question, the blonde man asked in Khandian, “What is your name?”

It was the same anywhere, “Vanteg Chûr.”

The blonde was interested, “Is that a mix of Nulvanash and Chûran?”

He knew of the Assured! Oh, this must end badly. Could he run into the wall hard enough to lose his mind? “Nulvanash is Assured. Dead and I spit. I do not know the other name, best of sirs.”

Was it possible the lad did not know who his parents were? No bastion of family affection; Mordor. If the sorcerer thought he would live forever, he might not want his namesake looking for advancement. He might not have killed him either. There was no mistaking his mother, though. That was strong blood.

“Vanteg Chûr, what do you want?”

“Food. Not fear.”

The tall man rose saying, “Food will be brought to you. You must stay here. I will come tomorrow.”

As the tall one gathered his papers, Chûr made his desperate attempt. He rose and ran. Almost there; the blonde held out his hand. It glowed, but silver compared to the Visitor's feeble yellow. The pain was unimaginable. Chûr felt as if every part of him had been crushed. He tried to scream but his mouth would not work. First he fell to his knees, then on his jaw.

__________------__________

Minister Tarnbohl muttered, “That could have gone better. What did you learn?”

Nag Kath shook his head, “Nothing I expected. He is just trying to get away. He walked here on his own. He had no idea who his parents are and it seems he got some of his father’s sorcery, that’s what knocked him out. I don’t think he knows that either. He’s not here to kill anyone.”

“When will he wake?”

“I’ve taken blows like that and was out for twelve, eighteen hours. He will wake sore and starving. Trust me.”

“Does he speak any Westron?”

“Not that I could tell. Mordoran Plainstongue and passable Variag. Southron too, but I don’t know enough to use.”

Tarnbohl rubbed his chin, “We know the father. What of the mother?”

“One of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. She was a slave of the Assured, a pleasure tribute from his vassal state. She got away the same way her boy did. Chûran is her name. She was the one who told us how to defeat Nulvanash. Without her, it never would have worked. The last time I saw her she asked if I saw someone who looked like her, would I spare him. Nag Kath shook his head, “I saw the boy at the battle but then it was every man for himself.”

The Minister had a report to make. “What do we do with him?”

Nag Kath said practically, “Let him sleep then feed him a real meal. I will sit with him until he wakes. He will be confused.”

The lad’s color was good and his breathing was more even. That hand! He must have gotten that from da. The sun was a few hours up when Chûr woke and pretended sleep again.

“I know you are awake.”

The young man propped his head on his elbow and said, “Awake, asleep, I’ll be dead soon enough.”

How could he think anything else? “Well, don’t die too fast or you'll miss breakfast.” The Elf pointed to a plate on the table, too high up to be seen lying on the bed. The food was cold but by Ûniarra Nûrn standards; fine dining. Chûr stalked it slowly and then pounced using both hands. 

The blonde man let him eat but had none himself. He did take sips of tea, the Khand tea that was everywhere as Chûr made the turn into Harad. A sleeve wiped the wreckage from his mouth and he glared at the blonde. Clearly the creature had powers dwarfing Nulvanash. His own hand! Usually a source of comfort, it had betrayed him and paralyzed his entire body. Was this the evil that Uvuo said destroyed their beloved dark lord?

The food was gone. “Chûr, do you remember the scholars at the Nargil?”

“No.”

“Four men, captives of Uvuo, there to read maps and scrolls?”

“Yes, weaklings. To be slain after our victory.” He said that in complete despair, one more chore in a short lifetime of miserable chores.

“Take a closer look at me.”

The small soldier looked, blinked a couple times and leaned in slightly as comprehension came into his face. Completely reversing Nag Kath’s solemn script, Chûr began to laugh. “SO, they were even more foolish than we thought!” Only slightly more seriously, “Now, do you kill me?”

Nag Kath shook his head, “I hope not. Someone I cherish asked me to save you if I could.”

“Who gains from that, Solvansh? There are no friends in Nûrn.”

“Your mother.”

When the young man was speechless, Nag Kath filled the air, “She was Nulvanash’s concubine. She bore you and escaped the same way you did. You might have passed her on your way here. You were taken from her as a toddler, given to the Yvsuldors. But she never forgot you. She always hoped you would live.”

“Nulvanash is father?”

“Sorry.”

“So now you kill me?”

“That is not up to me.”

Chûr sat on his cot. His mind was full beyond capacity. The Assured was his father! That was awful. Some woman from that terrible land would have borne him, not so hard to believe, really. That she was alive and found; less so.

And what was the blonde man? A sorcerer like Nulvanash, father Nulvanash! Not cruel though. Wasn’t that what those powers were for, to control men to your will? Chûr had no will. He only survived. He survived there and on the way. Perhaps he would survive here too. It seemed a long way to go to die now. He could not know that his interrogator asked the same question of the same King after a year of torment in the young man’s hiding place.

__________------__________

Aragorn held his chin an extra long time. Tarnbohl said nothing. The Elf explained the situation. Nag Kath made it sound neutral, just facts, but there was a bias to let the young man live. A sorcerer! Weak like his father but a holdover of when that was more common. Nag Kath had no idea what to do with him either. Teach him to paint?! 

On the bright side; this was not a conspiracy of fell legions trying to destroy the country one flatbread at a time. Arwen! Ever vigilant Arwen, finally with a child to make her staying bearable. The King flattered himself that he alone was worth the sacrifice, but the prospect of Eldarion sealed her bargain.

King Elessar rose. “Let us have a look at him.”

Elf, Minister and Liege walked back to the holding cell. The guard let them in and stood by the door. Chûr was still sitting at the table thinking he might get out of this alive as the three approached, not recognizing the King in the dark without his crown and regalia. Nag Kath came closer and said, “Chûr, this is, uhm, Strider. He is going to ask you some questions.”

It had been a while since that name was said on the seventh. Strider asked, “Did you come to the ceremony to kill the King and Queen?”

Chûr looked at all three faces while the other tall one translated, “No.”

The King then asked, “Then why did you come?

The Elf’s translation; “In the market, they said there would be free food.”

Aragorn cracked a Nag Kath grin and clapped the Elf on the shoulder, “He is all yours. What will you do with him?”

“I will teach him right-living … and I will learn every secret the Witch-King left behind.” 

He felt like an archery Sarn't, “Aw right, follow me. Don’t run away or I will curse you.” Could he do that? Might come in handy. The tall, ageless man and the shorter, young man walked out the seventh gate, the sixth gate and made for Nag Kath’s house. Chûr’s head was on a swivel looking at all the people. As an Yvsuldor, he was feared, his red collar could mean pain, or worse. Here; no one seemed afraid of anyone. They looked at each other!

“Hi Turnlie, this is Chûr. He is staying for a while. Everything is fine now. I expect the lad is hungry.”

“I got more of the gollisks. They were fresh and the others, well, maybe a bit long in the bin, sir.”

“Chûr doesn’t speak a word of our tongue but the sooner he learns, the better for all.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We are going to get him some clothes and run a few more errands. Be back by dinner.”

“Very good, sir.”

Their first stop was Kathen Properties. Secretary Stewant was putting the rental records away. “Oh, hello Nag Kath. You almost missed me.”

“I need you to send a runner to Osgiliath and fetch Phylless and Miss Fennel back. All’s well.”

“I think Wallendorn is here. Can he use Charlo? His horse threw a shoe.”

“That’s fine. Please have someone tell the Ambassador too.”

The two found Gurren’s general store where was purchased as much as they could carry of outer and undergarments, a hat, boots, belt, jacket, socks, and everything else a young Visitor about town needed that summer. The cargo was redistributed after a young woman looked at Chûr and he walked into a donkey. Man-carts nearly got him twice. 

When they struggled in the door, Reyald was relaxing on the couch with a goblet of Dorwinion. “Out marketing, eh? This had better be good.”

The shoppers dumped their loads on the dining table. Reyald thought the young man was a bearer but he just stood there. Nag Kath said, “Reyald, may I introduce Vanteg Chûr? He is a sorcerer visiting from Mordor.”

The normally smooth-tongued Ambassador gaped for a few seconds, “I supposed I asked for that. Does Mr. Chûr come with an explanation?”

“It’s a beauty. Is gollisk all right?”

“I’ve eaten, thank you.”

Nag Kath said to the pretty young man in Khandian, “Chûr, this is Reyald Conath.”

The Visitor bowed and said, “Mr. Conash.”

Ambassador Conath asked, “Do the girls know about this?”

“Wallendorn is getting mine now. The only ones who know are you, me, Tarnbohl and the King. Arwen will know soon and that’s one more call to stick my head on a pike. Officially, he is from Khand.” Reyald heard the updated version and went home to tell Ardatha about the Variag here on holiday.

Phylless was home by the four-bell, relieved that her husband had said all was well. She had a hundred questions. When she walked in the door and saw a clean, well-dressed young man stuffing his face with cucumbers and bread, she had a hundred and one. Chur already learned that here one stands and bows to women much like one does for superior officers. After the shortest possible answer to her newest question, Phyll walked over to the young man saying how pleased she was to meet him. He smiled hoping that was the right thing.

“Dear, could we have a word?” They went into the kitchen area where the Elf was asked, “Will our son be staying with us long?”

“No, but I have to keep him close. I will think of something.”

Phylless had her clever-face on, “Show him his mother’s picture.”

The orc thought of saying something then he dashed upstairs to thumb through the hanging folio. He came back down with his portrait of Chûran. Taller, with a stronger chin, he could be her brother. Nag Kath sat down next to his unexpected guest and said in Variag, “This is a picture I drew of your mother. Her name is Chûran and she lives in Lhûg.”

This was of enough moment that the Visitor stopped eating. His eyes bore into the paper. Somehow he imagined she had left him. Other children had mothers. Some had fathers. He had the Visitors. Nag Kath told him what he guessed about Chûr’s beginnings. He would leave her involvement in the coup until he had a better chance to gauge how the young officer felt about the outcome. 

Chûr asked, “You drew this?”

“Yes, that is one of the things I do.” He took Chûr’s picture out of his jacket. “This was from the ceremony and what I remembered from the Nargil. Your mother asked me to save you if I could. There wasn’t much I could do about that.”

“Did you murder the Assured?”

The Elf would rather have saved that question but he would not avoid it either. “We tricked him. He sought more power. That was bad.”

“Yes. The dark one Uvuo?”

“A knife in the ribs.”

That revelation was not so upsetting that he could not have more cucumber slices. “And now you are sorcerer?”

“There are many. I am on the side that wants people to be free.”

Cucumbers stopped again. Chûr stared at the woman’s picture on the table. A tribute woman. He had never had a woman. Men had taken him and he did not care for that. Hopefully, women were different. Phylless joined them. She had no Khandian but was a keen observer of emotions. Fennel was hovering as well. She and Turnlie were standing at the kitchen door when Nag Kath gave his condensed explanation to Phyll. Somehow they imagined dark servants practicing foul arts and avoiding vegetables.

After the last slice hit bottom Chûr asked, “What do I do now?”

Nag Kath became the King. Phylless was not the Queen. A creature who was more than he seemed was newly released into the White City. All the Elf remembered of his first couple days out of gaol was how pretty things were. It informed every step after that. Did he need a Quastille, a Tallazh? The Elf asked, “What do you like to do? What do you want to be?”

Those were grossly unfair questions for a Visitor or an orc. Nag Kath supposed Chûr knew a great deal more of the world than he did but this must all seem so large, so distorted. The young man tried anyway, “I do not want to be dark. I will learn, then decide.” In the raw, transactional world of his birth, there was a price. “What do you want?”

Nag Kath was ready for that one. “I want you to be light, and tell me all about the dark ones. They are the enemy.”

As much as he wished, Chûr could not make more cucumbers appear on the plate. Yes, he would gladly tell of his training. The clean clothes felt nice. The basin bath was not so terrible either. The woman did not cower or divert her eyes. Were they all like that? This one was taken. Even he knew not to interfere. Finally he said, “Yes, I will do that.”

Practicality arrived in the form of Shurran Conath. The big Northman was about the same age as Chûr although the newcomer did not know how old he was. Shur, pronounced with a soft ‘sh’ rather than the hard ‘ch’ and long ‘u’ of the Nûrn, smiled at the young man and was introduced. Uncle Nag asked, “Shur, how’s your Khandian coming?”

“Never better.” He didn’t have a word.

“How would you like to take our guest out for a meat lunch?”

“Glad to. Anything I need to know first?”

“Not really. Lose him and we’ll dock your pay.” Nag Kath turned to Chûr, “He will take you for more food.”

The Nûrn walked out and smiled at Shurran. Shurran gave a half smile back to the Kaths as he shut the door behind him. Phylless took a sip of her tea and said, “What will you do with him, Nag?”

“I think the same thing they did to me. I will be the teacher of light and dark. Someone else has to teach him how to live free. With my understanding wife’s permission, he can stay here for a little while but the hard part is where to put him. What do you think?”

“He can stay here.”

“I mean after that. I was in the art school. Maybe there is some other kind of school for foreigners come to the White City for learning.”

Phyll said casually to her simple orc, “It is a sorry thing that between us we don’t know anyone who knows everything going on in the White City.”

__________------__________

“Dear Nag Kath, Phyll, where have you been. Phyll, Deniise asked after you at tea. And you …” directed at the changeling, “haven’t seen you in weeks.”

Phylless sat on Tal’s comfortable couch and said, “My husband has been up to his usual adventures.” That was followed by a kind but prompting glance.

Even in his concise manner, the story took fifteen minutes. The ladies sipped their tea and had a few of the finger cakes. Tal summarized, “So, you have a wizard from Mordor who people thought came here to cause trouble but he is just a refugee. He is smart, doesn’t speak a word of our tongue, is unmarried, pretty to look at and has no idea what to do.”

Nag Kath gulped his assent.

“What about learning a trade?”

“I need to keep my eye on him, a small matter of being the last Visitor.”

Tal offered, “How about in the Khandian sector?”

“That’s the last place. They would spot him as a Nûrn in a blink. It has to be someplace where he can meet people his own age and learn they are not his enemy. If he was just a lad from the provinces, this would be easier.”

Tal would think about it.

Shurran solved it a couple days later. They went to lunch at a workingman’s pub on the third almost directly up from Timalen’s studio. Two of Shur’s builder friends lived in a boarding house four buildings over. Their boss was waiting for his customer to pay him so he declared the day over and the lads would put in longer hours tomorrow. That called for ale!

Visitors of the order of Yvsuldor did not drink. It invited weakness and false notions! Peoples of Khand and Harad did drink after dark but that was a rich man’s pleasure. Those folk were few and far between for a Nûrn trying not to attract attention. But when the dusty workman thumped a pitcher on the table to go with the mutton stew, well, what could one say?

Shurran had done design work for their boss two projects ago and they talked about that while the young guest listened. He could not determine their protocol. In his world and the one he had traveled through; men were defined by their relationship in the pack. One was highest, one lowest, most jostled for position in-between. These men did not do that. His host was better groomed and therefore of higher status, but they carried on as equals. How strange! When it was time to go; all three counted out copper coins and left them on the table without fear someone would steal them. His seven groats were not included.

Shurran and Chûr got back to Nag Kath’s house after the fish was served so they both had another plate. It reminded the Elf that he had to have the same talk that failed with Brenen about Northmen and meals o’plenty. Shur mentioned meeting his pals at the Rusty Wheel and that they lived in Mrs. Zepruldan’s boarding house. That was good because the old lady did not allow alcohol and his friends didn’t need any more.

Phylless raised her eyebrow. “Shur, is that a place where young men can stay while they sort-out their situation in our fair city?”

Shurran looked at the eyes around the table assessing the question in context, “Aye Phyll. Men only, they get a room or share. Sizes depend on price. Some have windows. Most guests are tradesmen who don’t have to live in the shop anymore, so they aren’t poor. Old Mrs. Zepruldan washes the sheets once a month. If it isn’t that one, there are three other houses right there, two more for women.”

Phylless asked Chûr, “How is your dinner?” Gollisks are a small whisker-fish that taste more like trout. The Nûrn inhaled them.

Chûr stayed with them for a week, giving Nag Kath time to structure teaching Westron and start a long, thorough probe into what the young man was taught. The Elf remembered he had a Richtren collar even as a lad. That and his parentage; he must have been being groomed for higher things. Did they know about the gift? Nag Kath thought if his father knew, he might murder him. Immortals do not need successors.

The Nûrn was unlettered. There was no written form for their slave dialect. But he knew every one of the rock symbols by heart; their function, how they played off each other and when they were to be summoned. He also could recite long catechisms that included more than a little Black Speech about their storied history. They followed in the style of the Rhûnic Lore-Sayers with cadence to emphasize important passages and stimulate accuracy. It would take a long time to draw and write them all.

On the eighth day, the Elf and Visitor strolled down to the boarding block with Shurran who took a few hours off. The better choice was a smaller place run by the estimable Miss Oppenlieght. It had a fellow from Pelargir, two brothers from Dol Amroth and five more from the city. Room and dinner was twenty-two groats a month for a fair sized room with a window, desk, basin and raised bed. Elf-eyes looked for bugs. The door locks could not stop even an honest man. Being caught in someone else’s room without leave was grounds for eviction. So was having a woman unless approved with the door open. Like most of these places, a strapping fellow on the block saw to enforcement.

Most days, teacher and student would get together for two hours, there, at the Elf’s or over a meal. Chûr was used to much longer and rigorous study but Nag Kath had other duties. The young man came to dinner once a week. 

One of the most important things was that he made friends, slowly at first but after a month, he had things to do. He liked the plays and singing which were in full-swing in public parks. Sometimes he would stop by Shurran’s office to say hello. Being quiet, he wasn’t in the way and the architect let him watch when his partner was out.

__________------__________

As happens to all attractive young men, he caught the eyes of females. Why not? Chûr was well-dressed, clean, relatively unscarred and did not talk too much. He, Haldess of Pelargir and Regandir of the glass trade went to visit friends on the second. Today was the holy day of an ancient prophet who encouraged folk to cast off their cares. An absurd notion, but then, these people had few gods who called for sacrifice. How did one sate them?

Evidently with ale. The tall Solvanth, also known as Kath, had given him an assortment of copper and even a few silver coins to buy meals and things he needed. They would not be meeting today since the Kath had solemn observances of his own. Haldess, whose parents sent things on boats for him to sell, knew a place of worship. It seemed like many places nearby but he respected their queer beliefs. 

When they arrived, services had already begun. The tables were all taken so they approached on foot and asked the burly counterman for three mugs. Already poured, they left coppers and moved back to the middle of the room. Haldess saw several women he knew and introduced his friends from the rooming house. For some unfathomable reason, females were allowed out, unchaperoned, and permitted to share in the beer. It made them friendly. It made them very friendly. 

The following day, Chûr"s concentration during the right-living lesson lagged. He forgot sayings and put words in the wrong order. The tongue of Gondor was not difficult as long as one remembered there were only so many sounds. There were no nuances. If you could make the sounds, you could make the word as long as your tongue cooperated. The Kath leaned back in his chair and smiled, as he often did, “Did you enjoy the feast?”

Chûr was not sure what to say. He had been here long enough to think he would not be beaten for drinking and being taken to a woman’s room. He found women much preferable to the forceful Southrons. It was unfortunate that the holy day was only once a year. 

He murmured in the common-tongue, “Yes, Nag Kath. I joined friends. I regret I did not learn the proper sayings.” 

The Elf stuck to Khandian, “Well, they are complicated. The holiday is to forgive transgressions. I am sure you showed respect to others?”

“So I was told.”

__________------__________

As summer became fall, the Elf increased the depth of Chûr’s emersion into the dark lords’ instruction. So far, he concentrated on Westron, concepts of right living and writing. The last improved quickly when he realized the young man was left-handed. 

The dutiful husband also spent more time with his bride. They went to Osgiliath for several days at a time, enjoyed plays and songs, he took her to the private dance clubs on the fifth and enjoyed themselves. As he told Shurran, a wife needs things to do. Her parents would visit in October. 

After the first couple reports to Minister Tarnbohl, interest from the palace slackened. An organized gang of thieves was keeping the guardi busy. Umbars were suspected, as usual, but they arrested a nest of men from the Lebennin side of the delta. Chûr took some leisure time to explore more of Minas Tirith and wandered into a Khandian enclave. He looked enough like the transitory folk that some called to him in greeting. He replied. By now he had learned to smile too. 

Some nuance in his voice set hairs on end. As he waited to buy Nag Kath some of the tea he liked, two men attacked him with weighted sticks. Chûr ducked the first blow but the second cracked his forearm raised to defend his head. No one was coming from the other side so he ran as fast as he could, which was faster than his assailants, and made it to the yarn mall before pulling back his sleeve to look at the angry bruise. Unbuttoning his shirt so he could put the arm in as a makeshift sling, he trudged up to his teacher’s home.

The sorcerer hummed tonelessly as he looked at the wound. It was a minor fracture. Since it was easier not to let patients know it was coming, he used a touch of the ‘fast’ to push a bone-chip back in place. Chûr flinched but did not cry out. Then he watched the Kath hold his arm to either side of the bruise with both hands. They turned color, silver on the backs and yellow on the palms until the silver displaced it. 

Chûr heard him tell the fat cook to go upstairs and get one of his socks and cloth. Then she went to the kitchen and mixed a bowl of wheat paste. Nag Kath cut the end of the sock with his little knife and put it over the break. Then he wrapped it loosely with cloth soaked in the bread fixings to dry. Only after he was done did the Elf ask, “Meet some unpleasant folk?”

The young man’s Westron was good enough to say, “In Khand town. They heard my accent and then two men came at me with clubs.” 

For any other man in the world, it would have been chalked-up to regional animosity. Not here. Were they right-livers who recognized a fell enemy? Were they losers in the fight? They were probably among the thousands who had a grudge against the capital of all grudges and took it out on a refugee. Nag Kath had him describe exactly where he was and what the men looked like. Chûr did not think Solvanth Kath would disembowel them, but he would investigate. Chûr was to keep that arm dry.

“Fûl or Orlo?”

His manhood was in a vise, gripped by someone across the dark path. He knew if he screamed the pressure would become unbearable. His family was inside. Durachuv was at his home. He was alone. The grip tightened. Oh please, if life was meant to be lived in harmony and protection of those he loved, please let this stop.

It did not. Finally he squealed, “Orlo!”

The pain was gone. The man was gone. His wife would be disappointed tonight.

Nag Kath increased his studies. Twice, he slipped the young Visitor into a confused state for the clearest rendering of his indoctrination. He also found Chûr never really believed it. Fanatics were few but ambition and fear were persuasive. In normal mind, he finally asked of Orlo. For some reason, the Elf thought this would bring visions of raging hatred and vengeance. It seemed Righters, as he called them, were more of a nuisance, harmless peasants who were easily crushed before their women’s eyes, folk to be whipped for lighting their puny candles. That was more the job of the field Ghoranduls. In the capital, most men were line soldiers; either as guards to the Assured or outriders. Only the very few were higher Richtrens, eligible for the top position. He was made to attend some of their Sayings. He would rather ride his horse but when told, one did.

Orlo? It was the symbol the Kath showed him. All knew that. It was forbidden to write and, of course, excluded from the glyph. No combination of other symbols could eliminate its taint. Was Orlo a man, or a sorcerer? It was said by those who came long before that there was a man but he was destroyed or reduced to spirit when Sauron first came to the Nûrn. Who could stand against that? Chûr knew absolutely nothing about the wizards or the Valar or anything of creation as men and Elves knew it. There had been rings. His inattentive father had one. The Kath destroyed it so it was not very powerful, though he was castigated by the Dwarves, whoever they are. 

Nag Kath cross-referenced his archives for anything to do with the right-livers going back in time. The journal from Dol Amroth was invaluable. By winter, he had extracted as much as he thought the young man knew. Reduced to spirit? That was different than dead, and the Yvsuldors knew their dead. Chûr’s arm was fine. He had friends. He avoided Khand town though he would have been as safe there as in the palace after his tutor applied the squeeze. His Feast woman seemed to be a one-time union. He might not mention it to the imposing Kath but he hadn’t said anything to Shurran either, and young men talk.

Syndolan was time to introduce his ward to the regulars. The Elf had kept him at arm’s length. But he was a citizen now. His Westron was understandable. He could read a little and make change of a silver. And he was a nice young fellow. It was the usual colorful affair. Chûr stayed close to Shurran or Phylless who always treated him well but he would venture off into the throng. So these were Dwarves! They were short but the Hobbits were shorter. They could both drink to shame him. Khandians are not good drinkers. He had a terrible voice, but for Syndolan songs that was not disqualifying. The King’s rockets were amazing. Was that what happened to the famed tower said to be above Barad Dur?

Tal had heard a lot about the young man but this was the first time she had seen him. “Oh, Nag, he is pretty.”

“I’ve told you Tal, men are handsome, women are pretty.”

“I’ve seen plenty who weren’t either. He’s pretty. He’s not evil, is he?”

“Less than most.”

“Whatever will you do with him?”

“He is almost ready to tell us.”

__________------__________

Of all the many things they discussed, Chûr’s magic was never included. The young Nûrn kept it hidden. He did not know the Kath had discovered it the day they met. Two days after the party they studied at Nag Kath’s. The ladies found something else to do. The Elf said, “Chûr, I need you to tell me about your ability to draw the color from your hand.”

There was no pretending with the Kath. Chûr was now sure that this was not a confession to a mortal crime. The man already knew. He probably always knew. The young man started slowly, “When I was little, my hand would shine when I was punished. It made the pain smaller. Sometimes it would go away.”

“Does this feeling come for other things?”

“Oh, no. I have kept it hidden. I was not punished much as I grew, but was glad of it.”

Nag Kath unfolded the blade on his little knife and cut a small, jagged slice in Chûr’s forearm, near the healed break. The young man held his arm firm and did not make a sound. The Elf said, “I want you to think of that healing. Be calm and imagine the wound sealing.”

He tried and appeared to be straining. Nag Kath coaxed, “Relax, let it come to you.” There was no color but the bleeding stopped. The Elf wiped the cut with a dinner cloth and looked. It would leave a faint scar, but it was a day or two ahead of where a man with the same laceration would be. 

Chûr thought it took forever for the Kath to speak. When he did, he said, “You have some healer in you, young man. Does your land have healers?”

“No. It was said some women could, but the Assured slew them all.”

“I suspect he had that power but turned against it and used it to harm. It is good that you kept this to yourself. Now I have to ask something I asked the day we met. It is a fairer question now. You have been here, and many places, seen much in your short life, some of it very cruel. But some fair as well ... Have you thought of what you might like to do in this world?”

“I should like to meet my mother.”

Nag Kath said, “I thought you might. I did not tell my friends in that land because your test might not have gone so well. But I will use such tools as I have to hand to help. You could invite her here or go there, with no guarantee that she would get the message or come.”

Chûr smiled, “You cannot fly me there with your powers?”

“Nay, sorry, I am very young for my kind and not strong. Even the greatest had to walk or ride.” Nag Kath was glad the fell-beasts had been destroyed. “On good horses we can get there in three months by circling from the north. Through Mordor would be faster but not safe. It is still a hard and dangerous route. My friends will help.”

“You will take me there?”

The Elf said, “I have a few loose ends to attend.” Nag Kath looked the Nûrn over and added, “We need to work on your tale.”

They were early. The route was warm but could get snow until March. That would give them time to prepare. Nag Kath bought him a good horse and was impressed by how well he rode. At his weight, he was no burden. He had clothes and knew what money was. It went a lot further in Rhûn. The plan was to travel through Dagorlad and track south of the Rhûn Sea to Mistrand, possibly Yhammâs Fruhir, at their invitation. After all, his was not preferred blood.

From there they would take the same route Nag Kath did to Lhûr, hoping Chûran would be there. The route avoided the Bror but not his southern troops. He was fairly sure with his experience he could pass through on good terms, or win if not. Chûr had not held a sword since losing his in the Nargil. It took some looking but Bessandal’s quartermaster dug a cavalry saber from the pile that fit the young man’s arm and eye. 

Phylless took it well. She knew her man lived his life on these quests. This should be a short one with no intended wars. Nag Kath tended to cause wars. She told him, “I know you must go, but I will miss you terribly. Please tell me what draws you there?”

“I know more of the sorcerer I met in Rhûn. It was his symbol kept the trolls asleep so long. I would keep them all buried, or worse. And the peoples of those lands do not have anyone of power. I was there briefly, successfully, but they are closest to where trouble may brew. Chûr seems to be exactly what they need.”

She would wait. She had things to do, perhaps visit her folks for a while. He was glad she took the long view but they were much together in the meantime.


	37. Family Reunion

** _Chapter 37_ **

** _Family Reunion_ **

On the second of March the two riders made for Osgiliath. Chûr had been there several times getting used to his mount, a mare called Hilli. She was faster than she looked, which was no accident. From there, they skirted the tip of Mordor past the Black Gate, this time avoiding the Dead Marshes. 

This was new ground for the Elf since they veered almost due east towards the foot of the Nurukhizdin range bordering the western Rhûn. He knew above them well. He did know there was not a lot of water on this ride until reaching the tributaries of the Gathod some ten day’s hence. They traveled light with a load of Lembas, ever nearer to the real thing, and water bags. 

Chûr journeyed well. This must be luxury compared to his ordeal through Harad. Unlike most young men, he was not anxious to talk at the campfire. Nag Kath would draw him out, particularly on healing. Scars and proven ability to withstand pain were valued in Ûniarra Nûrn. His own father would serve them out as tests. In their first Kath Bath, the Elf saw marks on the lad’s back that were not natural wounds. Perhaps his self-healing reduced them.

On their ninth day from Dagorlad they started crossing small streams making north from the Ened Lithui and two days later reached the Gathod, called something else by all the many people who had lived here. In three more days they reached the port city of Lest, Nag Kath’s fourth of the four points on the star of the sea. The Gathod had considerable flow, even now before the snows of north Mordor began melting.

Lest was a curious sort of town. West of the river was Gondor on the map but the peoples were definitely Rhûnic, they used the eastern names, dressed and ate like their brethren along the eastern coast and grew the gureeq grain. Dorwinion lay above the small coastal range and wanted nothing to do with this part of the sea.

East of the river, where the town lay, was probably of Rhûn. Everyone here spoke passable Westron, though. With an assortment of tongues, the travelers could be from anywhere they wanted. Tonight they wanted to be in the one nice inn with a tavern downstairs. The wine was from the east coast and was good. There was also a very tasty red ale. Nag Kath had forgotten how much he liked it. There were no bottom fish offered.

Chûr wanted to see his mother but he was not driven. They spent two days strolling around the city of about two thousand. As always, Nag Kath visited the boat-builders who got good timber from the western hills. He used what he called his sketch-trap to attract onlookers and hint of things Orlo said. Folk were nice but he got no bites. The young man got appreciative looks from both men and women. So did Nag Kath, but he never noticed.

The Elf had to do his first bit of dissembling. Two days west was Yhammâs Fruhir. He wanted to see everyone there for fellowship and answers. But he could not just ride in with the Prince of Visitors. They crossed the range of hills forming the nose of Gathod and made camp on a stream not far from the hidden path to the retreat. Green wood made for a smoky fire.

When the Elf was in no hurry to saddle-up, Chur said, “It seems we are waiting for an invitation.”

“We are waiting for an inspection. Your da was not beloved in these parts.”

The youngster responded; “I suppose I should get used to that.”

“Not for long. You are your own man now. People will either accept that or not. Do not let it affect your path. I will tell them all and they will give us counsel or not, understanding you are under my protection.”

“Thank you for that. What should I know?”

“These are the people of Orlo. Your mother lives among them as well.”

______________-------______________

Later in the afternoon, two riders came from the direction of Mistrand. They could be ordinary travelers. They could have doubled around to give that impression. Tea was ready either way.

In Rhûnic one of them said, “Hello and good day. You travel easy to rest so early.”

Nag Kath would do the talking. In Westron he said, “Aye, tea is still hot if we can offer you refreshment after your long ride.”

The second man grinned and said in the common-tongue, “That is very convenient. I do not see how we can refuse.”

The men dismounted cautiously but let the reins drop and approached from the other side of the fire from the seated campers. Nag Kath nodded to Chûr who handed each of them a tin camp-cup and filled it from the pan with Telandian, unusual this far north. It wasn’t too hot to drink so both men took a long pull and sat in the grass around the pit.

The first rider said, “Thank you, friend. This is a blend we rarely taste here in the wilds.”

The Elf replied, “It is one of my favorites. I learned to enjoy it many years ago.”

The second man, older and larger than the first smiled and said by way of a question, “Then you must be much traveled.”

“Indeed. Though I have only been here once before, some nine years ago. I recall sheep pastures where I stayed, and also many songs and verses of those wiser than myself. Then I rode further east.”

The first man, who Nag Kath figured was very fast at need, wondered, “It sounds a very fair place to be welcomed.”

“I would seek such a welcome, but I travel with my young friend. One of his parents is a woman of Lhûg, a place of right-living. The other parent; less so. We would not impose.”

By now they knew exactly who the tall blonde man was. Considering the work he had done below, they would take a chance on the lad. The bigger Righter said, “Let us go to find such hospitality.”

That should have done it but Nag Kath said, “His safety is on my head if this needs to be considered in council.”

The man laughed, “I think you will be fine.”

They were Verandad and Tholas Thune. Chûr was introduced by his full name which caused no alarm. It was two hours back over the ridge and into the west-facing valley of such beauty and peace. Yhammâs Fruhir looked exactly the same. The stream where he soothed his burned mouth burbled as it had. The travelers waited with their horses while the men went into the Ghurate.

Grandol Zoldan himself walked out to bow saying, “Nag Kath! We always thought you would come again.”

“Thank you Ghur Zoldan. This is my friend Vanteg Chûr. We travel southeast along my old route.”

The graying elder showed them inside. He was the only member of the leadership in just then which was for the best. The Elf’s exploits, including the trolls of Pelargir were known here, nothing like saucy gossip, even in the halls of the learned! Chûr smiled but kept quiet. He was concerned about his history but decided to follow the Kath’s advice and hold true to himself.

That came quickly, “Ghur Zoldan, my friend is the son of Chûran of Lhûg, a woman who helped greatly in the battle. His father was the Assured, and he has some of the same abilities, now devoted to higher ideals.”

The Ghur displayed no concern at all. “Splendid! You remember hearing that one of our strongest adherents was among those you battled all those years ago in Dale, now among ancestors who will have welcomed him warmly.” He turned to Chûr, “Young man, I hope your visit will help you find peace.”

The Ghur asked more generally, “Nag Kath, do you seek other things from your stay?”

“Yes. I know quite a bit more than I did. But as is the nature of knowledge, that only means more questions. Perhaps we can take our ease and learn from those who observe more carefully?”

“You shall, you shall! But first, I think a fine meal. Word will already be abroad of your return. Tonight you shall see a few old friends.”

They eat early here. There were no major observances tonight but there were always Sayings and small group conversations, some were specific, some free-flowing depending on the characters. Dinner was mutton, of course. They had forgotten what Nag Kath ate but there were plenty of other foods he liked. 

The old friend was the merchant Prestigir who was a permanent resident now. He taught lore of the wider world, mostly practical things but also of right-living as found there. Chûr knew what Nag Kath knew about right living but had only heard that source. He struggled with Rhûnic so Prestigir changed to Khandian which was almost as widely spoken here.

Early to bed, early to rise; they ate their porridge and hiked over the small hill to the pasture overlooking the Bay of Lest. Animals and crops grown here provided cash and trade goods that could not be made here. Donations paid for most things. Yhammâs Fruhir had a few right-living supporters who had done well in the world.

Sadly, Lorist Brestegir had gone to his ancestors two years before but the blind Sayer and poet Criszal was still here, now too old to travel. Nag Kath approached him. He did not know if the man had been told of his return or just remembered the light tread but he greeted him by name. The Elf introduced Chûr. The first of his recitations would start soon as people were already gathering. They all looked as hard at the two as they could without staring, one was famous, the other exotic. The young man’s parentage was not widely shared.

Criszal used Khandian, his home tongue, today. Chûr was fascinated, closing his eyes and slightly swaying to the cadence. How could one man make such a beautiful sound? He had heard the singing of individuals and groups in Minas Tirith but that was entertainment. This was music of the soul. A long poem of loss, forgiveness and restoration followed. 

It was understood that Nag Kath’s first meeting with the Ghurate must be private. Chûr wandered around the main buildings and sat by the brook for a while. People smiled but no one bothered him. This was a place where one could be alone.

Inside: “Welcome back, Mr. Kath.”

“Thank you, Ghur Vrenstides. You do not seem any the worse for wear.”

“My wife would disagree, as is her prerogative. You are well preserved.”

Over the next two hours, Nag Kath gave them a complete history of his adventures, starting with leaving here and the Mordor coup up to his return with the son of the King of the Visitors. The lad had small powers, completely undeveloped. He contended that with the right education, he could become a useful member of the larger community. There were a great many questions, some concerns and, when they could not stand it anymore, how did he stab the troll between the eyes?!

A younger Ghur he had not met, and who seemed to be of the Rhûn/Khand borderlands asked, “Mr. Kath, did you think to leave your young charge here for our training?”

“Nay, Mr. Inuld. We first go to see his mother. He was taken from her as a babe. Bringing them together will salve the hurt for both. I think the Ghurate of Hanvas Tûr will want a look at him too. There is, or was, a healer of some power there when I was. She may help him develop his touch. Then, it is his choice of how to live, though I would hope he will come back here many times, enriching his understanding. Given his harsh upbringing, he might have been bitter but I sense someone waiting for a gentle hand.”

Another Ghur new to him said, “I think we were agreed to treat the young man well before you came in. Please stay for a time. We can explore the origins of our order and let Chûr take his ease.”

They were there another ten days. Chûr never missed hearing Criszal in the morning, and often his afternoon song. He went to the large group meetings after dinner. That was a confusion to Nag Kath on his first trip but with a fairly good grounding in Variag, Chûr understood quite a bit. The Elf wondered if his enthusiasm was helped by the shy glances of a comely young woman. It is not hard to sense when someone will look your way and avert her gaze just in time. She was caught flat-footed more than once, smiling one time. He put her at eighteen and always in the company of her mother, who looked less than pleased.

Nag Kath met with the Ghurs and others about Orlo. They were fascinated by the inverted symbols used as a ward for the river trolls. He showed them his sword, still deadly serviceable but not the elegant etched weapon to hang over the fireplace anymore. When Chûr joined them, he spoke in great detail of the glyphs, how those powers were intended to blend according to the size and placement of the symbols. The lad admitted it never seemed to work but now that he knew there had been those capable of wielding them in times past. Only the fanatics were sent out from the Nûrnen under Nulvanash but they did not always have the tact or intelligence to state their cases.

The Elf also wanted to know a lot more about Gelansor, its origin, its purpose and, especially, how it coincided with magiks in their past. It did seem that prophets came to them in those three days more commonly than not but records were poor, always handed down orally if there were survivors. He brought his Variag copy of the Dol Amroth packet.

The day before they left, a woman expecting a child in two months began having pain in her womb. Nag Kath was called urgently with his apprentice. In this part of the world, it was unseemly for men to attend women in such distress but time was of the moment. The Elf had her disrobe in her home and sat behind her as she stood, slowly sliding one hand over her belly with the other on the small of her back. Chûr watched the silver of his hand meet the yellow of her skin as the yellow retreated to her flesh. Nag Kath discovered a vein had become restricted and opened it with stimulus. She was weakened but did not lose her balance, nor was she embarrassed or self-conscious. The pain would take some hours to fade. Nag Kath thought she would be fine.

As they walked to their quarters before the last dinner here, Chûr’s eyes were as wide as Florin. He had his feast experience and knew how babies were started because the older Visitors were serviced. But those girls were removed if they conceived. Here was a young woman, as her husband had taken her, but well along with the precious life yet to come. She smiled at both of her healers as she dressed. That was the same smile of the girl at the holy day last summer, never the false smile of the pleasure women brought for the senior Richterns. It was the smile of a woman taking her joining to creation. Could he do that? He wanted to know more about women!

______________-------______________

There were women in Mistrand! Some of them called to Chûr offering more than he could imagine for but a few coppers. After the wonder of their patient in the retreat, their pretended moans did not appeal.

There was no taint of the west here. Westron was uncommon, people were darker and occasional horses seemed to be wearing sheepskin coats. They stayed at a nice family home just east of the river with a right-living supporter told of their coming. As planned, they toured the boat-wrights looking for the old man in the picture.

When the healer had Nag Kath examine his own memories in Pelargir, he took a peek at the Orlo’s face again. His subsequent drawing was so like the original that it did not help at all. He could not remember ever having done the same subject long after that didn’t have material differences. That was the face he was meant to remember. Finding no Orlos, new or old, they thanked their hosts and started the ride into Khand. It was still a long, dull trip but now spring, much greener than in summer when the grasses dried. They visited the Temple of Lókuthor. It held no more sense of power or malice than the last time. Perhaps he had found his rest. The river between Dingarthir and Lhûg was fuller. Nag Kath showed his companion the wonders of fooling the large trout with clothed hooks. No one used those here and the fish had no defense. They ate well the whole way.

Oh, please let her be here! After all this time, there was no guarantee she still lived in Lhûg. Nag Kath gave his name to a new maid and asked if the lady Chûran was at home. Now he could do it in serviceable Variag.

The woman eyed him suspiciously and said she would ask before shutting and locking the door. He took that as a good sign. Chûr seemed relaxed but the Elf was sure he was roiling inside. A few minutes later the door opened and the woman showed them into the same room he remembered so well. She offered them seats but they remained standing.

Chûran came down the stairs as elegantly as he remembered, her face a little tighter but still a picture of beauty in the east. The woman looked only at the Elf. He remembered her vision was weakening. The three bowed and she smiled sweetly before saying, “Hello, Mr. Kash. Welcome. I did not think to see you here again.”

There was no reason to be coy. He replied, “You asked if I saw a young officer that I should save him for you.” Then he turned and gestured to Chûr.

It would not have been permissible in her former life but her jaw dropped before she could cover it. Then she glided to the young man and put her hands on either side of his face, very like her face. Mouth still open she looked at Nag Kath and back to her smiling son. 

Neither of them said anything. Breaking the impasse, Nag Kath said, “I am sure you need to catch-up. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Chûran remembered her tongue, “You might find scholars at number 40, Vue Örath, best of sirs.”

______________-------______________

40 in the Örath quarter was nearly back to the river so he climbed on Charlo and walked him down the high-street. There seemed little use to move from one squalid building to another but who knew what had happened since the collapse of the rogue Hurm? He knocked on the door. It was immediately opened by a lad who might be here for a lesson. The Elf jested, “I am here for my tutoring.”

The boy opened the door wider and asked if he had had tea. Cool would be lovely. Nag Kath asked, “Are you here alone?”

Boys do not admit when they are undefended so he answered, “Others are close by.” When the tall stranger took a chair and his chipped mug, he wasn’t so threatening. No one had told him to expect a stranger.

After ten minutes, the tall blonde stood up and examined the meager library of the Lhûg School of high learning. The boy got a bit more anxious but sat on his stool reading something. On the wall was the sheet they stole from Ûniarra Nûrn with origins of right-living. That was one of the reasons Nag Kath came. He studied it intensely, losing track of time until the door opened and Lurgsh walked in.

“By the sandy balls of Nûrad! Look who darkens our door!”

The two men embraced with the warmest smiles. Corporal, Captain, Scholar and soldier Lurgsh had put on a few pounds and his full head of curly hair was grayer but there was no mistaking that smile. The man turned to the boy and said, “Antonsh, can you get our guest some tea?”

The Elf waved him off, “He got me some. Get some yourself and tell me why in the world you are still here.”

“Fair enough! I will do so!” That was the voice he imagined the man lecturing bored students in larger classes than one would ever see here. The lad turned on his stool. This would be far more interesting than rules of protocol. 

Lurgsh began, “It all went well. We got home safe. Shelturn stays at Hanvas Tûr but I see him, ummm, twice a year for a beverage. Idgshtok lives here. He married a big gal whose father runs a barrel smithy. He’s got two kids …”

Antonsh corrected, “Two and another in the oven.”

“There you have it. He drives them around and sells them to ale’ers and anyone else who wants them.”

Nag Kath rejoiced, “We will close a tavern in short order with our stories!”

Lurgsh appraised the Elf. Now with long straw-colored hair rather than black braids he looked a sight more imposing. His tale after the battle would wait until he took care of some business. Lurgsh, I brought someone with me. I never told you all this …”

“You never told us many things!”

“You can add this one.” He shifted his eyes to the staring lad. 

Lurgsh reached into his pockets and pulled a fiver. “Antonsh, go down to Kelub’s and fetch us a baby-cask. Get some sweets for yourself.”

That was a hard bargain. The boy would rather hang on every word but there would be enough change to get sick twice on the cane rolls it would buy. He took the coin and was on his way.

“Chûran asked me to watch for her son, babe of Nulvanash, not yet shaving. I saw him walk by us with the fording-Richtren but we had other matters at hand. He escaped and turned-up in Minas Tirith, of all places. I captured him and he is just a regular fellow, lived with me for a year. He has some of his da’s sorcery. We just spent two weeks in Yhammâs Fruhir and I brought him to meet his mother for the first time.

“I figure he may have some use in Hanvas Tûr but I won’t go until that’s a proper invitation.”

Lurgsh held his estimable chin and said, “I’ll get someone out of here this afternoon. We’ll hear tomorrow.”

“I’ve got a note already written. It’s in the saddle-bag. Now, what’s all this?”

Lurgsh sat down and told his guest to do the same. “The school still isn’t a real school, but we filter people through for the retreat. Right-living isn’t so dangerous these days. The Khagan hasn’t converted, but we did him a good turn and pay our taxes. There’s been no trouble from the Nûrnen.”

The changeling offered, “I went back to Mordor from the west two years ago. There was old sorcery on our side of the mountains. I fought some trolls.”

“I figured that was you, never did have a bit of sense.”

“No, but I do stumble into interesting things, like one of those dogs that chases boars out of the bushes. This went deep into our old friends, and not the fool with the ring. Old friends.”

______________-------______________

In the better part of town, Chûran was still staring when her son said, “I think I remember you, behind a lattice with purple flowers growing up the side.”

She unfroze and smiled, “Yes, purple in the spring, orange in the fall.”

Then she cried, cried for a long time. Chûr showed her to the couch and sat beside her. The serving woman caught none of the exchange and was not sure this was safe but stood by if her mistress called for help. What she did call for was tea, in a voice that broached no discussion. They held nothing back. He had been taught never to cry, so he didn’t. Chûran did often but they were tears for all the hopes and fears and regrets of the life she had no control over. 

The two scholars tried to find Idgshtok for dinner but he was in Kembril tonight and should be back mid-day. His gal might have been one of the muscle healers but was more fat than strong. She did have a gleeful gap-toothed smile and two little ones pulling on her dress for attention. She would tell her husband that something was brewing at the school.

Lurgsh said grandly, “I’ll tell you this for nothing, Nag Kath, the Khagan met with the Bror just like we hoped. When he got back here, he cleaned house. Those two Visitors met their ancestors in short order and he tightened the chain on that second boy. I think he was jostling for heir-apparent until his taste in company did for him. The first boy is back in line and there’s a third who collects butterflies far enough away that he is not considered a threat.”

The changeling said, “I’m surprised he let the two-son live.”

“It seems his interests in the Visitors were not political.”

“Well then, we need to keep him and that scholar away from the Assured’s son. He looks like his mother but likes women. One admirer got his innards rearranged for insisting.”

“On the subject; Scholar Îonzuld sleeps with his ancestors. Just keeled over a month, six weeks ago.” 

Always curious, Nag Kath mused, “Any chance of a look through those books again?”

“Probably. The house is still open while his nephews sort-out their differences. I expect the handman could use a few groats.”

“For enough of them, the collection might disappear.”

“Always thinking of the higher good, Nag!”

By the time Idgshtok’s wagon made it back home the next day, Shelturn had returned himself with the message from Hanvas Tûr. And, of course, the lad was invited. There weren’t any Visitors, other than the young man himself, lurking in the shadows these days. 

It was agreed that after Idgshtok and Shelturn washed, they would collect Chûr and close Adlubb’s wine tavern that night. The three local scholars already had a pitcher on the table when Nag Kath and the curious guest came through. Introductions were made. For a few minutes, Chûr had a faraway look at the speed of events. That was gone when Idgshtok clapped him on the shoulder and said in their home language that he was glad he didn’t stab him. 

They had a roaring good time. Stares of more dignified diners were ignored. Chûr, who had learned how to tell a story by now, gave a more entertaining rendition of his escape than he told the interrogating Elf. Only Lurgsh had seen his da get pushed down the cliff by the Captain. Rydovosh’s men made sure he stayed there. 

Chûr was held in some respect because after allowing for his father, his mother was the one who knew how to get in and what to look for. Then she spent a year at the retreat finding peace within her. Now, she had the son, he wasn’t a bad ‘un … and what happened to their next pitcher?! The map was lost. Nag Kath was proud of that map. As art it was third-rate, but as strategy, it should have lived on. When Adlubb and all his staff stood around their table, the men settled the bill and went home.

Shelturn was still a soldier and he was ready after dawn porridge of gureeq. So were the travelers, even if Chûr was still a bit red about the eyes. He was not a drinker, and did not drink much the night before, but still more than usual of the potent fruit wine. The route back seemed so familiar to Nag Kath. Even in this day of safety, Shelturn still rode off to the left towards the creek and they walked the horses up several hundred feet in midstream until leaving on shale chips up the other bank. Good habits die hard.

The Ghurs were on the porch like parents after a play with greetings and introductions all round. None of them had ever met Nulvanash. Chûr looked little like him anyway but they all saw his mother’s bones. The stories told over alcohol last night were told again more thoroughly. Nag Kath was hoping to speak to folk and thumb through the archives. He also wanted to know what had been discovered of the Yvsuldor’s original mission. He reminded all that the shamble of Nulvanash did not reflect the prior enforcers. 

He saw Nenwûla of the Viersh. She had a husband! It would take three of him to equal one of her but beauty is in the eye of the suitor. Exaggerated stories of her horse purge were so funny that even she smiled timidly. One of the horses was Chûr’s. He did not fondly remember holding the beast's tail swimming the Nargil. Nenwûla was one of the reasons Nag Kath came. If she agreed, and it was explained this was entirely her choice, the young man had some of the same gifts, the ones she used at need. He was at a Saying now so the old conspirators could speak privately.

“I am honored, Mr. Kash. I do not know a great deal of this healing.”

“You just do what you can for him. He is a raw talent, not powerful, but any talent should be on the side of right-living.”

“If the Ghurate agrees, and the young man is sound, I will do so. I am no longer on the council. It was better for me to concentrate on my caring.”

Nag Kath explained what happened to his back and the healer of Pelargir. She knew and respected the Nûradi school, wondering how one of them made it to the great river. He gave the healer a kiss on the forehead and thanked her for her courage.

______________-------______________

Shelturn and Nag Kath left Chûr at the retreat and rode back to Lhûg for another look at those books. Lurgsh kicked himself for not doing that sooner but the great victory at the Nargil did not come with cash spoils. 

They would visit the late scholar’s home. Forgery was required. The same handman from the Mordor fraud opened the door, something he hadn’t done much in the month after the funeral. Lurgsh, chosen for his commanding baritone, announced, “We have come for the books. Have they been prepared?”

The handman, no shrinking violet, said, “This home and everything in it is the property of the Tudsh family. I have received no instruction about any books.”

Lurgsh turned to the tall, blonde, “Do I have the contract or do you?”

Nag Kath slapped his pockets and produced a rather official sheet that clearly outlined specific volumes they remembered from their visits, some of the framed documents and other items. He offered it to the handman and they both waited. It was signed by nephew Culhbrad the week before stating the estate had been settled. Culhbrad earned the role because his signature and chop were also on file at the city registry for a smaller property that had been granted outright.

The handman gave the sheet back and said, “This is most irregular. The other two nephews are not mentioned at all.” So, the man could read. It was time to set the hook.

Lurgsh acted surprised, “I cannot speak to that. I just know we were to leave cash for the other two parties so the one could sell all the books.”

“Cash?”

“Yes, it is written here, no, where’s that other sheet?” They were good at this playacting.

The tall blonde produced another note on the same paper. “Ah, here it is. The sum of three parts in four of a Numenorean Florin was to be left here against the delivery to a buyer in Nûrad.” He gave the handman the second sheet. To make things more fungible, Lurgsh added, “We have but two of the grooved gold coins and will have to pay the rest in silver. Is that agreeable?”

That was very agreeable. Threes, as written in local script, were notoriously easy to change to twos. The handman had long experience in such household finance. Two nippers for the out-of-town nephews and ten silvers, one for cook and the rest for the handman’s pending retirement.

Lurgsh said solicitously, “Please sign here.” The lot was loaded onto a cart that looked suspiciously like an ale wagon and anchored the school’s library for many a day.

______________-------______________

After another week of scholarship, Nag Kath waved goodbye to his friends. He had collected on the hope of meeting them again in a better place. The young sorcerer would have to find his own way from here but he could not ask for better guidance. Chûran was radiant. If the Elf wasn’t married, he might have stayed longer. He had one more stop that would take him out of his way. Nag Kath could not get it out of his head there was a secret waiting in the imaginary garden. He would visit the Bror. 

Long trips didn’t bother the changeling at all. No one bothered him going by the horse-lands of the eastern Rhûn. Soldiers stared. Long after Frûnzar stole most of them, horses were watched more closely than single riders. A few men at the changing stations still did not eat the whisker-fish, but then, Nag Kath did not prefer them either.

Five miles from Kugavod, a half-troop of trained riders intercepted him to ask his business. He said he was paying his respects to Bror Dulgov. More westerlings did these days but not coming from this direction. He was escorted to the same place in the city compound he had always gone and a robed retainer took him back to the original waiting room. After he told the man his name, he was moved to the barred room of the last visit. Dulgov did not take pointless chances.

“And how are you, Lord Kath?”

“I am well your Excellency. Please forgive me for coming unannounced.”

“Your timing was good. I leave for my summer palace in a week. What brings you here?”

“I was in the region and heard a piece of historical art from my homeland might be for sale. Then I will join a merchant train back to the Celduin.”

That story might not hold if he came from Mistrand but no one told the Bror. The man got closer to his side of the bars and asked, “What is this I hear about trolls on the river?”

“An old sorcery, forgotten in time. There may be more of them about.”

“It pays us all to be vigilant. Do not forget the art tax.”

Nag Kath was sure he would not come to terms with the seller but said he would report any such transactions.

______________-------______________

The next morning he left Charlo at the inn and walked to the old compound. Someone had stacked a pile of firewood in one corner but it was as abandoned as it had been. Nag Kath combed the grounds. The little huts still held only spiders. He looked inside for any glyphs or tokens. He had not spent much time in the center so he slowly walked where the flowers and vegetables had been so carefully tended. 

Nag Kath wasn’t sure what he was looking for, something different, something that did not belong here. After two hours in the sun, he decided nothing would come of it. 

That was when the orc stepped on the rake of remembrance. He looked at the hole in the wall with the winding trail towards the center of town that his little guide discouraged him from taking the last time. What had Orlo told him in this very place? He cudgeled his brain until he remembered the old boat-wright’s politely declining Nag Kath’s offer to help him escape;

** _“Remember in leaving, you can not always take the straight path.”_ **

The path was grown-over with weeds. He put one foot in front of the other and slowly walked back to the inn. A hundred paces towards the palace he felt the token, something he would not have noticed then. A minute of brushing away dirt showed a copper coin, now brown from age. Had he been meant to see this the first time? It was the same size as a fiver but had only a single symbol he did not recognize. 

In the main street he approached a moneylender, distinguishable by his yellow cap. The ignorant foreigner inquired, “Excuse me sir, I was given this in change. Is it the same as a five-groat coin?

The man took it and looked at both sides carefully. He shook his head and said, “No, same size, but the ruler ordered them all gathered many years ago and melted to bronze for battle. A few might be here or there but this is only the second I have seen. I will give you a five-groat westerling coin for it.”

“Thank you, sir. I shall keep it as a memento of my inattention.”

From here he made straight home. Dale would be an easy trip but he told Phylless this was a spring and summer effort.


	38. Clues

** _Chapter 38_**

** _Clues_ **

Nag Kath and Phylless went dancing. All his friends were fine. Things here were the same as always. 

But there was work to do. He really wanted to investigate clues with as few scholars as possible. They could be so indiscreet. By far, most were tutors. They taught students reading and counting skills or history and classics. Others did too, but being a tenured red-cap raised your asking price by half again as much. 

Some were researchers. They tried to parse together the scant writings of the peoples and eras for an area of interest. Men arguing over the superiority of the fifteenth century fell into that category. Nag Kath was sure they were absolutely right if it made them feel better. Many of those men, always men, did not pay their own bills.

The third and smallest group of scholars sought specific knowledge to improve their situation. Nag Kath fell firmly in that camp. Men might want to turn groats to Florins or prove an ancestor who led his soldiers into a swamp was not a fool. The Elf wanted to remove remaining fell influences. There were those seeking to restore them. They would look for the same information. That required discretion ... and scholars were indiscreet.

He would start with the coin. It bordered on scholarship but a few men of means in the White City collected coins from around the world. Some coins were more valuable for their rarity than what they could buy. A friend of Ectillion’s had a prized collection. And he could keep his own counsel.

A plump woman with a cook’s smock answered the door and was told, “Good morning. I am here to visit Mr. Eoudenbrad. My name is Nag Kath.”

“Oh dear! You killed all those trolls!” 

Not an anonymous start. “People have made more of it than there was. Mr. Eoudenbrad is expecting me.”

“Very good, sir. Please follow me.”

The main led him to a library not unlike Carstor’s with two good windows higher than street level and oil lamps on the walls nowhere near curtains or other things that could burn. Tellis Eoudenbrad was sitting at his desk looking at something through a large fireglass. Seeing the Elf he rose and walked over to shake hands.

“Hello, Lord Kath. We met once at Ecc and Tal’s. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“The pleasure is mine, sir. Thank you for receiving me.”

“Tea will be here in a minute. Please, let us sit over there for the ten-bell light.” Situated, the collector said, “Ecc mentioned you had a question about a coin. I must confess; I know little of current values if you are looking to buy or sell something. I have only ever bought them, and not many recently.”

“Ease your mind, sir. I seek history. I am hoping you can help me date and place an old coin that surfaced in my inquiries.” Nag Kath took the coin from his pocket and handed it to Eoudenbrad as his maid brought the troll-slayer his tea. The collector went back to his desk for his fire-glass and returned. As he examined the copper Nag Kath said, “I got it in Rhûn and know many of the Balchoth symbols, but this is not one.”

Eoudenbrad put his glass on the chair table and said, “Rhûn, eh? Not even close, Mr. Kath. This symbol is Adûnaic, the Black Numenoreans.” When the Elf was dumbstruck, the collector grinned and added, “The other end of the world.”

“Forgive me, sir. I flatter myself that I am a traveler but do not know of these people.”

“Do not be too hard on yourself. When Numenor was drowned, surviving worshipers of the Valar and worshipers of Sauron fought each other from the north to the south. This could have been struck in Numenor but I think in one of their capitals as they migrated this way. The northern men were pushed into Umbar where they were said to have a colony as the Faithful formed Gondor.” The fellow chuckled, “Some say even below the Harad desert.”

Nag Kath’s head was spinning. Trying not to look too foolish, always a desperate notion, he asked, “They are men of the deep desert?”

“You could not prove it by me, but it makes sense that the sand must end somewhere, there are ancient rumors that the lands become fertile again.”

Nag Kath contributed, “That would have saved the Numenoreans from legend. Would scholars know more of those lands, sir?”

Eoudenbrad seemed to have some of the same misgivings as Nag Kath about scholars. “Hummph. You want to know about faraway places, ask a sailor, or someone with well-worn boots.” The collector looked at the back of the coin. “What did you make of these?”

“Sorry?”

“The markings on the back.”

"I just thought them wear and tear."

“Yes, around the rim, and a few scattered inside. They look like dents but are punch marks. They were not struck with the coin. Here, have a look.”

This was a very fine fire-glass. Nag Kath relied on his Elf-eyes but they helped more for distance than close-up. After deciding he would buy a better glass for himself, he handed it back saying, “I cannot tell a meaning from them.”

“Me either, but I would wager a King Tar-Súrion nipper it means something.”

**___________-------___________**

“Lord Kath, the King will see you now.”

“Ah, Nag Kath, welcome back. How fares your charge?”

“I took him back to Khand, Sire. The right-living folk have taken him in.”

Not many people would rehabilitate a sworn enemy and hand-deliver him to the other side of the map. Aragorn asked, “What can I do for you?”

“Sir, I need to ask of your travels before the crown. Have you ever heard of the land of the Black Numenoreans?”

The King knew the Elf was on the scent, “Oh yes. An ancient and fell people driven south and south again as the kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor formed. The men of Belfalas finally sent them packing below the Anduin to be overcome by the Haradrim. Would you care to share your interest?”

Nag Kath considered and said softly, “A clue has pointed to them twice.”

Aragorn remembered his trip to Harad well. “I have been south, far enough that the stars are not the same as here. Umbar was said built by them but abandoned to the desert peoples long ago. Gandalf once told me an ancient mariner of the south sailed further south finding great bays and inlets.”

“It probably amounts to nothing, My Lord. Thank you for seeing me. One of these days I’ll visit Radagast again and ask him. He is the last of the three.”

Aragorn said, “Five.” The Elf cocked his head slightly. “Gandalf told me there were five wizards, thought he did not remember the other two.”

Nag Kath wondered, “Perhaps they did not come here with the others. When did Gandalf come?”

“He was very cagey about that, but most recently about two thousand years ago. He is much older, perhaps back and forth before that.”

“Cagy puts it well. Again, Sire, thank you for your help and all my best wishes to your Lady Queen and young son.”

_____________--------_____________

Black Numenoreans! The Kings Men, loyal to Sauron. Whatever they were doing before would have limited opportunity now. They may have their troubles, but there were several known areas of lingering dark sorcery in the west. The Dead Marshes seemed no less threatening on his way home. He did not see the dead Elf this time. Did they leave one at a time rather than fading together?

In the meantime, his woman wanted to dance. His friends were always a joy. His interest in painting had increased and he thought he might even try his hand at writing. Nag Kath had quite a story already, and no one ever seemed to get it right in the telling. He told Phylless that he would like to visit her parents this winter so he could check the horse-teeth in Pelargir, perhaps take a quick solo trip downriver. She thought that was lovely and would write them today. Mail service was as fast as the ferries so they would know within the week. Mail was good to Dale too but Nag Kath could have waited forever for the last letter.

Brenen’s daughter Renalda wrote that he was ill. He had never gotten a message in her hand which meant Bren wasn’t up to writing, but they were his words. His wind kept getting worse and two weeks into August he had a stroke. He could think and move his left side but could not walk. All else was well, seven grandchildren now and they send their love. He also had her write that Nag Kath should not make a special trip back to Dale for him. He knew the Conaths would visit next spring if he wanted to come then. His love too and best. Nag Kath still debated whether he should delay the Pelargir trip and ride up. Brenen told him to stay, perhaps to let him die before they had to cry again. He would take Phylless home but he would be thinking of his son.

A real son! Of the living people he loved, he would miss Brenen the most. Tal was special. But she had been loved by her first husband, her Elf and her second husband. She was born to be loved. How could one hope to live their life any better? Ardatha entered the world in what could have been terrible circumstances but she had been loved every minute of her life. As she was the best of wives, Eniece was the best of mothers, with caring helpers surrounding her always. Then; a fine husband and her own children, again; a life well lived.

But Bren did not have it so good. His mother, still with us, cared for him and his little sister as well as she could against his drunken father. He had to become a man younger than he should have. A stroke of luck; meeting Nag Kath, but neither of them had childhoods. He started working before he could legally keep his own earnings. Brenen worked well and built a business and a family that would last through his love.

Yes, Bren would be the hardest. 

They boarded the boat in mid-November, this time taking their horses. The plan was to stay until just before the snow-melt made getting back upriver treacherous. A weather-eye to the mountains would inform.

Phyll’s folks didn’t seem to get much older. They were both spry and active with life-long friends in their little community. The Kaths stayed there about half the time. The Maedegon mansion was large and poor Vergere moved very slowly. He was also forgetting things. The man had outlived any relatives who knew him after lifelong service to the milling family. 

Phyll did not know what to do. He probably had some savings, though he was as honest a servant as one could find. She had cash. In kindness she could grant him a pension but then he would be old and alone in a new place. The only solution was to let him stay and tend the empty house. Phylless did broach cook, every day as ancient as Vergere, with even less to do. The sweet old lady said she would tend the man and was already hiring out jobs that required lifting to a local lad. Since Miss Fennel traveled with them between these two places, Phyll's needs were in hand.

Only two days there, Nag Kath visited the governor after a runner returned with Onathal’s reply. Yes, would Lord Kath join him and some staff for tea at the end of the working day tomorrow? Tea? Not likely, but he was the governor. Fondiscar was there. So were Kieff and Captain Ithil of the base Marines. The Elf was right about tea, which competed with stronger, after-hours beverages. Onathal said in his husky voice, “Welcome back, My Lord. We are fortunately in seeing you often.”

“Thank you, sir. My wife is from here and her parents are very much with us.”

Kieff said, “Tell us of your adventures.”

He did. Not much came of the Visitor or Orlo. Nag Kath did explain that a small reason for coming was to ask among the deep-blue captains of lands found journeying south. Captain Ithil suggested, “There is an old-salt, Dromedaes, who used to ply the southern coast. He looks as Umbar as Herumor but born and raised right here.”

Kieff pulled his beard a bit before adding, “I should introduce you … not the most trusting fellow; Dromedaes. I don’t know that he has what you want but I would ask there first.”

There were no new tidings on the troll pit. It had been completely filled and the rocks dumped along the bank no closer than a hundred paces apart. Even flattened, no one with half a brain was interested in the property. Since it was government land, Nag Kath suggested they make it a park, if only to see if grass would grow.

The strategic conference broke up before the men had to get home for dinner. They would see each other again during Nag Kath’s long visit. On his way out, he asked Kieff, “Velland, this captain, is there any special greeting present he would favor?”

“Far ahead of you, Sir Elf. I have just the thing.”

He did. The next morning, not too early, the two made their way across the Faithful quarter and over to the southwest bank. There they found a small, well-kept house with a tidy garden in front, not what the Elf expected of a retired mariner. Kieff knocked and they immediately heard the growl of a fair-sized dog on the other side of the door.

“All right, all right, what do you want?”

“Hello Captain Dromedaes. It is Velland Kieff come to call with a friend of mine.”

“Is he a friend of mine?”

Kieff was expecting every word of this, “He has done good service for the people of Pelargir.” The Minister did not mention larger Gondor. Haughty folk of the White City had not always been on their side in the days of the Stewards.

“A moment.” They heard shuffling to suggest the dog was being placed in a closed room. The door opened and a grizzled old fellow stared into the sun behind the burly Kieff and a towering, blonde man. “Come in. Sorry, it is the maid’s week off.”

The place wasn’t really that much the worse for his bachelor’s touch – or widower’s touch. Nag Kath did not intend to ask. Kieff pronounced, “This is Nag Kath” leaving off the Lord. He is visiting again after helping us before. I suggested you might be able to answer his questions about voyages afar.”

The man could be Orlo’s surly brother, quite bald with a thin beard and the same ruddy complexion. A lifetime on the water will do that. Out of the glare, Dromedaes gave the Elf a second look with what seemed sharp eyes and said, “Well, you had better sit down.” The dog barked at the voices and the Captain told him to shut up. 

Nag Kath took the tallest chair across from the captain with Kieff in-between. No tea was offered or expected. There would be something to drink, though. The minister produced a small, stoppered flask and said, “I think I remember you liking this.”

Dromedaes pulled the cork and sniffed, finally cracking his first smile. “Barley spirits, northern or I’m a fool.” The sailor got the three cleanest cups from his pantry and set them on the low table. Pouring no more than a half inch in each he raised his and said, “To the men who went before us.” It would have been proper to drink the King’s health first but good men’s memory would serve. They touched their clay cups and swallowed. Knowing what to expect, Nag Kath had no trouble with his gulp, quite a bit smaller than the one that made his eyes tear in Trum Dreng. 

The mariner said, “Kath, eh? Yes, you did us a service. Half of a troll head shores-up the east corner of the Sirith bend. They split it where your sword stabbed.”

The Elf laughed, “Aye, I still carry that weapon, but it is not the pretty thing it was.”

The dog growled again and the captain warned him before saying, “Very well, Kieff here can’t hold much of this barley liquor so tell me what you need.”

Nag Kath, as he often did, started speaking slowly to gauge the interest, “This is second cousin to the business across the bridge. I was in the east only this spring looking for more about the men who created the troll wards all those years ago. This may be of no moment but it refers to the lands of Black Numenoreans. Have you ever heard of such a place in your travels?”

Dromedaes poured himself another half inch. After finding its home, he wiped his mouth and said, “I have. Never been there or met anyone who had. There is an old story that a man of Mardruak sailed south along the coast for fully a year, discovering many wondrous places. People were of all colors and no one spoke even Harad.”

That called for another cup but he only sipped, “I haven’t been even as far as Erelond, relations being what they are, but plenty of Umbars and Haradrim get this far north. Mind, this was a thousand years ago. Tell was, the fellow brought back fabulous riches he traded for cloth and nails, and never sailed again. I’d have said it was bilge wash, but some of those queer things are on mantles today.”

Nag Kath asked, “Could any such fellows be persuaded to share their tales?”

Dromedaes chortled, “They’ll tell you anything you want, for all the good it will do you. There is one man though, Houlmanteg, lives in the Ethir, town of Meehin, or he did. He’s older than me, knows more than most. I know you are tougher than you look, but that’s no place for Dunedain.”

The Elf put his hands on his knees and said, “I will visit. Would it be fair to say I don’t want to arrive on a Marine vessel?”

The mariner gave that considerable thought after another sip. “Take one of the boats that rows and sails Odar back here. Two, three men, open deck, if it rains, you get wet. Houlmanteg doesn’t drink, but he does spend.”

They said their goodbyes. On the way back Nag Kath wondered, “Maybe one of those gourd boats?”

Kieff answered, “Needs to handle more water. Ask who delivers fish at the Kraken.”

_____________--------_____________

Nag Kath would give Phylless another two weeks to see all and do all along with a couple blissful picnics in the country. They did have dinner at the Kraken. She wondered if that was his sort of place but the meal was good, good enough that her Elf want back to the kitchen to compliment the staff.

No trip to Pelargir would be complete without visiting the healer Beshugya. He owed her more than anyone alive. Her business had thrived after fixing the Elf Troll-Lord. In any place where people did not die young or poor, there would be backs to straighten and necks to turn. She was very proud he had remembered her and enjoyed the gifts he brought.

Wife attended, the Elf sought boatsman Mumphred at the docks. He was told to look for a craft with red trim around the gunwales. There was little paint anywhere on the Christul Dourff. Mumphred thought it an excellent idea to take a discreet passenger to the south mouth for a silver. For another silver, he would wait a couple days and bring him back. The Christul Dourff was a bit bigger than planned with four men who could sail or row. The faster the boat, the fresher the fish. It took them two days with the current and extra distance to turn the corner of the bay. 

Meehin was an Umbar town. Officially part of Gondor now, you couldn’t prove it by the citizens. Streets were still named for famous mariners and leaders who fought the Kings before the Stewards. Nag Kath was dressed plainly and wore one of his brown brim hats. By design, the boat berthed nearing dusk and their passenger hopped into the night.

There were no maps of Meehin, a town of perhaps 500 souls. It was on a small river collecting what water it could stretching from the dry places of the world. What it lacked in water it made-up for in protection from swells that pounded the coast. 

A man was relieving himself in an alley. The tall stranger let him finish before asking in less than his Minas Tirith voice, “I seek Houlmanteg.”

“Don’t know him. What do you want Gondor?”

“Settling an old debt. There’s a fiver for someone who knows where he lives.”

“Oh, Houlmanteg! Don’t suppose you have the coin in hand?”

Nag Kath walked over and opened his palm. Sure enough, a five-groat copper was coin of the realm, or any other realm. The Elf handed it to him on good faith.

“You are nearly there. Take that street right and then four houses down, mind the dog.” The Elf thanked him with a gift of yellow confusion to forget this little transaction. He could wonder where the fiver came from when he got home.

The dog was chosen for barking rather than biting. The peep door slid open and a woman grumbled, “Who is it?”

“I was told Mr. Houlmanteg could help me.”

“That still doesn’t answer who you are.”

“Name’s Solvanth.”

The door shut for a minute and then reopened, “Never heard of you.”

This could go on forever so Nag Kath quickly dropped a silver in the slot. The woman slammed the peep door against the hand reaching in but the coin spinning on the wooden floor changed attitudes. A minute later, a short Southron opened the door and said, “Come in.”

The Elf did and peered around the dimly lit main room. The man looked at least sixty and the woman was about forty. He would know their relationship if they volunteered. Houlmanteg said, “Sit over there. We were having second supper. You just bought yourself a share.”

Nag Kath smelled fish so he said, “Thank you. I missed the first.”

At the table was an attractive young woman nearing twenty. The dog had stopped barking, which surprised his hosts. It just sniffed the Elf’s trousers. Houlmanteg asked, “Solvang?”

“Solvanth.” 

“Tell me, Mr. Solvanth, what here’s worth a dented king?”

Trying to sound like a scholar, Nag Kath replied, “I study lands south and east. Captain Dromedaes said you would tell me what you knew without, em, entertainment.”

The peep-door woman snorted, “You mean not over wine!”

The Elf smiled at her and got a better look at the younger woman. None of them looked related. Just then, a baby started fussing in a back room and the lass went back to comfort it. The dog stayed by his leg. He answered, “Something like that.”

His host said motionlessly, “You have my attention.”

As the mother came back Nag Kath said, “This may take a while.” Then he pulled another silver from his jacket and slid it across the table. In the parlance of information, an offer of two meant one was for the goods and the other for silence. “As the lady said, this is not for ale-house stories. I want exactly as you know and if you do not know, I don’t mind you saying so.” He looked around the table and the female eyes were glued to the second coin.

“Do you know of the lands of Black Numenoreans?”

“Heard of them, don’t know of them. Old before the ancients.”

“Have Umbari ever sailed there?”

Houlmanteg pocketed the next silver and said, “They have gone well down the coast but never found other than Haradrim. Legend said there is a huge bay, the size of Lebennin, but it does not go through to the Undying Lands. Further south, the land turns to ice, as is said of the north.”

“Then how do stories come of this land?”

“They don’t. This was said to be before Harad took Umbar. Maybe they are still down there.”

Nag Kath shared a little, “That is curious to me. A man from the north said the same.” The Elf ruminated to himself, “Southwest of Khand then.”

That brought the mariner up sharp. He figured the Dunedain for a city dandy, Dol Amroth, with that pretty hair. He would learn a few things himself from the generous guest, “Khand, you say? Can’t say I’ve been there either. Long way, Khand.”

This wasn’t particularly secret. Nag Kath said, “I’ve been there twice. But not very far down, no further south than Mordor.”

The young woman, very forward for these people gasped, “Are you of Numenor?”

Nag Kath smiled, “Not that I know of, ma’am” thinking it was her babe in the back.

She said fiercely, “It is told they will rise up and take our lands back.”

Her da, or grand-da, had entirely enough of that. “Silence girl! Knew you to keep your mouth shut we wouldn’t have your fatherless baggage squalling all night.”

She looked pole-axed, unused to his harsh words. Those were not the kind of coins usually crossing this table either. He was just defending his livelihood. It might not even betray their sympathies. The stranger had not said how he fell on the debate. Khand? Even with Mordor?! 

Houlmanteg thought to cover the lapse with blandness, “Are you a scholarly person who writes for the archives?”

“At times. It is said a great warrior came from those lands when the last age was new. We know little of him. It was my father’s passion.” Not a complete lie; Saruman would certainly have been interested in these people. He arrived long after they were exiled from the north, said to join an outpost already in the Umbar stronghold. Saruman was no more his father than Turnlie was his dinner’s mother, but that was as close as he could get.

The young woman had still not replaced the blood in her face. The middle-aged woman did not look like a scold, perhaps a servant or relative taken-in. Nag Kath shifted the conversation to the wastes of Haradwaithe. The story he heard was that the rage of the Valar had condemned that land to sand. His host explained that people lived in small enclaves and knew how to survive but did little better. Southron armies came from more fertile ground beneath the southern Ephel range where the dark lord could reach them. The massive oliphaunts were on the southern horn of the Umbar gulf. Without Sauron to keep them together, the two Haradric peoples did not care for each other. Coastal Umbars were yet another strain.

The Elf had as much as he would get. He did not show them the coin or any of the ancient symbols. They were not the enemy. They were not friends. It was time to go.

Boatman Mumphred thought he had a few days at leisure and was visiting an establishment known for soothing the cares of mariners missing their loving wives. The crew was sleeping in their bedrolls. He rolled his out and joined them. It still took two days to get enough fish to make the trip worthwhile. Odar and other fishes were dragged in fine nets behind the craft to keep them alive.

_____________--------_____________

“Darling, I would never criticize, but you smell like a fish boat.”

“This town seems to bring out the worst in me. I shall not kiss you hello until I am worthy.”

Neighborhood man Inveg stayed close when they were at home and hauled buckets of Sirith water to a large trough in the back yard. As he did not need it warmed or upstairs, this was faster. Vergere brought tea.

Laying on his chest that night, Phyll asked, “What news?”

“I have gotten about as far as I will on the mysterious sorcerer. All of the clues keep getting thinner and further away. He may need to find me again.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“No, no news is good news. Fell things seem to be behaving. That is the point. And I am not sure there is much appetite for conflict. Everyone is trying to make money these days. If I knew in my blood darkness was rising, I still couldn’t raise a company of volunteers.”

Phylless knew this was a sea-change. She probed gently, “Then what shall we do, you and me?”

“We will travel at leisure, see great things. We will do what we like and hold each other in our arms. I want to go to Dale next year, whether Reyald and Ardatha go or not. I think they will. They are very close to his brother and their oldest daughter. I need to see all my family.”

She reached for him. This conversation would end soon, “Hmmm, then what?”

“I think we should live in Dol Amroth for a while.”

It did not stop her hand but she did speak again, “All right, but you must be very nice to me.”

Rains and melt would be early this year so they packed and went upstream at the end of February. Meanwhile, Nag Kath was still a figure in Pelargir. Folk would look and whisper wherever they went. Songs were sung in taverns. That would fade in a few years. There is always something new. In Minas Tirith no one bothered. That was the city of King and he was merely an honorary Lord of no distinguished regiment. His activities in the east were not widely known or believed. People say the silliest things when drinking.

Shurran found himself another girl. Penlistra Fortizar, mercifully shortened to Penni, was twenty three, the second daughter of Urthn, onetime director of the collier’s collective. Nag Kath thought her far too good looking to have been thrown-over for a frumpy Magister’s daughter by her long-term suitor but Urthn Fortizar was not offering a dowry. His first lass had been bartered-off dearly and he wanted his sons to retain the family shares.

Shurran did not need any more money. He made a good salary designing buildings and still had some of the cash Uncle Nag slipped him in Dale so he wouldn’t look like a vagabond. He did take a nice Kathen apartment on the third near his office and kept his horse at his parents’. 

Other than them being cheap, Shur got along well with Penni’s folks. Diluted royalty with means; Shur was secretly better than they hoped. Penni was a bright-eyed thing of about average height with long, dark brown hair that she braided in Rohan-style. Her reading was only fair, at best, but like every merchant’s daughter, she could add and subtract numbers in her head. With a catch so near to hand, the Fortizars did not chaperone their youngest very closely. Tonight was dinner at Uncle Nag’s. 

“As I understand it, your father is in the coal business?”

“Yes, Lord Kath. He arranges the barges from the river and then wagons from the Rammas Gate.”

Phylless said, “My parents were in the brewing business. Do you work with your folks?”

“Nay, Lady Kath. My brothers see to things. Father says women have no business in business.”

That earned da Fortizar no grace with Lady Kath, but she smiled and asked what the dear girl did with her time.

“I cook and care for the household. Mother’s health is not strong.”

If marriage-bells ring, old Fortizar would have to spring for a housekeeper! Nag Kath knew there must be some way to salvage the conversation. Without trying to sound like an actual grandfather, “Tell me, Penni, how did you meet this charming rascal?”

Her face brightened with a very nice smile, “We were introduced at a gathering by one of Shur’s mother’s friends.”

Phylless exclaimed, “Imagine that!”

The rest of the dinner went smoothly. The youngsters left early ahead of a sleet-storm. Phylless sat next to her Elf on the couch and said, “Lovely lass. I hope it takes.”

Nag Kath leaned his head back on the rest then craned it over to his wife. “Yes, after his disappointment I told him to seek what he wanted, not what he was supposed to want. People make these things too hard on their children.”

“What did you say?”

“Find a girl who is true and loves you. Do not worry about cash or title or moving up in the world. Some folk have to, but Shur doesn’t.”

Phylless cooed and ran her fingers through his hair, “Is that what you found in me?”

“Nay, I married you for your lusts.”

Phyll put her hand to her mouth in pretended shock, “Oh you terrible man. I thought it was my cooking. I suspect our Penni has passions. Do you suppose Shurran knows about such things?”

That got her an attempt not to grin.

“No you don’t! Tell me or I will strangle you in your sleep.”

“I don’t sleep.”

“Out with it, orc!”

He told her about the Khandian girls in Dale. She was to take that to the grave. Ardatha probably figured it out but Reyald, well, she probably told him. Boys will be boys. Without mentioning Chûran by name, he also told her of the training selected women were given. 

“Have you ever done that with me?”

“Some.”

Some was not enough.

_____________--------_____________

Before they knew it, spring was upon them. It was time to see Dale again. Reyald and Ardatha had not seen his brother or their daughter in three years. Granna Borenne was still hale and wrote every week. They looked forward to seeing the Carstors too and then would turn right on the Dwarf Road to the Buhr. 

Nag Kath and Phylless would go too. She was a better long-range rider now and not too spoiled to cook fish in his old skillet. Shurran was going to stay in Minas Tirith. He wanted to see his sister and great grandmother but he had matters to attend in his new home. 

Where there were no inns, the company usually camped with merchants but they rode too fast to travel with them. Staying outside the wagon ruts was safer for the horses too. Dornlas and Annlie were the same as always. The King and Queen were at their country estate where they spent more and more time, Elfwine and Tilli too, so no trips to the Meduseld.

Granna Borenne was as gracious as always. She moved very slowly, but faster than her maid. She must have a healthy dose of Dunedain, spirit of Queen Nephtat! They were with her two days, saw Carstors for two days, returned to the lake for three more and went their separate ways with plans to meet in Dale in two months, or send word if otherwise.

Nag Kath and Phylless rode to Dale and took the key from under the potted pegrum. At the two-bell, they rode up to Brenen’s house. The maid answered and said, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Kath.”

Letters through the winter said Bren was holding his own, but that ended two weeks ago. The message would have passed them on the way. She showed them to the main room and told Nedille. Ever the picture of poise, Bren’s widow told them he slipped away gently with the children at his bed. Nag Kath had thought his goodbyes when news of the stroke came. He still choked-up. That was for Bren but here was grieving Nedille. They were inseparable all those years. She said Aleurn was probably not far behind, poor thing. Brenen had dictated a letter to his da. His widow fetched it and put it in his hands but he could not open it yet, not now.

Nedille was glad to see them but clearly busy with other things. If she would give them two days to get a cook, she and the family must come down for dinner. A compromise was made for dinner here in two days and they rode back to the house. It was warm enough outside to not need a fire and they ate at the Bear and Rose as soon as it opened.

Phylless watched his face closely. It seldom gave anything away but she had learned the hints by now. “Sorry Nag. Will you be fine?”

He returned to the world and said, “Yes, but sometimes I wonder that I must do this to everyone I love. Men must too, but at some point, it is they who are grieved and others go on. It is the choice of that or not to love. That would be many times worse.” He added something she had never heard before. Her Elf was very quiet about his long-term future, it being so much later than the people he knew now. “That would also be the point I knew I had lost my way. The dark ones stopped loving, if they had ever loved at all. With love; there is giving and taking. I must never stop giving.”

The next morning he went by the office. Old Mrs. Whendam was in. Bart was attending an auction near the wharves with Brenen’s oldest Turenon. She said after having his father so long a-dying, he was ready. There were no bad memories. How many could say that? Bart was back before the tea was cold and gave Uncle Nag a Northman hug. He stopped just long enough to tell Mrs. Whendam, “Missed it. Jennald must have wanted that place badly. I do not know how he will make his money back.” He got tea from the kettle and stirred in a bit of honey. “Nag, are you just in?”

“Yesterday, a little late, I’m afraid.”

The Secretary, who had been there longer than Bart, snorted, “Bren wouldn’t have that. He would have told of troll gold or how you turned him green at the healer’s.”

Uncle Nag smiled, “Let us not forget the flower lady’s scowling daughter! So Bart, what news.”

“We have a child on the way!”

The Elf raised his eyebrow.

“No one told you? Graciel and I married last fall.”

He had quite forgotten. So that worked. Tal, your matchmaking empire was not exclusive. “That’s grand, no, no one said, but that was when correspondence took a turn. Phyll and I will be here for a couple months while Reyald and Ardatha are in Austar. We have plenty of time to relive the old stories.”

Bart grinned, “And add a few new ones.”

_____________--------_____________

Everyone else was the same. Burry was still not a man to insult, armed or not. Some men are tough until the day they die. Lola was his steady companion. All their children were independent and frequently home for dinner. Lotold Brighten’s wife had been poorly. She should be a young sprig at seventy but heart problems ran in her family. Hearts were something healing could do nothing for. The rest of them were fine. Rules for ale were suspended in honor of the hero of the Celduin. Nag Kath never had any idea what they did for support. It was considered ill-mannered to ask and they had never mentioned it. Like a lot of Hobbits, it was possible they came into an inheritance since they were such frugal savers and did not have large families. 

Before dinner Nag Kath dashed off letters to both Rosscranith and the King as a courtesy to let them know he was here. Rosscranith answered back the next day by messenger suggesting a glass of Dorwinion two day’s hence, regrets only. Nag Kath took Phylless. She was his love and this shouldn’t be all that skull-duggerous. 

“It is good to see you, my friend. How long has it been?”

“Two, three years. Not long by my usual neglect.”

“You will not find it much changed. It is a pleasure to see you again Lady Kath.”

She smiled, “Phylless.”

“Yes, much better that way. Everyone is a lord these days. Nag, I retired at the turn of the year. I’ve been training-up new men and it was time for one of them.”

“You lasted quite a while when the broom swept clean.”

“I was the broom, but the King is wise beyond his years and now his years are prime. There’s another babe on the way.”

Nag Kath smiled, “Carstors is that much more relieved. I saw him a week ago. The man has made an art of living.”

“But for your pictures and manly advice, he might wear the crown today.”

Another story Phylless hadn’t heard. Rosscranith was required to tell it badly, but humorously, with the Elf filling the gaps, “I think the discarded portrait of him is in my folder. I’ll look.”

It was good to catch-up. Nag Kath always thought Rosscranith the very best of men, a man for his time who met the challenge. His nation had been stable, prosperous and free since he took a leading role in its governance. Of course, the story of Pelargir took two glasses of wine to explain with Phylless’ help. She was a woman for her time too.

After two weeks of obligatory, but enjoyable meals and drinks, Nag Kath and Phylless took their leisure. He was sorry that she could not see Erebor, even the parts men were allowed. Rosscranith said relations with the King Under the Mountain had not improved and the Prince was seldom seen. The orcs never missed their fish wagons but told no dark tales Men of the northern stations kept the tradition of cooking a pig that day to share with the messenger and soldier-orcs hanging back in the shadows. They would not eat with them. Diplomacy has its limits. Golord was still happy to see him. 

The Elven Halls were probably not for her eyes as well. He could drop Legolas’ name now but that might not pull much weight with the Silvans. Besides; Legolas had not yet warmed to the changeling water-cleanser. Another couple hundred years and they would be tight as Dwarf cousins! To fill the time, they took picnics where her Elf knew they would be alone. Now well into her forties, her desires still burned. Khandian girls indeed!

Nag Kath never did hear back from King Bain, though it was common knowledge he was in the city. The man did not hold as many public viewings and ceremonies as his father. The Elf forgot, for the first time, to ask after the dowager. He would leave it to Miss Quessan to find him.

Belatedly, they had lunch with Bart and Grace. She was due in a few months and moving slowly. Lamb was on the menu. It was good to see people he loved in love. Almost any mortal man would have recoiled at the thought of a lover in the arms of a friend, arguably a relative. That was too much pride laid bare. Not the Elf. He thought Grace was a born mother and Bart a perfect father. To ice the cake, Bard returned with Ros from the country home after Bren’s funeral and the two pulled up chairs at the table. Nag Kath thought life could not be better than this.

Before they knew it, the Conaths arrived on schedule and it was time to make for the lake. Torrold and Gerda were fine. Reyald mildly scolded his brother for not visiting the White City now that he was such a grand Thain. Torrold admitted it was his turn. Their grandchildren were getting so tall!

_____________--------_____________

They reached home in early July, just in time for the Feast. Two years ago, Nag Kath was minding sorcerous Visitors. This time they gathered at the tavern with Tim, Marie, Marletta and her now husband. As he would do whenever he could for the rest of his life, Nag Kath lit a candle for the three days of Gelansor.

Shurran had an announcement. He and Penni were to wed. It was not on the scale of royal unions but this was a fairly large undertaking on the light calendar of Fourth Age 45. She was not with child. Nag Kath secretly checked when shaking her hand in congratulations. Phyll thought that beneath him.

Tal was the Queen of Love. She could never quite match Nag Kath’s production of a King, but that was unintentional. He got credit for the baby due any day in Dale too. Here and now, Penni was a beautiful bride. Her folks even paid for a fine gown. They did not need to rent the hall since Kathen Properties owned it and Ardatha chose the planner because the best was certainly more than collier Fortizar’s budget. As always, the Elf and his woman ducked out a side door while the party was in full-swing.

_____________--------_____________

The Anduin flooded in the spring of 46. There was a pox that hurt Osgiliath and Pelargir both. It came to the White City with people fleeing their own disease. Nag Kath spent a lot of time healing, pulling fevers just enough to set folk on their way to recover so he could help as many as possible before collapsing. Hundreds still died. Before the water, most of them might have died. More citizens than would ever know owed their lives to the Dunlending covered with pigeon droppings in the secondary statue garden. 

Phyll was ill too. Her man held her closely every day for a week, always saving something for her alone, riding hard before Tilion guided his moon across the sky. Charlo was still strong but he alternated with Maida to keep them fresh. Phylless had spoon-fed him in his time of weakness. He gave her part of his life in hers. 

That summer they went to Pelargir with a lot more crates. Both horses came with their tack. They had clothes, weapons, art supplies, Miss Fennel, money, Lembas and more than a few books. As always, they spent time with Phyll’s parents and then took the deep-water ship to Dol Amroth. To start, they booked long-term rooms at the Great Sail inn. The plan was to discover the city and then lease or buy a home. What he wanted most was to not take a long trip every year. He had been doing that for fifteen years. Elves might not think that onerous but he lived like a man and it had left him dulled. There were many of the things you could get in Minas Tirith here. Pelargir too, but he liked the sea better than the river.

Dol Amroth was the capital of Belfalas but by location, had almost nothing to do with the rest of the fief. Interior residents were not always happy about that. Unlike most important coastal cities, the river forming the harbor had little commercial value except for wood from the Ringlo to build or repair ships. The Anduin, through more southerly Lebennin, controlled goods coming and going to Gondor proper. Trading ships up the coast were becoming more important. The mainland population was more closely related to peoples of central Gondor than the remaining Dunedain bloods of the Princely capital.

Nag Kath intended to explore all of it but first he had to learn more about here and make sure his Phylless was fine. She was used to sea travel now, a good thing because it was a long, bumpy horse-ride back to Minas Tirith. Civilization stopped at the Ringlo. The peninsulas of Anfalas and Andrast above were largely unpopulated. 

After unpacking, their first call was to Caladrion and Eniecia’s home above the war harbor, the first of three coves coming into the inlet built for ships of the Marines. It was a small, pleasant place and close to Cal’s posting. By a turn of fate, they arrived just after his ship put-in for three weeks of plank repair. Water, worms and barnacles only gave wood below the waterline about six or seven years of reliability. 

Field was three and Callistra was nearing two. After an unremembered introduction to Uncle Nag and Aunt Phyll, they practiced joint maneuvers on a large orange cat that decided the middle shelf of the bookcase was the perfect place to watch. A governess minded them while the adults enjoyed a nice breeze on the porch.

Marriage suited them both. Like all Marine and sailors’ wives, Eniecia worried when he was away. There were many women in the same situation and they relied on each other. Eniecia had made quite a few friends among them and elsewhere too. These days; casualties were largely due to accidents and weather. Not so long ago, many ships were lost in battle. The forces of the fief were ostensibly for self-defense but Cal explained they had primary responsibility for the mouth of the Anduin and points south. Umbar pirates blended into the mud flats and reappeared in force on short notice. Pelargir maintained a presence too but mainly provisioned line ships on patrol.

It was a long meal and they didn’t talk about much at all. Phyll got the sense that with the brave warrior just back from the deep, the couple had things to discuss privately. There would be plenty of time. Cal did have a few suggestions about where to look for a home but his mother’s friends were the experts. 

The two fundamental choices were near the water or working up the central plateau from Old Town. The plateau itself was the Prince’s domain with gardens and pastures for the family’s sustenance. Most of the food for everyone else was carted in from farms on the mainland immediately east of the city gates. Three quarters of the peninsula coast were steep rock cliffs descending into the sea. That made Dol Amroth expensive to provision but it could only be attacked from the harbor. Town militias trained to discourage that.

Nag Kath and Phylless both wanted to be nearer the water. They were city dwellers at heart and the flats along the harbors were where culture and art and places to eat were almost piled on top of one another. He had worn some shoe-leather in a few parts stalking the witches. Together they would canvas many more. Stabling was hard to come by.

None of that was a problem. They stayed in on rainy days. They walked everywhere. This was the high season for singing and the glorious harpists of renown. There were plays and dance. Just south of the creek splitting the Commercial Harbor from the Working Harbor was a large amphitheater for any of those entertainments needing scale. Traveling troupes came and went. 

One of the reasons the couple was taking their time was that the city was famously elite. Strangers were not welcomed with open arms. Nag Kath had some entree as a Lord of Galador, but he was also a former orc, mostly Elf and not an elbow fighter in high society. What made it worse was that he didn’t care, sure to infuriate anyone hoping to take tactical advantage. Phylless was a tradesman’s daughter. 

They got insights into their station when calling cards sent to the Prince and Lord Ercherion were answered by an invitation to a long-schedule ball in the main palace. One did not simply walk up to the gates. There was a tightly controlled gauntlet up the southern highlands and then through walled baileys. The lay of the land and the fortifications were designed more against an internal revolt than an outside military attack since once someone had a foothold in the harbors, they controlled the city. There were ways to get to the palace from the water, but not for women in party shoes. The solution was for people to walk through the gate exposed to a quarter mile of weather or a string of carriages on occasions like this. The gala was on a pretty night so Nag Kath and Phylless walked with about fifty other guests and were passed by at least that many in carriages.

The occasion was a celebration of a previous Prince. Neither of them knew how far back. For the first five minutes they did not see anyone they knew. From behind, Lady Yeniel walked over to say hello. They had only seen her during or right after the sorcery so there was no store of happy memories. Her color was back and she offered her hands for his kiss and Phylless’ touch. No man hovered nearby. Yeniel took them to her father near one of the large north-facing windows. After accepting their bows, he gave Nag Kath a hearty handshake and kissed Phyll’s hand. Subtle eye movements confirmed that all health was restored then the Lord introduced them to a few of the city lights.

First were Lord and Lady Conustal. In Minas Tirith, and certainly Dale, lords and ladies usually dropped the titles unless one was royalty or there was a wide gap in age. Dol Amroth lost those more slowly. When half the room was lordly, what was the difference? They played by the rules and said they were looking forward to their stay.

Another couple approached and was welcomed as Devoran and Whilmina Teluvies. There was history with both first names but that could wait. They did not seem to be lords of any stripe so when the Conustals drifted off with Erchirion, the four chatted. In any party, one can talk about weather, what a lovely event and the turnout. If you know, you can include weddings, ship arrivals and Gondor. Devoran, also called Dev, launched straight into the troll-slaying in Pelargir. His family bought rope from people Phyll knew slightly and a cousin was in the Third Marines tracking the beasts around the Quarter of the Faithful.

Nag Kath was proud of that whole business but did not lord it either. Whilmina, a plain but very gracious woman, was a bit overawed so Phyll mentioned someone they probably both knew before the conversation returned to the battle. The Elf kept it alive because he wanted a sense of how that, and certainly other adventures, would affect their plans. The intention was to stay a few years, but they would leave tomorrow if this was not what they wanted. To feel the pulse, Nag Kath turned to the relaxed Whilmina and said, “I do hope you have no fell creatures here, dear woman. We have had quite enough.”

“Oh no, Mr. Kath. But a deputation of the Drúedain came on the anniversary of the great battle last year. They had been sent gifts and brought their own. Lord Alphros went up the coast to receive them and honor the day.”

Nag Kath had heard of the strange Dwarf/men, “I know their service was honored. Do they come here often?”

Dev handled that one, “Never. Even then they stayed to the upper peninsula. They have the King’s grant of isolation, unless one applies for leave.” He said more humorously, “I do not believe the application list is very long. There it is said they conjure queer magiks and keep to the forest.”

Magik, eh? Nag Kath would ask about that. His exploits in different parts of Middle-earth did not follow him very far, though many knew of the water, both waters.

Nag Kath and Phylless thought they should pay their respects to the Prince who was outside. Most of the party was outside. That was the nature of events here when weather allowed. His Lordship was surrounded by people so they approached and bowed, waiting to be acknowledged. 

The Elf was hard to miss, even in a crowd of relatively tall folk. His hair was long and covered his ears. Elphir smiled and said, “Glad you could come.”

They came to his group and Nag Kath said, “Thank you for your gracious invitation, My Lord. May I introduce my wife Phylless?”

“How do you do, dear Lady”

She replied, “Having a lovely time, Prince Elphir.”

He nodded and said, “Good, good. Let us set aside some time for tea soon. I should like to hear your views on recent events.”

Honored, they were about to let him get back to his conversation when he added, “Lord and Lady Kath, please meet Lord and Lady Vendrithorn.”

They were a tall, elegant pair of about forty in mannish years but could be considerably older with the blood of Numenor. The Lords both bowed and ladies curtseyed. Vendrithorn said, “Are you enjoying your time, Lord Kath?”

“Indeed, sir. Everyone has been very gracious. We hope to stay a while and visit family.”

She asked, “Have you been here before?”

Phylless answered, “My second trip, his third.”

Lord Vendrithorn smiled and finished, “We hope you can see everything before you leave.”

A dismissal? Most new people here would return to wherever they called home. They had not made their plans known. Neither of the Kaths made anything of it and wished them a pleasant evening. That lag in the festivities was soon refreshed seeing Legorn and Durnalath Ivandred. They were excellent company and in-laws; a rare combination. Legorn took them over to fill their wine goblets and made a few more introductions to folk who seemed interested. The senior Ivandreds had been told they were in town but thought to let them settle in a few weeks before adding to their schedule. 

Later that night she mused, “… before we leave?”

“Junior Elves, really. This is a closed society. That is easier to do in a time of great warriors. But with merchants and sailors and orcs up in the world, it is hard to stay pure. I shouldn’t worry. We need nothing they have.”

The next day was overcast and dreary. Phyll sat by the window reading a book. After reading to him she found she liked it. Her hand was still basic without the artistic flair taught to fifth-level lasses. He used the break to make a few calls. The first was to the Narvous Untorish at the thread shop. They were both there hoping rain wouldn’t keep ladies or their maids from shopping. He was recognized immediately. “Well hullo, Mr. Kath. Welcome back to our little port.”

“Thank you. I hope you are both well. I wanted to see if you received your papers.”

“Indeed we did, sir, by special messenger.”

“They have been a help to me, and many of the people who carry that torch. I saw you covered the old glyph.”

She said, “Very next day. Now if Narvous would just paint the rest of the eaves …”

He scratched the back of his head and said vaguely, “Yes, I need to get to that.”

Nag Kath made a note to hire a painter for them. The shopkeeper did not look like he should be more than two steps up a ladder. They shared a cup of cool tea and spoke of how those symbols had turned-up in the least likely places.

“Now you know, Mr. Kath. I saw something like that other one what was it …” he looked at his wife who shook her head, “… maybe a year ago.”

The Elf scribbled Fûl on a scrap and turned it for them to see. Untorish said, “Like that. I have a hard time telling them apart.”

Nag Kath did not alter his good humor a bit and said, “I have the same trouble. They are not letters so one can’t make a word out of them. I don’t suppose you recall where it was?”

He looked at his wife again with the same shake and said, “Might have been on a ship, not here, maybe in the working harbor. Our main business is canvas line for riggers. Might have seen it there.”

The Elf smiled and said, “Probably nothing. As you said, they look alike.”

_____________--------_____________

On his way to Mrs. Hürna’s he thought there might be someone in the guardi who should make a habit of wandering by ships in port. Those lads might be buying supplies for a fight back at the river mouth. 

“Well! You said you would be back.” She turned her head, “Gulleth, some hot tea for a gray day!”

Mrs. Hürna put him in her tallest chair and took a sip without waiting for his to arrive. “Back long?”

“Couple weeks. We’ll stay a while this time. Not that I plan to horn-in on your business.”

“Ha! You can have it. Every now and again I get an offer I can’t turn down but you can have the rest.”

Before we came there was a nasty pox upriver. I pulled a lot of those. Phylless had it too.”

Tsitsa put her tea down and asked, “Poor dear, she’s all right?”

“Reading at the inn, thank you. Starts in the stomach and moves to the lungs gone bad. It is different every year.”

The old lady cackled. Witches always cackle. “Don’t I know it? That’s why Lady Hürna is retired. You do this long enough; you take one that won’t leave.” His tea arrived and they both sipped before she continued, “Staying a while? Where you going to be?”

“We’re taking our time on that. I think near the water, although it is nice up here too.”

“Wouldn’t you know, this was the house of the rogue with the two witches. Seems he met with an accident and it was available to the newly coined Lady of the Fief. Convenient; wouldn’t you say?”

“Nice of him to consider your view. You know this place now. You know me. Where should I look?”

Hürna finished her mug and gave that a few moment’s thought before recommending, “For someone your age and energy, I would look in the New Port, but back up enough to miss all the yelling along the quay. That or the Middle Port. Let your lovely wife decide.”

“We are of the same mind. You would think me slack if I didn’t ask if anyone else is encroaching on your clientele?”

She waved her maid for another mug and said, “Not for sure, but when I told a couple people I was retired, they didn’t beg, and they were sickly enough that they would have without an alternative. You’ll find lots of herb healers in Old Town. You found me. You’ll find them.”

He said, “I had good luck with one of the eastern muscle healers. That really works.”

“Got some of them too. The strumpet’s guild complained until they had a look at them!” That got a cackle. “It is all the same body, just different paths. I’m glad you told me. Now if you can just get rid of the alchemists.”

_____________--------_____________

The next day cleared and the couple strolled the Middle Port. Homes were pretty up three and four rows from the quay but there wasn’t much to do so they crossed one of many bridges from the stream leading down from the plateau and made east for the New Port. He realized in the looking that he really didn’t want full immersion in the full daily life of the city. Given his lifestyle, they should be able to pick and choose where to dip their toes.

Ground was fairly flat for a hundred paces from the waterside but then it climbed steeply and leveled again before a gradual grade towards Old Town. The space between was rocky and undeveloped but it gave the homes behind it a nice buffer and a view of the commercial harbor. They both liked the area. Homes came in all different sizes. Legorn recommended an estate agent at the Prince’s gala so they thought tomorrow they would inquire.

Most unusually, the agent was a woman. With a name like Furris Dalcomb who would know? Her secretary showed them into the tiny office and brought tea while they waited for the agent to get back from a client’s. The woman was about Phyll’s age and had a businesslike handshake. 

“How can I help you, Lord and Lady Kath?” She addressed the woman of the house. Most people would direct the conversation to the man. Since she asked, Phylless replied, “We are considering leasing or even buying here and wondered about the area just above New Port.”

Mrs. Dalcomb looked into both their eyes and asked, “Have you been looking long?”

The Elf answered, “A few weeks, and we have been here before. Friends suggested a few places we might visit.”

Agent Dalcomb had to determine three things, as she would with any client: their budget, how much did they know about property and what did they know about Dol Amroth? They had already covered enough of the third.”  
  


Asking about the second would probably answer the first. The woman floated, “Buying or leasing; two different animals.”

Phylless alternated, “There is so much yet to learn. If a home is perfect, we think to purchase. If it is elusive, we can wait.” Phyll knew that didn’t answer Dalcomb’s most important question so she added, “Our other homes are in places we know better.”

That got Nag Kath and Phylless the full-service smile, “One of my colleagues has a property in that area that might serve. First, please tell me your requirements.”

That was easy. They liked space, windows, a small outdoor area and near to water. They had almost no furniture with them and would attend to that based on the house. That put paid to the money question too. Being a lord said little. One of her distant uncles was a lord of some sort and lived above his daughter’s candle shop. 

Mrs. Dalcomb wasted no time walking over to Mr. Kennaldir’s larger estate office and asking about the old woman’s place above the rocks. It had been available for a while and like most places where someone got too old, it needed a few things. The couple had not mentioned time but their question of leasing suggested they weren’t pressed. They said nothing about needing to sink Florins into making it presentable.

The arrangement with estate agents here, and most places, is that the person who found the buyer and the one who found the seller would split the fee. They had done several transactions together, not without tension, but they got paid. Mr. Kennaldir handed her the key and asked to be kept informed.

The next morning after breakfast Nag Kath and Phyll walked from their inn to Mrs. Dalcomb’s, only fifteen minutes away. She told her secretary to hold the fort and took them to the home, which she had only seen from the outside.

The out-of-town couple stood in front of it for several minutes without saying anything. As any merchant knows, that means something but says nothing. Her gentleman customer walked back the way they had come for a look at one side of the home and then went a bit further for the other. It was on a much larger lot than the homes nearby. Back with his wife, he spent quite a while looking at the roof. She nodded slightly to him and had Mrs. Dalcomb open the door.

Oh dear! Kennaldir had some explaining to do. The large main room was filthy with black smudges above the sconces. The agent would not have rolled bodies for the paupers’ graveyard in the carpets strewn about the floor. Putting the best face on it the she said, “I believe the former owner went to her ancestors some time ago. Shall we look further?”

No one screamed or fled. Dalcomb resolutely strode towards what she hoped was the kitchen. Lord and Lady Kath would have servants but women always wanted to see where food is prepared. It was slightly cleaner, as if whoever was cooking here kept their own space up. Other rooms around the perimeter were somewhere between the two.

Upstairs was a lot like Nag Kath’s place in Dale; a large master’s room, two smaller bedrooms, a maid’s quarters and a privy closet but about half was open to the ground floor. Most had windows of real glass and the whole house would catch the rising sun. With the plateau behind them, no one got much of a sunset.

Mrs. Dalcomb did not know if the elegant couple were born to their titles or earned them until now. True nobility would have covered their faces with their handkerchiefs and bustled out to open air. These two wandered about appraising the situation before walking back to the road. As if forgetting something, the Elf exclaimed, “Oh, my notepad! Mrs. Dalcomb, may I have the key to go fetch it?” She gave it to him and he went back while the ladies talked.

Inside, he used a drawing spell to raise himself up to one of the main cross-beams to check the corner braces. He seldom used that sorcery. It was the same humor as bringing small objects to him, but he could lift his own weight drawing from stationary objects. The changeling floated down with hardly a sound and rejoined the women out front. Phyll gave him the chin rub to suggest it would serve; his cue to say, “It needs a deal of work.”

The agent said smoothly, “So it seems. We have a number of quality builders here in the city.”

“Can you have one tell us what is required?”

She knew that was reasonable, and that this Lord Kath was no one’s fool, a pretty thing, yes, but not like some of his ilk. The woman looked like she could make decisions too. The builder could find them at their inn after his review. On the way there Phyll muttered, “I feel I should boil my shoes.”

“Aye, it’s a gaol. Otherwise perfect. If the roof and supports are sound, it can be made presentable. I have no idea what it is worth. I expected dearer than Osgiliath but less than the fifth.”

Phyll said, “I will leave it to you. Now, let us get out of these clothes and think of something else to do.”

_____________--------_____________

Forgiven Kelvar was a sad-eyed man at the end of his days on high ladders. His son and two nephews did that now. He told the desk clerk that he was here to see the Kath’s and stood with his cap in his hand at the bottom of the stairs. The lad fetched His Lordship who came down and shook hands, something not every gentleman did with workmen. They took chairs by a window.

“Well sir, I see it like this. It is not falling down. The outside and supports are solid. But it will take a deal of work before I’d sit my dear wife’s bottom inside.”

The Elf said, “I noticed the cross-beam supports were only single-ganged, hadn’t seen those before. We come from where there is snow and such would not serve.”

Forgiven was not expecting that from the elegant Dunedain, one; he looked and two; he knew what it was. “That’s common here, but I would recommend Houl-braces in the corners.”

Nag Kath asked, “Mr. Kelvar, what would it cost to make the place suitable?”

“Two Florin to be presentable, more depending on your tastes.”

“Between us, any idea what it is worth as it stands?”

“Not a groat over five. You don’t tell the agent I said so, but I’d offer four and see what happens. Mind, this will take months to do.” Forgiven looked around the inn and added, “You could do worse while you wait.”

Nag Kath said, “Thank you, Mr. Kelvar. What do I owe you?”

“Mrs. Dalcomb is paying.”

Nag Kath slipped him a nipper and said, “From now on, you work for me.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself, sir.”

They offered four. Kennaldir was outraged at such an insulting bid but hadn’t actually seen the inside either. On inspection, his counter offer of four and a half was split and the Kath’s paid in gold. Forgiven Kelvar could start work after he finished Mrs. Londigar’s chimney next week and got enough of an advance to add another lad who was good on beams. 

As he said, it would be a while, so Lord and Lady Kath continued sightseeing and spent a lot of time with Eniecia when Cal shipped-out for a month. The two little children paid a lot more attention to their tall uncle when he was able to pull sweets out of their ears. In a quiet moment, Eniecia said she had lost a third child several months in and had not conceived since. That wasn’t normally man-talk but Uncle Nag wasn’t your usual grand-da. She allowed him to examine her quite closely while Phyll entertained the children. When she was dressed he told her, “I think there may be difficulty to start, but if it takes, another child should quicken with the room it needs to turn. Be patient …” he smiled, “But not too patient.”

“Thank you from me and my wonderful man.”

“Be his water blossom always.”

Most days Nag Kath stopped at the house. Not that he did any of the work but this was his primary business. Brenen and Bard's end of Kathen bought sound homes the worse for attention and fixed them up. Kelvar bolstered the rafters before his men saw to the roof slates. Those were in good repair. Phylless had opinions on colors and floors and all the things she was supposed to as work progressed.

_____________--------_____________

Checking an errand off his list, Nag Kath went to the guardi office and asked to speak to the head, not something many folk did. A senior Sergeant came from the back and said he was on duty while Captain Inoldus was in town and asked how he could help.

The Elf said who he was. Nag Kath said a merchant, whose name he could not recall, told him of the dark symbol being seen on a merchant ship on the wharf. The Sergeant knew more of him than most and asked, “Anything to do with your friends upriver?”

“The very same. It is a small thing, but if your lads should happen to see this symbol anywhere on a ship, or anywhere else, come to that, you might wonder their business. I am not in a position to instruct you, Sergeant, but I don’t know as I’d let them know you know.”

“Right you are sir. I expect there’s those who would be interested.” The moment that was out of his mouth, the Captain returned. It was the quiet man who had put the tail on the assassin whose house Mrs. Hürna called home. They recognized each other immediately. He had risen high enough to have a name. 

“Lord Kath, this is a pleasure. No secrets with Sergeant Lournes.” They recapped the short conversation as the guardi head held his chin and drank in every word. Looking in both faces, Inoldus asked, “Troubles from the east?”

“Probably just those wishing for the bad times again. If they are here buying supplies, you might add a maker’s stamp and see where they turn-up. For something more serious, I will be living here for a while and am always at the service of the Prince and King.”

That was the easiest bit of crime-prevention Inoldus had done in a while. He asked Nag Kath to draw the symbol on a few sheets of paper to show his walking Sergeants and wished him luck on the house. Lower guardi didn’t need to know those. They were good men, but why tempt them to tip bad ‘uns for a few coppers, eh?

Cal was back a bit early. They had a scrape with a pirate and a skeleton crew brought a useable ship back into harbor. Repairs gave him at least two weeks on leave, probably more like three. He, Eniecia, his parents and the Kaths took in the first Catanard in the large amphitheater not far from the new house. It was one of the tragedies, which they still managed to make comical. The players were the best of the best where it mattered most. Painted canvases on frames were used behind the stage to depict different locations with musicians tucked away in front.

For the first time, Nag Kath and Phylless strolled the piers. Warships were in the first cove, fishing boats had most of the second and the cargo ships, including those carrying passengers, were in the section closest to the causeway. Yet another nook was past that where people docked at will. Some of the berths held houseboats where people lived year-round, a bit like Lake Town. Toss a line off your porch and pull in dinner.

The house took two weeks longer than planned but Mr. Kelvar did a good job. The Elf gave him a bonus which included painting the thread shop. Their new home had Nag Kath’s first real office. He would almost never use it. Durnalath had been shopping for a cook all month and found a woman of about fifty who had recipes for dozens of local fish. She took the downstairs room next to the kitchen. She and Miss Fennel looked like peas from the pod but took a while to coordinate.

Getting furniture took almost as long as the building. It seemed the Woodworker’s Guild was at odds with the Leather-crafters. A dynastic marriage between children of the guilds had collapsed in infidelity. The argument persisted until one of the city Magisters hauled the guildmasters before him with threats of fines if the two didn’t come to terms. The Kath furnishings were at the bottom of the page. Nag Kath put two straw bales on the veranda to watch the sunrise.

Their horses were bored. Nag Kath and Phylless made a point to ride at least once a week if it wasn’t raining and explored the mainland up and down the coast. Most of that had steep cliffs too but the ground was flat above. Sometimes Phylless put Eniecia on Charlo to get the woman out of the house when her Cal was at sea. Being a junior officer’s wife could get pretty dull. 

It took longer than expected but the Elf got an invitation to visit the Prince. It did not include Phyll so he guessed this was business. It was. Captain Inoldus was in the meeting room along with a grave minister of unknown age. Elphir was affable and asked him to sit.

“How has your new home progressed, Lord Kath?”

“We are in, sir. It took some doing.”

“Captain Inoldus you know. This gentleman is Minister Ghournalis who handles our defenses.” The men nodded. “Minister Ghournalis, Captain, can you tell our guest what you found?”

Inoldus said, “I did as you suggested, Lord Kath, and had some of my senior men keep an eagle-eye out for those little symbols. They found two, both on trading ships. In one case; they brought nothing and left with sail cloth. In the other, they brought nothing and left with logs long enough for masts.”

Ghournalis spoke with a deep, rough voice. Despite his minister’s cloak, he was a soldier through and through. “That suggests folk we do not abide are getting supplies to build ships.”

Nag Kath considered that and said, “At worst. It may also be that a deckhand carved it in idle time. May I ask, sirs, I’ve never seen a pirate vessel. Where are those made?”

The Prince took that question, “They hide in the harbors of Harad. Some are captured from Gondor, merchant shippers caught by the faster corsairs. Most come from Umbar, unofficially, of course.”

Ghournalis added, “The King’s understanding prohibits them building warships, but we do not have many friends down there to complain.”

The Elf wondered, “I should have thought getting timber down there would be difficult.”

The Captain this time, “It is, but the builders pay bright coin for what can be had.”

Nag Kath held his chin without realizing it and said, “If you gentlemen are in the mood for a long story, I should probably tell you about Fûl.”

He did. These were high ministers of Gondor so the Elf told them anything he would have told Aragorn. They sat through the history quite well, asking questions every now and again but not making points. Wine halfway through smoothed. Nag Kath finished with, “Adherents of those opposed to Sauron replaced it to prevent the beasts from being summoned.

“Now here is what I think; Sauron’s greatest servant was the Witch-King of Angmar. That is his sigil. He commanded the servants. I have spent most of my life seeking to destroy the sorcery left by the Witch-King. Like the trolls, I find surprises. Fûl is becoming the symbol of those opposed to the Reunited Kingdom. They have no great powers at all. They would have you think so and threaten those who resist. Doing so declares their sympathies, not very discreetly, it seems.”

The minister had paid close attention. Finally he remarked, “And those are just the ships we found. More may be used that have not shown their hand.”

Inould added, “And may not even know if they deliver to countrymen who then put them on different ships.”

The Prince put his hands on the table and said, “Nag Kath, you have some experience with this, what say you?”

“My Lord, I would squeeze the cloth and the steel. Wood they can get, men also. I do not know if those lands have iron ore but I do know that pig iron and scrap is floated down the Anduin by the barge-load, perhaps even finished parts. You seem to have found the cloth.”

The Prince concluded, “Gentlemen, I will send a letter to the King on tomorrow’s ship. Is there anything else?”

The iron inquiry bore fruit. A monger in Osgiliath had a hard time explaining why steel from north Ithilien arrived in Pelargir crated as roof tiles. Persuasive men arranged introductions to the monger’s friends downriver. That happened several times with perfectly respectable merchants until the practice was discouraged. Pirates still got their steel, but not nearly as much.

It was militia time. Nag Kath reported as the rankest trainee. The Sarn't had no idea who he was and the volunteer didn’t ask for preferred treatment. A bit old for the first time, they had him report to a cargo ship for sword and spear basics. Predictably, those went well. They also had him shoot the short-range bows for close-quarters as ships came close to bumping. On the second day he brought his Dale bow which got some snickers until he pegged a lantern three ships away. 

_____________--------_____________

Dol Amroth is a nice place to spend a winter. Warmer than upriver; it did get howling windstorms from time to time but overall fair. On pleasant days, Nag Kath and Phylless would walk the coastal trail from the point of the war harbor. He would watch the waves smash into the rocks for hours alone and often sketched or painted them. As usual, these were not traditional representations of nature. Most of those were drawn with ships on the surface and lords standing on those. This was the raw violence of power against strength. They were never the same. He gave some of them to the Widows’ and Orphans’ office to sell for donations. A few brought quite a bit.

After the fury of his life in the north, the pause did wonders for his mind. Phylless was a lamb, warm and solid both. One of the few things he brought with him from Minas Tirith was the little spoon she fed him with. Her hair had started getting white strands. Unlike many women, she did not pluck them out. One was right at the center of her hairline so when she wore it back, it split the sides. 

It took a while but Lord Erchirion and his wife came to dinner at their home. They would become fast friends over the years, and not because of obligation. They liked each other. Daughter Yeniel was still unmarried but she started spending several days a week in town at another princely charity office. Nag Kath knew if Tal was here, she would have a handsome fellow bring in contributions regularly. After a few months, one did that on his own.

In late spring, Cal came back from a longish trip and would be in port for quite a while. He had reached the necessary requisites for higher-office. The man could either remain in active duty on a five-year Captain’s track or government service. He could also move into commerce as a ribboned former officer.

Cal chose government service. He had always intended to. In his mind, he had the most wonderful wife in the world and knew she worried terribly when he was in harm’s way. She also wanted more children. More immediately, he had been cultivated for the Foreign Service. As aide to an Ambassador, he caught the attention of Minister Youlvissan who still wore the robe. Being married to a Countess with diplomacy in her blood didn’t hurt. That and his father’s distinguished career suggested a bright future.

Belfalas was still fiercely independent. There wasn’t an emissary from the White City here looking over shoulders, not even unofficially. King Elessar trusted Dol Amroth implicitly because they had earned it. The residency in Minas Tirith was the same as other fiefs, provinces and rare national embassies. The King used it for men of Middle-earth to talk and settle differences cordially. They did that at his horse farm too.

On that track, Cal would be here at least a year learning their own politics. That involved considerable knowledge of trade. Places in the modern world were what they made, sold and bought. You wanted a soldier to spot problems but to deal effectively with others, you had to know what they wanted. Tallazh would have agreed.

The promotion meant moving nearer the citadel. The junior Ivandreds were well off but government service had not given them lordly resources to climb the hill. Phylless noticed when they could not find an even trade for their home and suggested Uncle Nag might help. He did. Eniecia found a home close to theirs which earned them occasional baby-minding duties when the couple needed privacy.

Nag Kath was good for more than a house. It had never been called such but he knew a good deal about relationships between the western powers and was the only one who knew anything about the east. Phylless finally decreed that dinner conversation could not be more than half politics. That didn’t apply to yarns about the Hurms of Mordor or family intrigues in Khand. Those were entertainment too. 

Life went on through the mild winter. With iron strangled, more in Pelargir than here, they had fewer problems with the Umbars. A shrinking cut had the Haradrim less inclined give treaty violations with Gondor the blind-eye. The famous corsair Mentieu retired publicly with the wherewithal to repent his wicked ways. The age of war was in decline.


	39. Goodbyes

** _Chapter 39_ **

** _Goodbyes_ **

With the approval, if not the enthusiasm, of Phylless, Nag Kath wanted to explore a thread of magic. The Pukel-men of the north cape were said to have sorceries unknown to men. He asked Elphir’s permission to visit their lands. That was fine with His Lordship but it was up to the Drüedain. On Charlo he was told it would take ten days on a good road to cross Anfalas and reach Celyeten River. From there he was on his own. Most of the Drüedains lived closer to Rohan but the King’s protection included this small group, officially still in Gondor.

It was more like two weeks after a good soaking in the Ringlo delta. He should have hired a small freighter to sail him across. Occasional towns dotted the road but were spaced more for commercial travelers. It was pretty. Folk along the road were friendly and curious that someone obviously from Gondor (they thought of Gondor as a mythic place far away) was tramping through their mud.

The Celyeten was an easier crossing and it was another week to the large river inlet of the Lefnun. That was a considerable long bay and it took two more days on good road to reach a crossing upriver at a town called Annoduán. Nice people, good beer, plenty of questions about why he wanted to keep going west.

Some of the friendly conversation was about what he could expect since men did cross from time to time. For the first fifty miles it was less of the same as on this side and then he would reach the lands of the Pukels, Woses as they were called here. Some people scared their children with stories of them. Others had seen them and they were simply shy, homely forest people. There was no trading so that was the end of it. A good ford a little upriver and he was in the King’s province of Andrast. The Drüedain were supposedly over a low pass that should be easy to see going west.

A trail led through a forest like Mirkwood with large, hovering trees that seemed to have eyes. They did no more than look as he slowly led Charlo through a pass low enough that it never lost greenery. The windward side was steeper but they were though in two days. There was a presence on this side of the hills. Nag Kath could not identify it but he felt it. He did not feel he was being watched. Perhaps he was felt too. Reaching a pleasant stream leading from a smaller, less ominous forest, he made camp and caught a fish for dinner. His plan was to stay here for a few days and follow his pattern of lazing about waiting for them to find him. 

He heard them on the third day but it wasn’t until the fifth that two of the creatures approached his fire. They did not look like tea drinkers. Nag Kath bowed and watched them enter his little camp.

In what sounded like Westron called from a deep cavern, one of them said, “These are Drughu lands. Why are you here?”

“I am Nag Kath and I came to pay my respects.”

The two looked at each other, seeming to communicate without speaking. Then they turned to him and were silent. They were the same shape as Dwarves but a bit taller. One was completely bald and the other with hair and a sparse beard. Garments were skins and rough cloth. He could not see any swords or spears, just bows slung across their backs and heavy walking staffs. One of their arms was as thick as the Elf’s legs.

When the quiet was oppressive, Nag Kath said, I was about to take my nourishment. I hope you will share and tell me of your people.” 

That wasn’t appealing but it did make the one speak again, “You will come with us.”

They did not move for as long as it took to hastily stow his gear and load Charlo. As he walked the horse to them, they turned to trudge upstream. None spoke. It was at least two hours before they reached a clearing in the forest and stopped. Again, they seemed to speak to each other’s minds and waited. 

Nag Kath was good at waiting. He calmed Charlo who seemed to have no concerns with these unusual creatures. Six more of them converged from the edges of the forest until they were about twenty feet away. One of the new fellows, dressed no differently than the rest, said, “These are Drughu lands.”

The Elf repeated, “I am Nag Kath and I come to pay my respects.”

They considered that. “You bring sword and bow.”

“I am a warrior of King Elessar. They are not to harm you.” The new fellows carried bows too, said by some to shoot poisoned arrows. There might be a few more Drughu behind the leaves.

It was fully five minutes of communication with no more than the sounds of birds. One of them said something in their tongue and others joined in. The one who did the talking said, “You bring sorcery here.”

“I heal.”

Nag Kath had heard the Ents took forever to discuss things. These lads got an honorable mention. The Elf added nothing else for their consideration. Finally, the speaker said, “You wait here.” Two of the new men stayed and the rest made into the forest. 

He asked the two guards, “Can I take his saddle off?”  
  


They looked at each other and one nodded, an indication this might take a while. Nag Kath stacked his gear and saddle against a stump and led Charlo to a nearby stream, taking a drink himself. The water tested clean. Walking back to the clearing, he took a bite of Lembas and sat near his things, careful not to have the bow or sword in easy reach. They did not know just how easy his reach was.

At dusk, the two sat down themselves, one at a time, after removing their bows and putting them in their laps. The Elf could not see their arrows. It they were tainted, the tips would have to be kept safe. The day had been warm and the night only less so but the Woses kept their heavy skin coats on throughout. 

When he could not take his inhospitality anymore, Nag Kath broke off two large chunks of Lembas from his pack and walked to them. They accepted the gift and did not reach for their bows or staffs. The Elf bowed without a word and returned to his place. They nibbled the curious bread slowly but ate it all. In ways they reminded him of Nenwula of the Viersh, massive and powerful but delicate. 

In the morning, their comrades returned and the leader told Nag Kath they would proceed. The forest was a mix of pines and broad trees and not thick with tripping vines. They walked perhaps another three hours until reaching a large clearing with several dozen rude homes of hewn beams and earth. There were no chimneys. Smoke leaked from the eaves. He was shown into one of the huts, leaving his weapons on the horse.

Sitting on a pile of furs were two creatures no different than the rest. With the broad, weathered faces, there was no telling if they were older. The Woses gestured for him to sit on another pelt and waited until he was completely settled before one said, “You say you come in respect. You bring sorcery.”

When those statements didn’t bring a question Nag Kath said, “I am the last of my kind.” There was no mention of his past or deeds or anything else. These folk would never have heard of him or anyone he knew, save the King, and that was a long time ago. Nag Kath also knew they had been granted these lands to avoid harsh treatment by men of the west. Dropping names would not serve.

“Why do you come?”

“I seek to meet all men of good faith, though I will return to my home if you say.”

The looked at each other, exchanging thoughts. Their faces did not show expression, not that he could tell. The speaker turned back to Nag Kath and said, “You can stay.”

Both Woses rose and walked out of the building. Without instruction one way or the other, the Elf joined them. Tribesmen and womenfolk gathered around with a few youngsters clutching at their garments. The women were considerably shorter than the men but otherwise the same. He felt for all of them. They had been shunned by the folk who should have been friends. The speaker in the hut spoke to them in a language unlike any Nag Kath had heard. There was nothing Elvish or mannish about it. A great deal could be expressed in very few words. They smiled, he thought, and returned to their business. One child stared but a thought from its parent hurried it along.

The Wose who had been silent in the hut approached and said in almost unintelligible Westron, “This is Elf magic?”

“From Mithrandir.” They would know him, no need to mention Saruman. 

The man reached to Nag Kath’s head and pulled the hair away from his ear. “Nghummph.” That must mean the same in any tongue.

“Why you use?”

“The enemy lingers. I serve the King.”

“King comes?”

“No, I come alone, to learn, to learn from friends.”

“Nghummph.”

They walked to a thatch-covered post-and-beam open oven where women were combining meat, vegetables and grains in a massive cauldron. Stew! Nag Kath chuckled to himself that it was his fate. It was not time to eat and he was not offered any. 

A little further on was a small stone temple. The Elf was suspicious of temples lately but this was nothing like in Pelargir, perhaps a bit like the Kings of Numenor staring back home. The rock-work was good. Two Wose were chipping other blocks. Curious that they would live so rudely and yet craft such permanent buildings. Without beasts, these folk must be as powerful as Dwarves to place stone above waist height. 

There was a basin in the temple on a lashed-wood stand. Nag Kath looked at his guide for permission to approach, met with a small nod of approval. It was empty. He took the liberty of touching the bowl. It was metal, perhaps bronze, certainly too dirty to be a seeing mirror. But there was magic there; slight and original. The two walked back into the sun and sat in the weeds. His guide said, “Houlouch, me. Kath, yes?”

“Yes.”

“You heal?”

“Yes. Not Elvish. Not Elvish only. Sickness also.”

“Sickness?”

“Illness. People are hot, cough …” he coughed. “Wounds.”

“Nghummph.” Houlouch rose, “Show.”

They walked to the other end of the village. Nag Kath suspected they could run at a good speed when they wanted but at Dwarf height and their own muscular build, walking was almost two steps to his one. They entered a hut where a woman who had not come to see him sat over a small child. He, or she, was lying on a bed of furs and straw. The Elf had no idea of ages among the Drughu but he put it at four in mannish development.

The child was alert and frightened by the tall, smooth stranger. So was its mother until a signal from Houloush said the Elf was not a danger. Nag Kath leaned over the patient and held its forehead. It was hot. Then he rose and put his same hand on the Wose’s forehead as a benchmark. The child had a fever. The woman spoke to Houloush who interpreted, “He eat Zhund.”

“Poison?”

“Bad to eat.”

Nag Kath decided he had better find out what Zhund was. “Show.”

Zhund was evidently a plant used to make dye and cloth but not to ingest. The dye berries carried the toxin.

Well, he came here of his own free will. Nag Kath leaned over the boy and held his near hand with his own right hand. He placed the left hand alongside the lad’s face. As he concentrated and brought fourth the draw, the matching color of the Drughu was reddish, not unlike the Dwarfs’. It lasted minutes. Nag Kath felt himself weakening but held the spell until the boy’s color faded. Then he fell back on his bottom and felt sweat pouring down his face. These were tough creatures.

Nag Kath picked himself off the hard dirt floor and went outside to be sick. Houloush brought him a dipper of what he thought was water. It tasted worse than what he had just lost but imagined it had restorative powers if kept down. In a few minutes he was closer to normal.

Houloush went back in for a few minutes and then returned to lead Nag Kath away. The Elf spit and asked, “He is well?”

“Nghummph.”

That didn’t mean dead so he hoped for the best and was taken to an empty hut with his things already stashed. They had not been rifled. Nag Kath slept until the next morning.

Charlo had been taken to a field with long, lush grass. At no time had the horse been anxious. Two Woses were sitting on a log watching the beast and grinning. So they did laugh. Everyone should laugh. The Elf smiled back and whistled for his mount that reluctantly trotted over, knowing his master did not have any grain. Nag Kath watched people ladle stew from a communal bowl. One day's meal seemed to be new things added to the last night’s stew. He was able to avoid the meat pieces. Lembas was a blessing. The water was good and it was all these people drank. On the afternoon of the third day, a Wose came from the forest to general awe. This one was definitely older than the rest, moving deliberately. He was unarmed except for his staff. Houloush met him and they exchanged views in their tongue. Evidently the thought transfer was not for specifics. Then the two approached Nag Kath.

__________------__________

He was completely recovered after his long sleep and had seen the youngster at dinner the night before. Houloush said, “This Ourchor.” The Wose nodded but did not speak. Nag Kath gave him a slight bow. If he was here to pay his respects, this was the fellow. Ourchor directed them with his hand to a bower away from curious villagers and they sat cross-legged, not an easy thing with such short, powerful legs.

Houloush said with some reverence, “Ourchor heals.” News that the Elf was not a charlatan must have been sent. He did not know if the child’s ailment was routine or if he had done a valuable service. He did know the boy took enough energy from him to make him sleep nearly eighteen hours. No single illness among men had done that without considerable sorcery behind it. 

Ourchor held his right hand palm-forward to the Elf. Showing none of the concern he felt, Nag Kath met the hand with his left. His fingers were longer but the wise-man’s palm could have swallowed his. There was an exchange of color. It was not painful or draining but something transferred. 

Ourchor pulled his arm away slowly but registered the first look of surprise he had seen among these folk. He and Houloush spoke for several minutes, occasionally looking at their queer guest.

Houloush addressed the Elf, “Colegh?”

“Color?”

“Color.”

Nag Kath said, “It was a gift to find the nature of people. Your red color is warm and wise.” In all his long life, Nag Kath never mentioned to the family-centered Dwarves there might be Pukel-men in the woodpile.

Houloush, “Silver?”

“The color of Elves.”

“But not Elf healing?”

“Wizard.”

Nag Kath did not mind the questioning. These people wanted to be healthy and left alone. No swarm of Drughu would issue forth to conquer Anfalas. Ourchor seemed to be enjoying this and smiled while rising to say what Houloush interpreted as, “Tomorrow, we show.”

Tomorrow was a long way off so Nag Kath pulled his sketch book and started drawing these unique people. As always, kids gathered round and he made quick caricatures of them to take. They would not have been more revered if Timalen had etched them in gold. Two women came; one smiling, one scowling. He captured them for the archive. Two of the men returned towards dusk carrying a deer for the pot. It was skinned and most of the meat used for the stew but other flesh was hung on tree twigs to dry for storage. Nothing was wasted. As it happened, one of the hunters was the father of the healed boy. Houloush said he knew nothing of the malady or the cure so the man must have been in the wild almost a week.

Men were very interested in his bow and arrows. He let them practice. Even with a Dun Breathen pull, they could have snapped it like kindling in those powerful arms. It did not take long to hit what they aimed at either. Upon request, a warrior produced one of their shafts for comparison. It had a steel head so they must either craft iron in one of the unknown number of villages in this forest or trade for some needs. Men carried daggers too, not fighting weapons but to cut food and plants for the necessities of life.

Tomorrow finally came. It was a day of worship at the stone temple. The man beside Houloush in the first hut was the Sayer. He filled the basin with water from a clay pot used only in the ceremony and prayed over it. It was all in their tongue and no one saw the need to tell Nag Kath what was said. Blessings must have lasted half a bell before there was that much longer in Saying and Response from the congregation. The children were better behaved than those of men having to hold still that long. These creatures held still very well. Ourchor was a spectator, so not a holy man in a spiritual sense. Nag Kath supposed him a high healer who might slowly travel at need, aligned with the powers worshipped here today, a specialist in flesh.

The Elf was taken to where Ourchor was staying, a hut like any other. With no windows, a board was set outside with a variety of herbs and roots upon it. A few looked local but most were common weeds found in most forests of Middle-earth. Ourchor seemed to be having a good time. He took a small handful of yerth leaves and ground them in a small bowl until not quite a powder. Then he added water and stirred them with his finger.

If Nag Kath had done that with the healer’s concentration, his finger would have shined. These people, any healer he ever met, did not issue a color but the Elf could tell power was being transferred. Then the old healer swiped a fingerful into Nag Kath’s palm. It glowed silver now, brightly! Not sure what to do with it, the Elf looked at Ourchor who wiped it off with his hand and smeared it back in the bowl.

Another bowl was prepared the same way and handed to Nag Kath. He stirred it with his finger. Nothing happened. Houloush received instruction and said, “Pull, not push.”

Nothing. Showing no impatience, Ourchor held up his palm again to be met with Nag Kath’s. Ah; pull, not push. He wasn’t to add to the mix. He was to draw from it. Not sure how that would work, he tried again and his finger glowed slightly silver. 

“What does this do?”

Ourchor knew enough of the question to cough twice. Houloush did too and said, “Chest.”

They went through a half-dozen of the different herbs or combinations. Two were for coughs. A combination of two was for fevers. Two more were for wounds, one cuts, one punctures. And the last was for poison. That was what the lad would have gotten if the Elf hadn’t used his own sorcery. 

It dawned on Nag Kath that this was another way to bind his power to healing herbs. He had only seen it done for harm, excepting the horse purge on the river. This was his thanks for saving the lad before Ourchor could get here. He expected the old boy picked-up a few hints from the color exchange. He had too, but it might take as long as the Huntsman’s gift to identify.

That night they had a celebration of deer stew and water. Men sang songs. For one, the women sang and the men growled low hums, almost like the large drums lightly rattled in great plays. They were abed not long after dark.

On the road, Nag Kath thought this was well worth the effort. He learned something valuable about healing and was given a supply of all six ingredients along with their impossible names. He had been welcomed to a fascinating race of men. He healed a youngster. The lad might have been fine anyway but it felt useful. And he just might have left something to make their lives a little easier after an age of being scorned in misunderstanding. 

Charlo knew the way.

______________-------______________

He got home on October eighth. Nothing bad happened. Cal and Eniecia were moved into their new home that had a room for the governess and cook, although Eniecia liked cooking too. Cal saw the need to keep fit after not being able to avoid it at sea. He and Uncle Nag often ran or swam to work-off diplomatic dinners. 

Phylless was glad he was back. She lay on his chest the way she loved and he told her of the queer forest folk. He also hoped they could continue as they were. The King had granted them lands in a place no one else seemed to want, but the hills and rivers of those provinces looked like other places that had farmers and towns and men of all kinds. Someday they would look across the horizon and see opportunity. 

Time compressed. Phylless was meeting people across the strata and they entertained or joined folk for all the many things to do in the storied port. Mrs. Hürna came occasionally. She had her own friends but kept them out of sight. Nag Kath knew better than to ask. She was fascinated by the Woses’ binding spells.

Phylless and he often sat on the small porch looking at the boats bringing life to and from the harbor. If anything, she was more amorous than ever. She knew her man did not have a roving eye for the lasses fluttering their lashes his way. Eniecia privately told her that he was the same for her granna. He was in love.

______________-------______________

Over the years, Nag Kath and Phylless alternated time between Minas Tirith, Pelargir and Dol Amroth. She let him take occasional trips to Dale by himself. Most of the time, they were together. Grandchildren came and grew. Shurran and Penni had three babes, although Cal and Eniecia held at two. When Phyll’s time of change came, she had exactly the right husband who could ease her discomfort with a touch and herbs learned from the Elves.

Wherever they stayed, the changeling explored, visited friends and occasionally made new ones. Phyll like to sleep in. To keep from waking her, Nag Kath often went out with the dawn. Sometimes he would take a book and read to children in the poorer districts. He looked about as old as their da's who were often unlettered. Occasionally he would seem to read but tell his own outlandish tales. Spoken stories would have been sheer nonsense but if someone else wrote them them down, they must be true. Other times he would show them how to juggle or sketch their pictures to take home. Runny noses seemed to get better. 

It was a time of profound joy for them but also tempered with inevitable loss. Phylless was about twenty years younger than most of the people Nag Kath knew from his emergence. Mülto died when he was seventy six, he reckoned that a good run. Sylveth was nearly eighty and died a year later. Whenever Nag Kath thought of her, he smiled knowing that fulfillment found her late but found her well.

Nothing came of the Witch-King. Ghost stories still frightened or entertained people but nothing worse. The rings were gone. Dulgov’s first son was a bellicose fellow but not a strategist. Gondor and allies from Rohan convinced him not to send any more raiding parties. Nag Kath paid particular attention to whether they claimed any sorcery. They didn’t.

The Elf painted and worked with Timalen on larger projects. Of course, he and Phyll saw the Conaths and the Toroldinors often. Syndolan was not the same when they were away. Phylless’ parents both passed away in FO 54 of a fever sweeping Pelargir. It was not much of a fever, but they were old and such is the way of things. The Kaths went downstream to pay their respects. Back in Minas Tirith, she traveled less after that, only going to Dol Amroth and back every four or five years. They were a remarkable couple; he ever young, she aging gracefully. As her hair got whiter, people whispered he was her kept man. Neither of them minded. 

The year Fourth Age 56 started close passings. Talereth, always young at heart, began to fade. Not long after her 80th birthday she fainted and needed long rest. Ecc was ever at her side. She managed tea out a few times but after another fainting bout was bedridden. The Kaths and Ardatha sat vigil to give Ectillion needed rest. Tal stayed sharp and recounted all the lives and matchmaking and adventures each time. One morning she didn’t. 

Everyone took that hard. Talereth was a force of nature. The Kaths and Conaths stayed close to Ectillion. He was distraught. How could he not be? Fortunately, he had many friends from a career well-lived, the best of men.

Three years later, Ardatha caught a chest complaint she could not shake. Her father did everything he could for her but her lungs could not repair themselves. He was there with Reyald and Shurran when she closed her eyes for the last time. Torrold Conath died the same week in Dale. 

Nag Kath was stunned. His beautiful daughter, his son Brenen, Tal, all gone. There was no need for great remembrance. They made their marks in their time. Turnlie was long retired but that was the year they lost her too.

Reyald considered going to Buhr Austar and living out his life but he was now 82. His son-in-law had been Thain in all but name for ten years. His grandson was heir. He wanted to see them, but they would have to come here. He and Ecc sold their large homes and bought a place together where they each had their own sides but with common living areas on one floor. Neither man’s knees could manage staircases. Phylless was an angel throughout. Her two oldest friends in the White City were with their ancestors beyond the circle. She had made many more but there was something about tea with Tal that made everything fine in the world. 

Those few years saw more passings than just family. Lady Éowyn and King Éomer both died within six months of each other in 62 and 63, Prince Elphir in-between. It was the closing of the War of the Ring. Younger people could not comprehend the horror that was largely erased within five years after Barad Dûr. It was hard for them to think of the old folk in the street as more than in the way of man-carts. The last of Nag Kath’s old friends, Timalen, Reyald and Ectillion all died in the year F.O. 65, of different things and reasons but now gone to legend. It happened so fast it almost seemed like one death, a mercy, perhaps. 

One should not think those years were all loss. Wives, husbands, children and all of the people one knows from being friends with friendly people were everywhere you looked. Babies came to the world of men. Cal and Eniecia visited for a long time with their children who played with Shurran’s children. Queen Arwen presented her ageless husband with a girl-child in the year 64. They named her Millicend after a woman who cared for the King when he was young. Nag Kath did not see her until she was older but she was said to be a cheerful lass.

After Eniecia and Cal went home, Phyll snuggled next to her Elf and kissed his ear. She was 66. For a few years after they married she was sure she would lose him to a younger woman someday. She had not considered it since. He was steadfast, as Brenen said; a marrying-man. Nag Kath still left for months at a time on his various projects to save the world. Those were getting hard to come by. Right-living folk visited from Khand. It wasn’t quite a pilgrimage to him, but he did have to think of things for them to do. They all said the Hurms were civilizing slowly.

About the same time, the Hobbits Meriodoc and Peregrin made a long and triumphant trip through Rohan with a long visit to the Glittering Caves and then came to live in the White City. They were both widowers and retired after long public service. At first they were granted apartments on the seventh but it wasn’t long before the drafty echoes of the palace did not suit the sociable Halflings and they took a apartments on the fifth, a cook, soon two cooks and a housemaid. 

The Kaths were mostly in Dol Amroth and did not hear of them until two years later. They dined together about every six months after that. Relations were cordial but sometimes Merry did not want to be reminded of the bad old times. He missed his wife terribly and, as Nag Kath could understand, one can be lonely in a crowd. Master Brandybuck died in the spring of F.O. 74. 

After a time, Peregrin invited the admirable Eustais and Patience Huskdorran to live with him. They were also from Merry’s Buckland and enjoyed the White City tremendously, but could not remember why they left the Shire. Nag Kath saw Pip about every three months after that. Phylless was fascinated and the two of them would talk leaving poor Uncle Nag to fetch more tea. The old Hobbit was sharp as ever and while he didn’t mind talking about the Fellowship, he was always interested in the latest gossip north of the prow. They lost him in mid-summer of F.O. 80 at a ripe old age. Tumlen died a month later.

Every so often they saw the King. He and Arwen started riding more on the Pelennor with Millicend. Eldarion was a much larger presence, especially at civic and embassy functions. The young man took after his da with the same blue eyes and strong chin which he kept clean-shaven. Nag Kath got to know him when he deputized for the vacant position of international trade expert. Yet another Bror was more congenial and interested in reviving commerce.

______________-------______________

There was another farewell to make.

In late F.O. 81 Nag Kath rode to Osgiliath and cut cross-country to Emyn Arnen. He presented himself at the palace. It wasn’t half a bell until the Chamberlain himself came to the reception hall saying, “Welcome, Lord Kath. The prince is resting now. I cannot say when he will be receiving.”

“Thank you, Emirin. I will take quarters at the Meadow. If Lord Faramir wishes to see me, I can be reached there.”

The Chamberlain said gravely, “Perhaps it would be better if you stayed here, sir.” The man summoned an attendant and told him to take His Lordship to the Heuron room. As he was led away, Emerin added, “Your bag will be brought and we’ll take good care of your horse. Oh, Lord Elboron is just returned from the south. I will let him know you are here.”

Nag Kath knew this was hard and laid his hand on the man's shoulder, “Thank you for all your many cares.”

Chamberlain Emirin closed his eyes for a moment. Slowly opening them he managed, “I make you no promises. Your chance may come suddenly.”

Nag Kath made himself at home in the suite. He would rather have had a room at the inn with the bustle and conversations of people he didn’t know. Dinner was brought to his room. Wandering down the hall he was admitted to the family library where he pulled a book on King Turambar, of all people. It mentioned his northern Queen in only the vaguest terms. The Elf wondered that it might have been written from notes long after the man died. As sunlight failed he went back to his room for rest.

A respectful but firm knock on his door. Nag Kath called, “Enter.”

“Your pardon, My Lord. The Prince will see you now.”

It would be about the three-bell if bells were sounded at this hour. The attendant led him down familiar halls by lamplight and Nag Kath was shown into the bedchamber. Nearing Syndolan, a full fire was burning inside. The changeling approached and bowed. Prince Faramir, Steward of Gondor and one of the last remaining war heroes, lay on his back with his torso supported by a stack of pillows. 

Nag Kath had not seen him in two years but knew he was failing. The man coughed and then motioned him over. A smile to his nurse was her signal to leave. The Elf took her stool and held the colorless hand lying near the edge of the bed. The man squeezed slightly and rasped, “I am glad you came, old friend. Emerin says you may visit the sea soon.”

“Aye, My Prince. I will visit my granddaughter there.”

Faramir coughed slightly and gathered his thoughts saying, “The water blossom! Those were good times.”

“I remember, sir. She is a granna four times now. One of the girls is our next Queen Nephtat.”

The Lord of Ithilien smiled at that before saying, “You have had many exciting adventures. My grandson …” Again, the dry cough as the Prince closed his eyes, willing his pain to wait. “My grandson keeps lore of the old days.”

“Indeed. A few years ago he asked me of the great books left in Imladris. I hope he is well.”

“He is. Say hello while you are here … I will not see you again, Nag Kath. Thank you for the water. Thank you for your service to the King ...”

Nag Kath waited to be sure Faramir had completed his sentence before saying, “It was my honor …”

The Prince hadn’t finished. He squeezed the Elf’s hand slightly harder, as if to be sure it was still there. Faramir licked his lips and barely breathed, “Boromir rests easier now.” drifting into sleep. 

Nag Kath gently laid the Prince’s hand on the bed and bowed his head between his knees for a minute. Lord Altheras forgave him for Helm’s Deep. Faramir forgave him for Nag Kath’s own troop. The book was closing. 

_____________-------_____________

The next morning an attendant knocked again and said, “Excuse me, Lord Kath. Lord Elboron hopes you can join him to break your fast.” Nag Kath nodded and the fellow added, “Half a bell, sir.”

Elboron was already seated when the Elf arrived early. With him were his wife, Angalica and son Barahir. Born late in his parents marriage, Elboron was a young 66, barely half his father’s age now. Alas, his older half-sister was now with her ancestors. Elboron's first wife was of noble birth from the tangle of bloodlines in Dol Amroth. It was a loving marriage until she was lost to the same sort of wasting disease that took Eniece. Angalica, now 52, was a girl of a commercially important family in Osgiliath along the lines of Brenen’s and Bard’s in Dale, Tumlen’s folk too, come to that. She was a full-figured woman with a winning smile.

She gleamed, “Welcome back, Lord Kath. Thank you for your pains.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, my Lady. I was fortunate to see your Lord Father last night.”

Elboron added, “Yes, good of you to come. You are leaving for Belfalas shortly?”

“I am, sir, a short trip … maybe too long, though.”

The heir became quiet for a moment and said, “That is how da wants it. A modest man, he hopes to join his ancestors quietly. He will rest next to mother and be the first of our line remembered here.”

Nag Kath said, “And it is good to see you, Lord Barahir. It looks like you have been fighting Balrogs!”

The young man had a small scar in the middle of a purple welt under one eye. It didn’t dampen his enthusiasm though, “Worse than Balrogs! I was training a new batch of line riders for the militia and got too close. It is good to see you again.”

Elboron would lead the conversation, “Nag Kath, can I ask you to take a letter to Prince Alphros?”

“Certainly, My Lord, though I do not leave for a fortnight.”

The heir said, “This is not urgent, but sometimes the messenger sets the priority.” He raised an eyebrow which said a great deal.

Breakfast was pleasant, mostly the Princess asking about Nag Kath’s experience in Osgiliath. Her grandfather was an aqueduct-man and rented one of Kathen’s buildings until he could buy it on the way to success serving the Anduin trade. Never wanting, she was still a tradesman’s daughter and did not mind who knew. Neither did her husband. She took good care of him and he appreciated it.

Before the food was gone Nag Kath asked the heir, “Sir, has there been any word of the Elves of Emyn Vierald?”

“No, not in a while. They restored, made better I dare say, the fields and forests you visited. The Elves asked grace away from men. It is father’s policy to go when asked and we haven’t been asked. I expect that is because they left shortly after you were last there. It has been some time since we saw their splendid foods on the river.”

When they finished, Barahir jerked his head for the Elf to follow. They wandered back to the library and sat in two very comfortable chairs. The young lord asked, “What news, my friend? Have you discovered any new secrets of the past?”

Nag Kath grinned, “Aye, Bara, none written, but you should come to Minas Tirith. I am off to Dol Amroth to see Eniecia but Shurran has all my files if I am not there … things that aren’t in the official archives. I scribbled notes after listening to the Elf-keepers in Rivendell.

Bara wondered, “They seem fascinating creatures. They just appear when Elves have left?”

“So it seems. They are there, but didn’t get there. They have food but don’t grow it, ale too. How is your Sindarin?”

“Poor and getting worse. Most of the last two years I have been earning my Captaincy, including this black eye trying to whip farmers into soldiers.”

Nag Kath cried, “Sergeants! Bara, you need a couple of big, tough fellows who understand. Armies live on sergeants.”

“I’ve got them; archers and riders both. Thank you for the offer of your files. I will do that when I can. You understand we need to stay close.”

“Yes, sorry. Your grand-da was friend to me when I had few.”

Barahir stretched his long legs and said, “When I have time, I will write. Someone must record the deeds of recent times, not just the dusty ones.”

Nag Kath agreed, “I should think so. Mind, even men lived much longer then, so they had time. Some are the same story with new names.”

The young man considered that, “Like Lúthien and Beren?” The Elf was silent. Barahir continued, “We have such a situation now.”

Nag Kath smiled, “If you would write of the King and Queen, do it after time for contemplation, though it cannot hurt to innocently talk with those who remember them.” He was quiet for a moment, “I have seen much the same, married for over seventy years, all tolled. We could not have children and their Highnesses have two.” He looked directly at the young writer, “There is heartbreak in such tales.”

Barahir was not expecting Nag Kath to be so forthcoming. He knew Phylless was well-along in years and that the Elf could never join her with Mandos, if he made it that far. The heir said gently, “Thank you for your advice. I will ask of Shurran, perhaps when things are settled here.”

Nag Kath brightened, “Come to Dol Amroth too. Most of the archives are in private hands there. You won’t have any trouble with introductions. See the sights, catch some fish, you might meet people your own age.”

Barahir nodded, saying, “I expect to be there before long. Prince Alphros is now eighty-six. Our houses need to remind each other of the ties that bind.”

The young man stood to shake hands, “Safe travels. I will see if father’s letter is ready for you.”

______________-------______________

Wonder of wonders; The King and Queen welcomed a new daughter to their family in F.O. 85. They named her Inariel after a relative of Arwen. In a rather astonishing statement from the prim Penni, she cleared her throat at dinner and announced, “Nag, word is that alchemists immediately sold potions and creams said to restore lordship to men after their ardor has flagged.”

Shurran stared at the ceiling. Phylless grinned. 

On a pretty summer day in 86, Nag Kath rode to Osgiliath for art supplies and herbs. He had done some healing lately and his stocks were low. The plan was for him to stay overnight with Tumlath and be back in the morning. When he got home, Bernielle was crying on the sofa. The cook/housekeeper often cried but this was different. She looked at the master but words would not come. Finally, she pointed up the stairs. 

Nag Kath took them three at a time to see Phylless lying on her back in bed, pale but at peace. She had been fine and fared him well the day before. In the night, a blood vessel behind her heart burst. She would have been gone in moments. It wasn’t anything he could have healed. That didn’t make this easier. 

Phyll was 87, not two years younger than him. They had been together most of their lives. She was his best friend. People seeing the blonde man with the elderly woman could not fathom that he had aged in mind just as she had. Together they had seen the golden years of the King's Peace, welcomed Nag's great, great grandchildren into the world, seen things both fantastic and of home and hearth. 

For a time he did what he always did, he just did it faster. Phyll could walk the gradual inclines of Minas Tirith but not the switchbacks. His reliable arm was there to steady her. Since she refused to be carried like in one of his Kath Baths, she used man-carts for visits to the other levels. Bernielle was distraught. Calming her helped him. Soothing is healing too. Nag Kath missed the relatively younger women who came to Phyll for advice. She never had the flair or audacity of Tal, but she was friend to many and was missed by more people than her husband could count. He took her remains to lie in Pelargir next to her parents and sister. Nag Kath was never a believer that where you lay when you died mattered. His problems were those who weren’t quite dead. In this matter he knew, as he had with Eniece, that people were of place. He was not. He would honor them wherever they found rest.

An Elf in the world of men would see everyone he loved die. He knew that, but knowing wasn’t feeling. His lovely women were the essence of feeling. Eniece was by his side for eighteen years as they both learned confidence together. He was confident and Flor was not, leading to tragedy. Phylless was ready for 50 years of mature love and friendship. He would miss her courage and humor and just being there. He knew he was lucky beyond anyone on earth. It would still take a lot of his endless time to heal.


	40. Call of the Sea

** _Chapter 40_ **

** _Call of the Sea_ **

**Slight spoiler; family trees for the Shurran and Eniecia families are on the last three pages of the appendices here: <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8> They include dates of birth and death.**

As with Eniece, losing Phyll meant time to reflect. He knew in his heart that another long marriage would be difficult. In a strange way of counting, he was still a young man when he married Phylless. That couldn't happen again. And it bothered him. One shouldn't know too much for love to grow. Nag Kath had his pick of women who would be glad to try, but this was not an inheritance. 

He and Phylless seldom talked about her leaving the circles of the world. She was a confident woman, lived her life and let the chips fall. The vague lore that Elves who died would be be recreated might not come to pass for creatures such as him. Nag Kath didn't worry either. He did his best with the tools to hand. 

It was also a period to take inventory of the greater world. Shur and Eniecia were still fit and strong. Nag Kath would embrace them but not cling. Haldiera was ten years older than Eniecia, more mother than sister when they were little. She would complete her life in Buhr Austar. Family in Dale were glad to see him every ten years or so, but now in their fifth generation, he was past influence, as he should be. Great, great grandfathers shouldn’t look over your shoulder.

What of the Elves? There were still Silvans in the Halls and Lorien. He was interested but never invited. A Nag-Kath grin spread across his face wondering if he should he go to Emyn Vierald after his mourning and woo the lovely Quenda healer. They would attend theater in Dol Amroth and then dance slowly in a club on the fifth before she fell into his arms. No, she had already sailed and could not have been taken from their world any more than Gracie could leave Dale. Presumptuous orcs should know their place! That got another grin.

The Elf had wherewithal. Somehow paying little attention to finances worked. Shurran was 66 and retired from both design and management with son Reyaldar taking the reins in his capable hands. Things in Osgiliath were also in the next generation of control. Both here and Dale had been designed so Nag Kath didn’t have to do anything. He would have been a miserable businessman and was never willing to learn. Good men could do that, and they did.

In the world were threats to the King’s Peace, threats only he could see. They had behaved, of late. Nag Kath would follow Orlo’s hints however far and long they led. Lifeless eyes still stared from the Dead Marshes. Spirits walked the Mournshaws. Only desperate men crossed the Barrow Downs. Orcs prowled the northern wastes. That men in their short lives would not bother with them did not absolve him from duty.

Nag Kath decided he would sharpen his skills with the militias and go to Dol Amroth in the autumn. That went well. Ten years before, the central Gondor command initiated four training sessions of a week each rather than three, partly because of the difficulty of getting the tall city to efficiently drain its warriors out the bottom. Even so, the days were past when a man must serve on the line in combat to advance in any other occupation. They had to train, and shirking that duty could haunt someone thinking of high office, but many lords of commerce would not have their pampered men-children serving in some miserable border swamp just to earn the patch.

Lord Kath never held a line commission or had so much as a batman. He was staff, and no one, from the King down, knew exactly of what. The sense among the few who truly knew him was that you did not hear until he was done. He rode with the Elendil Lancers and taught a session of Slow Swords for men who wanted to feel that craft in their blood. This year he attended all four weeks on Nemren, a stallion now in his seventh year. A wealthy property owner who dealt with Kathen purchased him from the Lossarnach depot for vanity and never properly trained him to ride in line at speed. When the old boy’s gout finally defeated his pride, he sold the animal to Nag Kath. A month with professional cavalry really helped the horse understand what he was born to do.

It was time to travel. Other than the coast of Belfalas, Nag Kath had not seen any of great sea. Orlo’s coin told him, no, suggested, he might find answers south of Harad. There were vast coastal ways in Gondor along the great river mouths and then the Elvish harbors now said to be empty. The way to reach both was Dol Amroth. 

______________-------______________

Eldarion was forty three but could pass for a clean-shaven thirty. Like his father, he would marry late. Father and son were waiting in the King’s office when Lord Kath was introduced. After his bow, both men shook his hand and showed him to the same chairs and low table for favored guests. The King smiled and recalled, “It has been a couple years. I hope you got my letter.”

“I did, Sire. Thank you for thinking of her. Phylless will be with me always. And you, gentlemen? I do not suppose you have heard from the ornery Lord Gimli?”

Aragorn smiled through his gray beard and answered, “I got a letter from him only last month. He and Legolas are at the caves again. It must be Legolas’ turn under the mountain.”

That gave Nag Kath a chance to ask of the Ithilien Elves conversationally, “Matters must be well in hand to the south.”

Eldarion did not betray any secrets in saying, “They are gone to the west now, though some returned to the Woodland Realm.”

That confirmed Elboron’s educated guess. So much for romancing the healer! Nag Kath admitted, “I have not kept track since the business with the pool. My Lords; have there been any more disturbances from the dead?”

Aragorn shook his head before replying, “Nothing definite, but few people go where they tread. It may be well past my time before those lands are attractive. I cannot think what the Easterlings see in them.”

Eldarion asked, “What news of Dale? I know you were much of that fair land.”

“Still fair, sir. I have two adopted families from Dale. One is now five generations from me. I have not been there in some time. The other family moved here and I am still close to two grandchildren, lo they are elderly with flocks of their own. 

“Sire, Lord Eldarion, perhaps you can help me; you said the Elves have left Ithilien. Do you know if they are still in the Grey Havens of Lindon? I thought to travel there, but do not want to trespass.”

The Prince answered, “Few if any. The shipwrights have long sailed.”

Nag Kath wondered how Legolas would leave. That could wait, “Do your Lordships’ vessels ply those routes now? I should think that would be the way to visit Annúminas with the coasts secure.”

Aragorn thought long before saying, “Not yet. It may well be a better path, but winds and water are dangerous also, and there are many subjects to honor along the way. Prince Eldarion rode there last year in my stead.”

That got the grin, “I am sure you kept your Lord Father’s strong pace. By your leave, sirs, I think I will travel to Lindon and learn what I can. After that, perhaps I will explore the coast of Harad. That was a clue from my little sorcerer.”

The King said, “Gladly, though neither is of my domain. Give us a full report. Should I see the Lord of the Glittering Caves; we will hoist a tankard to your journeys.”

After the Elf was dismissed, Eldarion stared at his boots for a moment before asking, “Father, he has done yeoman service. Why does mother distrust him still?”

Gazing into space, Aragorn replied, “In Elvish time, he is still too near the peril of old, else I would have said more of Legolas going north. I fear he is a spirit born to wander long years. Nag Kath has been a friend to Gondor at great risk and terrible cost.”

The Prince considered that and wondered, “But not a true friend?”

Aragorn looked at his perceptive son. Was that how it appeared? “How so?”

“Forgive me, father. I need to learn the old tools. He seems the last of his kind. You have brought him into your service at need, but not in fellowship. Please tell me when you can.”

Eldarion bowed and left the King with his thoughts. Yes, ‘not in fellowship’. Aragorn’s friends were invited to Lossarnach or at table to commemorate his coronation, places Arwen would be. He thought of that every day when he passed the portrait of himself and his Lady Queen, frozen in mind of an Uruk-hai on trial for his life.

The King sat alone and considered a use for Nag Kath he dared not even tell his heir. Aragorn could feel time in his bones. Losing Pippin and Faramir weighed on his mind. Only the three Fellows who tracked Nag Kath’s Uruk-hai across the plain were left. Legolas might live an age. Gimli could live another hundred years. But the graying King would leave his Arwen a widow within a generation of men, two at best.

She had bound herself to him in mortal life. Would she diminish? Would she succumb in grief? The King would return her gift. He would have her join her people if she still could. Men could not reach the Undying Lands. They sank or sailed in circles where the shore should be now that the Valar had removed Aman from mortal reach. With the great Mariner Elf Lord Cirdan of Lindon gone, Arwen would need one of two remaining Elves capable of taking the ‘straight road’ to the Undying Lands.

Aragorn watched Nag Kath’s eyes when told the last ship had sailed. The changeling was clever, if not subtle. He did not seem disappointed. It was no secret that Legolas intended to sail west, probably after the Fellowship became legend. Of those two Elves; the one with the silly grin had an uncanny knack for finding solutions everyone else stumbled past.

Yes, Nag Kath; explore the Elvish harbors and tell your King the tale.

And yes, my son; the changeling deserves better.

______________-------______________

Nag Kath and his very nervous horse took the Bounteous for Pelargir to visit Phylless and Helien. From there he boarded the blue-water Maiden’s Breath to Dol Amroth. It was a miserable trip with storms coming early this year. Of the twelve passengers, six were green, five held their own and one helped the deckhands tack the sails. Nemren was a poor sailor. Nag Kath brought him along with more than his usual kit because this would probably be a long stay. The Elf soothed the poor animal frequently. Two days before making land, the skies cleared and the horse gentled.

At 65, Eniecia still had her great granna Borenne’s timeless beauty. Cal was half Dunedain and might last much longer. They had debated selling their large home after their children had children for so long that old Captain Ivandred moved in with them after his dear Durnalath died nine years ago. He was young at one hundred and four, still walking every sunny day tall and strong. Not that anyone bothered counting but Nag Kath was a stripling at eighty-nine.

Caladrion was sixty-eight and now in his sixth year as Minister of Foreign Affairs for the Principality. One would think such things would be managed from Minas Tirith, but the rulers of Dol Amroth thought relations with their neighbors fell in their purview, thank you very much. Their son Field was forty four and daughter Callistra a year behind. Field had two daughters with his wife Grenda. The older girl was Raniece who was twenty and favored her da, not a bad thing for a lass since he had fine features that translated well. She was athletic and enjoyed riding. 

The younger girl was Talienne. She was the next Queen Nepthat, albeit it with lighter hair. Just eighteen, she was attracting attention from eligible lads as well. There was no hurry. Like her granna, Talienne, liked books and reading but also rode with her sister and Cal or a sharp-eyed soldier.

Callistra married the estimable Phaeron Libron who had achieved the rank of Lieutenant before joining his father’s firm. He also managed the property Eniecia inherited from her parents here in Dol Amroth and banked payments from holdings in Minas Tirith. It was not much work since Phaeron had a capable man in their office who actually ran things. Nag Kath liked him. 

Callistra had some of Tal’s duties as doyen of Dol Amroth and amateur matchmaker, though her raised eyebrow was middling at best. She made up for it with a pleasant smile and charitable disposition. They had two children as well; son Menalgir, Subaltern in the Marines, and daughter Derissa who was thirteen. All four of the grandchildren were considered in the lower end of the top-echelon of marriageable Dol Amroth. They were the direct descendants of King Brand on Eniecia’s side and grandchildren of Minister Caladrion, well respected in his own right. Cal was also cousin to the King of Rohan. Being Thain-kin of the barbarous Buhrs did not count for much more than their relationship to the dubious Uncle Nag. 

There was more to that than met the cultured eyes of Dol Amroth. Eniecia and Shurran each came into a hundred Florin from their parents’ estate. Their children knew that but the youngsters didn’t. Most of Eniecia’s legacy was in Minas Tirith property but she got quite a bit of cash and rents which allowed them to support Cal’s station. They owned a few local properties too, which Field managed.

Uncle Nag hadn't been here since Prince Faramir died. He was still popular, even if the children were too old for groats coming out of their ears. A large family dinner was organized at the Boar and Hare. There had never been boars on the rock and hares ate the gardens. At first, everyone was very cautious around the recent widower but he seemed his usual self and old stories flowed. Captain Ivandred was able to walk down by himself though he and Eniecia took a man-cart back up the hill.

The Elf’s house was rented after his long absence. Of course, Nag Kath was invited to stay with them but between the couple, Captain and two domestics, it would be crowded with a new resident who did not sleep. He looked for a building near the Commercial Harbor that could serve as home and headquarters for his next forays into the unknown.

______________-------______________

After two weeks, what had been a business three blocks back from the quayside in New Port was his. Of modest size, the ground floor was like his first home in Dale with one large room, kitchen, privy and spare room for servants. Upstairs was mostly bedrooms but the main room below was open on both floors. He would make the largest space upstairs his library for the books and drawings in their hanging folios. The files in Dale would have to stay there for now. 

What sealed the deal was that it was only three blocks from the rare stable where Eniecia kept their horse and in a direct line to her house on other side of the aqueduct. Nemren, glad to be on solid ground, needed better references than Lord Kath. The house set him back five Florin and needed another two for repairs. Phaeron knew just the man for the work. 

Cal had a long sip of the pale Rosuldrië wine and said, “Let me be sure of your intent; you purpose to travel up the coast to the Elvish Grey Havens and explore? And the King has granted you permission?

“Aye, but he does not control. That is still Elvish, even if they are said to be gone. I would not be surprised if there are sorcerous wards guarding the empty places.”

Captain Legorn Ivandred observed, “Pretty cruise, but why not just go with the King to Annúminas and ride over from there?”

“I considered that, my friend, but I do not know the coasts at all, and I may need to. I have other trips planned and ought to be a decent sailor.”

Cal shrugged, “I suppose we will learn of those the hard way too. I, for one, don’t have any trouble with this. There is a handful of captains who go as far as the Brandywine for Halfling leaf and fine iron craft from the Blue Mountain Dwarves. Lindon is not that much further; thought it is a world away in terms of the company one can expect.”

His grand-da in-law said, “If you know of a captain who would like to add bright coin to his cargo, I would like a word.”

Cal looked at his da and thought out loud, “Two come to mind. They will not go until next season so you have time to prepare.”

Captain Ivandred added helpfully, “Wear your hair back when you get there and hope those Elf eyes see your ears before they shoot.”

“I will, old friend, though I think the difficulty will be with the sailors learning of their further destination on the water. That; I must leave to the master.”

After Nag Kath moved-in and had things the way he wanted, Callistra recommended cook/housekeeper Miss Glynnys to stay the day making breakfast and dinner. A hard-earned forty, she only smiled if she had to. She knew fish.

The next evening, the Elf walked into the Marlinspike along the Working Harbor, not his usual sort of place. He took a stool at the bar next to a large man with tattoos on his neck and hands. Cal said to ask the barman for a Captain Quaille. A lass of not eighteen was serving so Nag Kath pivoted on his stool and surveyed the room.

The salty-dog next to him wondered, “Just in?”

“No, I’m looking for Quaille.”

“Tall fellow with a sliced ear?”

“Never met him. I was told he could help me with cargo.”

The sailor put two fingers in his mouth and whistled in the direction of four seamen playing Dukks. They all looked over but continued the hand. After a slapping his poor cards down, one rose and walked behind the bar laying his forearms on the planks. The tattooed man said, “He’s looking for Quaille.”

The barman looked the pale blonde over closely, “What’s that to you, young fellow?”

“I’d like to talk to him about a commission next season. He comes recommended.”

“Long time. He’ll be working from Pelargir to Osgiliath until the melts.”

“It will wait.”

The barman ran a business, “If he shows, I’ll see if I can remember to tell him.”

That produced a silver and a card. As Nag Kath finished his ale he said, “Part of that includes another mug for my friend, here.” The tattooed salt grinned broadly and tinked a fingernail against his empty.

______________-------______________

**The map Middle-earth or several of the original LOTR maps will help with this chapter.**

Nag Kath used his time to learn water. He bought a sailboat meant for two but could be managed by one in fair seas. Mostly he sailed around the White Harbor catching fish and drawing the island from a distance. When the swells were calm, he took the Wintern around the point trying to hook one of the prized yellow Odar. The third time he took someone who knew what he was doing.

There were things to do in town too. Uncle Nag chaperoned his young females at musical shows, plays and other wholesome entertainment. Sometimes those became less prim when he was coaxed out of his endless supply of stories. They always thought them fantasy because how could such things happen in the world? Seeing the troll head stabilizing the jetty in Pelargir when visiting Uncle Shurran sowed honest doubt.

Callistra managed to find a few older females to accompany them. Nag Kath was polite, but not ready. It was too soon after Phyll and he had two trips in mind that might take years to complete, if he survived. Most days, the Elf hiked up to Cal’s to walk the flatter streets with Captain Ivandred. Eniecia came with them more than not. Cal worked long hours at the citadel so he got his exercise too.

In early May, Glynnys answered a knock to reveal a tall, dark man in an oil slicker on the porch. He showed her Nag Kath’s card. Since he was expected around now, she showed him in and asked if he wanted tea. In unexpectedly cordial tones he said that would serve.

Quaille waited half a bell until the Elf returned from exploring the healer’s district. No one seemed to have replaced the powerful Mrs. Hürna. The Captain stood and the two shook hands. Using a prearranged sign, Glynnys remembered shopping and said she would be back about lunch. Nag Kath motioned for the Captain to retake his seat and helped himself to a mug of tea from the kettle.

Without preamble, Quaille started, “Marstairs said you’re looking to haul cargo.”

“Aye, nothing heavy. I was told you know the north.”

“I’m from the Gwathlö estuary. How heavy?”

“Just me. I need to go to the Gulf of Lhün, might be there two weeks.”

Quaille did his sums. That was less than a week’s travel from the Brandywine with the winds of the season, but that was a large harbor and he did not know it. No one did. Elves were said gone, so why bother since there was nothing to trade? Folk who had tried were repulsed by Elf wards. He had a sip and asked, “Just you?”

“And anything you want to get on the way back. That is your business. Tell me of your ship.”

“An older harrier, built more for speed than hauling grain down the Anduin. Crew of fifteen. That’s me, First and Second Mates, the rest on deck and a boy.” The Captain had another sip of tea and added, “I don’t suppose you know those waters? Elves have not been welcoming. Forgive me but you look a bit green for sail and hard harbors.”

Nag Kath pushed his hair behind his ear saying, “I might be able to convince them, if there are any left.”

Quaille leaned back on the couch and asked, “Did you miss your ship? The Blue Dwarves haven’t seen a swan leave in sixty years.”

“Different family. I’ll be coming back with you. There might be things there I can use. It is your business but we’ll need a stable crew.”

The Captain wouldn’t mind a look at those ports. If he had an Elf who spoke their tongue and could get past the sorcery, there might be things lying about that folk with fine tastes would appreciate here. It was time to ask, “Now, we are looking at an extra month out past the Brandywine berthage. I figure that runs to three Florin, making up what we don’t carry north.”

Nag Kath knew they wouldn’t take much of anything up. Ships got things there; wheat from the treacherous Gwathlö, Dunish barley from the Isen, Dwarvish and northern things from the Brandywine. Quaille would know he knew so Nag Kath said, “Two, in gold. Half here, half when we get back. Throw in another nipper if your crew needs convincing after we turn north from the Shire.”

“Done and done. We leave in three days. A good faith deposit is customary.”

Nag Kath pulled two nippers from his pocket and handed them to the mariner saying, “I will see you then, Captain Quaille.”

______________-------______________

The First Wife eased her way out of the slip and into the outgoing channel of the White Harbor. First mate Forunhir smiled and was friendly but the rest of the crew avoided looking the Elf eye-to-eye. As he would learn later; taking a greenbottom on a long voyage was considered bad luck, not as bad as a woman, of course, but they thought it risked the displeasure of Ulmo and his servants. Nag Kath reckoned he was strange enough on his own merits. It would not take long to show he had his uses.

The ship kept well away from the silt-deltas of the Ringlo and made for the rocky point off Lond Cobas. In these gentle waters with enough breeze against to tack, they could keep moving at night by timing the turns. Like most small ships, deckhands dropped several lines with baited hooks of different sizes, held well underwater by small stones. When the men weren’t working sail or rigging, one would pull the lines in on a cranked wheel to check for dinner. After several reels of stolen bait, they got two fair-sized red Odar and a pail of silver tullars. 

Nag Kath made another friend almost immediately when he gave the galley cook a supply of spices and herbs. They weren’t anything they couldn’t have bought in the market but sailors weren’t used to such amenities. Only a day or two out, the ship still had stores of vegetables and fruit. Meals would be reduced to hard biscuits and dried fish if the fresh ones weren’t biting. The Elf had a supply of Lembas stored in his cabin. 

The First Wife was organized a bit differently than a pure cargo run. Men slept in both the hammock room and in the hold. Sailing at night meant men slept, or tried to, all hours of the day. Quaille and Fornuhir showed Nag Kath how to steer by the stars and were helped by his vision. On cloudy nights, the crew knew to stay well away from the jagged shoreline.

After five uneventful days, they rounded the headlands to the Lefnui River mouth. It was a powerful river above a ridge of north/south mountains that kept water from reaching the western coast. The thin harbor stretched fully a day in if needed. The outermost village was Feren Town. It had ale and meat if you had money. 

The crew was getting used to the tall blonde man. It was clear he had sailed before and could get up the rigging in a hurry. He was not used to the large, triangular sails which had to be rolled and released depending on the wind or that the booms could sweep a careless man overboard. Four days after Feren they reached the tip of Gondor, the point of Andrast where the Pukel-men dwelt. Nag Kath kept that story to himself. Sailors are a superstitious bunch and dealings with the curious woodland creatures might be better told after they were well away from those shores.

Captain Quaille sailed half a day past the rocky outcropping before turning due north for the western river harbors. There would be little to eat on land. They caught enough fish not to eat the dried meat but the little towns along the windward side of the Andrast Boot would not harvest the first summer vegetables for another month. The crew made the turn into the Bay of Lond Angren supplied by the raging Isen ready for a meal and an ale.

Quaille stayed an extra day to provision and repair a rip in the front sail needing removal. Navigating came first but in lulls, all hands had specialties like; sewing sails, rope making or splicing, woodwork and preparing meals. Nag Kath took his liberty to explore the town itself. This was the first natural harbor of the Great Belegaer Sea above Belfalas and the first river bringing goods from the heartland. It was too rough for larger barges but too convenient to ignore. Ships took more than they left. Being the slack season before the grain arrived, townsmen were glad of coppers from the few crews docked at the wharf.

The mouth of the Gwathlo was only two days north and would have been sooner but for tricky winds. They had no reason to go, but Nag Kath arranged for the ship to dock so he could get a look at the wharves. This was just a funnel for the vast flows coming from Eriador, the sort that covered Tharbad every so often. The passenger told them of the homes on pilings that rose like docks. Quaille allowed the men a good night’s sleep after the strong barley drinks of Cardolan and they made their way back up the coast to the port of Annon Baran on the Brandywine. 

This was a less violent river than the Gwathlo below. If flowed from the King’s own Annúminas through the Shire and then meandered to a fair harbor protected from the strong northern swells. To the northwest was the Dwarvish enclave of the Blue Mountains. Erebor claimed lordship but that did not carry much water with the local longbeards. Their metal-crafts made their way to Southern Gondor by way of traders like Quaille. The Elf financed a purchase of fine iron and steel goods to be collected on their way back. 

The crew knew it was not quite Halfling Leaf season so it was time to tell them why they were here. The Captain called all hands on deck and stood two steps on the stern-castle. In his master's-voice, “We are taking Mr. Kath into the Elvish bay to visit his people's home lands. We are not expecting any trouble. He thinks we may be there a week but maybe more depending on what he finds. You will all receive at least an extra silver. If anyone has something to say, say it now.”

Bosun Thwaindil ventured, “Big place, Capt’n”

Quaille responded, “The Grey Havens, all the way in. We may stop at or near Harlond for water. The wind will be at our backs inward, in our faces coming back.

“Dildrans, Uvioras, keep the ballista close but not on the mounts. This is a friendly visit.”

Seaman Geriandloth said somewhat tersely, “Friendly? Those Elves ain’t known for laying out the viands.”

Nag Kath offered support, “I can speak to them. All of the great ships left years ago. If there are any Elves, they are not trying to leave. Everyone stays quiet but don’t smile, they don’t appreciate smiling. Watch for Dwarves on the south bank. I get along tolerably well with them too.”

Captain Quaille called, “Tide goes out two hours after dawn. Look sharp.”

Slightly into the wind from the west it took eight more days to round the Point of Harlindon into the Gulf of Lhún. Quaille did that at first light so the ship would not be silhouetted by the setting sun. There were no vessels in sight or anything interesting along the south bank. The north bank was twenty leagues away. 

______________-------______________

This was a purer natural harbor than even Dol Amroth, ripped from Beleriand in the wrath of Numenor. Strong sea swells would not penetrate far. For the first time on the trip, a light breeze was with them. The First Wife turned the bay leading to the Elvish town of Harlond and they set anchor several hundred paces off the old docks, not wanting to trespass if anyone in the grand old buildings took offense. A few figures did wander out to gawk. Nag Kath could see them clearly. They were men, no, there were Dwarves among them too, definitely not Elves. Their Elf told the crew to wave. Townsmen waved back and left a couple lads to watch. They had plenty of water in the casks and food enough not to make land so the next morning they continued east towards the Lhún river mouth.

That was as far as Seaman Bellandir and his brother Bellandath would go. They kept quiet when told of the trip but telling was not doing. This was an ominous place of the great and terrible. As agreed, they both took short-swords from the rack and tried to corner Nag Kath on the stern-castle.

Mate Forunhir yelled, “Stand down, you fools!”

Bellandath shouted back, “Nay, mate! This pretty thing isn’t getting us dead!” The two men closed on the seemingly unconcerned blonde greenbottom. Quaille heard the ruckus and stormed up from below hollering, “Bellandir! Stop now!”

Without turning his gaze from Nag Kath the sailor shouted, “Stay out of this. We did not sign-on for fell harbors.”

As the two crept forward, the cornered Elf lifted his hand. Bellandath was thrown off the deck and suspended in mid-air, head-down over the water.

“Augahhhhh! Ngh! Brother, help me!”

The Elf told his brother, “Throw that weapon over the side.”

Bellandir did. The crew heard the Elf say in a voice of doom; “Do I drop him or bring him back? Choose quickly.”

“Aughhhh!” 

When his brother didn’t say anything, Nag Kath gave Bellandrath a refreshing dip in the bay.

“Bring him back, for pity’s sake!”

In his echo Elf-Lord voice, “Do you understand there is nothing out there worse than me?”

“Yes, yes! Please, give my brother back.”

Bellandrath was gently deposited on deck sputtering and trying to blow the seawater out of his nose. Nag Kath glanced at the faces staring at him and calmly finished checking the fish reels on the transom.

That evening, Seaman Pellig, who had scarcely uttered a word to the Elf the whole way, said softly, “That was you slew the trolls in Pelargir. My grand-da was in the Marine Reserve stranded on the Eärnil side of the bridge.”

“Aye, just one of them, though. Someone chipped my sword out of his forehead, same sword I carry now.”

Pellig said to the night, “That’s the half head on the jetty. My brothers said it would get me if I didn’t mind them.”

The rest of the men were trying not to breathe. Nag Kath thought a moment and smiled, “They didn’t need to put it face out. I think that was the end of trolls in the west.”

______________-------______________

Mithlond, the Elvish Grey Havens, was still another fifty leagues from Harlond. The fair breeze held and some unknown but delicious fish took to the bait trailing the stern. Quaille brought in most of the sail so they drifted into the circular cove almost completely surrounded by inspiring buildings of the Elvish second age. 

There was nothing like this left in Middle-earth. The other great Elvish cities had been destroyed thousands of years ago in wars with Morgoth, Sauron or themselves. Rivendell had similar lines but was more natural, having been built into the mountain. Lorien had very little stone work, relying on the Mallorn trees for its magnificent scale. Perhaps the closest was Annúminas but with more angular, mannish lines. As the sailors were staring, Nag Kath edged quietly next to Bellandrath and asked, “Are you fine?”

The man startled but did not move. He and his brother could have been cast overboard by the Captain for their attack and did the dirtiest jobs in penance. But they were alive. “Cleaned my nose out good and proper.”

“No sudden movements in view of shore, mind?”

Bellandrath nodded.

Quaille had never once shown a trace of nerves. He piloted the ship inside the narrow gap of the harbor and stayed to the middle. Nag Kath shimmied up the center mast for a better look. The buildings were all so grand! It was hard to tell where the headquarters might have been. He decided on what could only be the shipwright’s ways. That was conveniently on the western side of the bay so the ship could get away from the wharf with wind. They docked on the stone jetty after setting the heavy, cloth bumpers. Men with long poles could cast off and push away fast.

Only Nag Kath disembarked. He went to a large open door and peered inside. With nothing to see he called in Sindarin, “Good day!” The furniture was still there but nothing else. By prearranged signal, Cabin-boy Athmandal was called to follow. He was a brave, curious lad, perfect for errands that did not involve brute force. 

They slowly picked their way along the first level of doors, barely above high tide. None showed any sign of writings, or much else. Nag Kath got the sense that men had helped themselves to everything the Elves didn’t take, somehow slipping past the dying wards of power. 

Looking up, there was a balcony on the second floor of the next building that was where Nag Kath would put his office if he was a Elvish shipmaster. He nodded upwards to Athmandal and they climbed the stone stairs. This room had been looted too, judging by the papers strewn around until rain stuck them to the floor. They were notes in Sindarin, lists of parts and sizes, and not in an elegant hand, either. These were written by workers on a schedule. 

Nag Kath was not really sure what he was looking for. This might take a while. The Elf and lad prowled the city for two days while the men nervously fished, repaired and helped themselves to a few items near the ship, always making sure they could leave on the shortest of notice. Against the off-chance there was a safe or hidden door, Nag Kath sketched Elrond’s storage locker so Athmandal could keep his eyes open. The lad was downstairs scouring a palatial gathering room while the Elf rummaged upstairs.

“Orc Six. Fancy meeting you here.”

How could they be so silent! “It is Mr. Norgarn, isn’t it? How nice to see you again.”

“Hughmmmpf. Are you looking for something?”

“I am at a loss for what. Shipbuilding and navigational charts, I suppose. Are you here alone, Mr. Norgarn?”

“With my wife and bairn. They are keeping out of sight. Your men are strange to them.”

Nag Kath asked, “Can they see you?”

“Of course, why else would we need to stay out of sight?”

“Forgive me. It seems others have been here first.”

The Elf-keeper said, “Hughmmmpf, ten years ago, men came in a ship. They did not find much.”

“Mr. Norgarn I have been looking for a safe like Lord Elrond’s, something hidden in the panels.”

“You are close. Come with me.”

As they walked downstairs past the ogling lad, Nag Kath jerked his head for him to follow. Two buildings further around the circle the keeper took them up two flights of stairs to another office. The papers scattered on this floor were drawings of beams and ship-ribs, measured in the twelve-count of old Elvish. 

Keeper Norgarn looked at the boy and asked in the common-speech, “Who are you?!”

“Athmandal, if it pleases you, sir.”

“Hughmmmmph.”

Three doors down, Nag Kath studied interior panels behind what would have been a drawing table. The seams revealed nothing. Neither did the carved stone frames. There was a cleft in the rock below it, though. He asked, “Mr. Norgarn, I don’t suppose you have a key?”

“No.”

“Any idea how I get this open?”

“No.”

If this was the same kind of stone as in Annúminas, it would take more than a couple Rohirrim with Dwarf sledges. “Mr. Norgarn, do you know what is in there?”

“Never looked.” All this was in Sindarin so the lad just watched. 

The Elf ran his fingers round the trim of one panel a few times and put his hands on his hips. Then he turned to Athmandal and asked, “Have you seen a big iron key in the last few days?”

The lad shifted his eyes across the room where a ring was hanging in plain sight above the fireplace. The gnome chortled and gave the cabin-boy one of his grimace-smiles before saying to himself in Sindarin, “Yrch!”

The fourth key of the five clicked. Inside hinges were rusted tight but the door budged enough to wedge a candle-stand in the crease and pry it open. The Elves must have taken the contents. There was one book in the back stuck to the stone that had not come with whatever had been removed. Nag Kath borrowed Athmandal’s deck knife and slid it under the back cover until it grudgingly peeled up.

It was a bound volume, perhaps a eighteen inches square, with drawings of different ships and their component fittings. In the back was a folded drawing of Varda, Ainu of the stars, casting her hand to the heavens. Below her, Ulmo of the sea waited patiently, holding his hand in aid. Nag Kath would worry about that later and said to the Elf-keeper, “I know your policy but can I take this?”

“Certainly. That is not in our charge.”

“What is in your charge, Mr. Norgarn?”

“Other things. Will you be staying, Orc Six?”

“For dinner, providing you and the excellent Mrs. Norgarn have good stories and are willing to tolerate mine.”

“On the walk across from your ship, ‘timeless’ is written over the door. I am afraid your fellows cannot join us.”

Nag Kath and Athmandal took their treasure back to the Elf’s cabin. There were no caveats against telling the crew about their curious host so the lad held court over the tasty silver fish of the harbor while the Elf took his meal with the keepers. They arrived after Cirdan left and did not know anything about the shipbuilding here. Upon request, son Gimlach told the tale of Lúthien and Beren very well. Born in the late second age, neither of the older keepers met the doomed lovers. 

As much as Nag Kath would like to have explored every stone in the Grey Havens; this was not the time to test the patience of the crew, especially after Athmandal entertained them with reports of gnomes in stockings appearing from thin air. The Elf could return with the King someday to Annúminas and take his time.The First Wife had to wait in port on the Brandywine for eleven days until suitable leaf arrived. A few crates were as much as anyone got at one time so that and the Dwarvish ironworks would serve and might have even turned a profit without the Elf’s bonus. Getting home was much easier than getting here since the wind was usually no worse than abeam. 

Save a thorough wetting with a summer squall, they made good time and reached Dol Amroth in late August. Nag Kath gave Quaille four extra nippers for the crew bonus and future ‘consulting’ work before the man set sail for Pelargir to complete that end of the run. Nag Kath thought he had what he needed to proceed. Against that possibility, he retained Athmandal as his next Brenen. The lad got the spare room, the first time he had ever had a room. He got clothes too.

______________-------______________

It was time to talk with his seafaring experts. After dinner, Cal, Legorn and the Elf commandeered the dining table. Nag Kath unrolled sheets of paper and put the hefty book on the table. They looked through the plans very closely for better than half a bell. Legorn finally glanced at his son, “I should imagine your friends in the Naval Ministry would like a look at these.”

Cal asked gently, “These are Elvish designs?”

“Fresh from Cirdan’s safe.”

“Da’s dead right. I think we should speak to Minister Suvien first thing tomorrow, that is, if you mean this to be shared, Nag.”

“I need it shared …” he grinned “… thinly.”

“Mind sharing why?”

“I plan to build or buy one of these to sail to the Black Numenoreans in the fabled lands where the man of Mardruak went. That is my last clue from the Sorcerer of Rhûn. I’ll need the ship, crew, goods, information, all of it.”

Both sailors moved their lips in silence. They were used to bolts from the blue with their curious relative. He would have excellent reasons known only to himself. Legorn managed, “You'll need to put this together yourself ... mostly military men, I should think. Have you a captain in mind?”

The changeling replied, “That’s why I’m telling you. You know them better than me. I am in no hurry. I don’t see sailing until next spring at the earliest. Cal, what kind of ship do I need?”

His grandson in-law thought a moment and said, “Nothing heavy … I should think something like you took to Elvish waters. You will need speed over all else, but don’t get caught in dock or pinned against the shore.

Cal looked at his da again and back at Uncle Nag, “Does someone in Minas Tirith know about this?”

“Let us just say information is always appreciated.” 

Legorn was fascinated but kept quiet. Cal nodded slowly and said, “Walk up with me at the eight-bell.”

______________-------______________

Minister Suvien was ten years younger than Caladrion. They had known each thirty years. Cal knew his opposite number would be in early today so he walked up to Suvien’s secretary and said, “Good morning, Wikelien. We need a word with the Captain.”

Wikelien knew the Minister of Foreign Affairs would not be here unless it was important. He rose, gave the taller blonde man a quick look and said, “Just a moment sir.” Very shortly after, the clerk walked out of the office door, “He is waiting, gentlemen.”

Suvien, like Cal, was a former Marine but he accepted a Captaincy with the navy when the big artillery platform ships were new. He rose from there and knew as much about the defense of Belfalas as any man alive. When his guests walked in, the fellow stood and shook hands. He had seen Cal only two days before so this was obviously something new. 

Caladrion said, “Thank you for taking time. We won’t be long. Elkard, this is Nag Kath. He has some pictures he would like to show you.”

The Minister waved them to a small table and Nag Kath unfurled his collection. Suvien went through every page in complete silence, only twice picking his head up to look at his guests. He could make no sense of the Sindarin notes or numbers but knew this was important. Nearly half a bell later, he folded his half-spectacles into a vest pocket and asked, “Are these what I think they are?”

Nag Kath answered , “Plans for Elvish Lhün fleet. I believe the largest two are swan ships for the trip to Aman.”

Minister Suvien spent another ten minutes looking at those two again. Finally he said, “Mr. Kath, this is extraordinary. What is your fee for providing these to his Highness’ government?”

Perhaps the changeling wasn’t as well known as he thought. Cal was a bit surprised Suvien hadn’t heard of Kath of the name-your-place as well. Suvien would squeeze the purse with both hands in exchange for those two capital ship plans. With his worst grin, Nag Kath bargained hard, “I was thinking of four tickets to ‘The Reason We Try’.”

Not sure of his hearing, Suvien asked, “A Catanard?!”

“Oh, not just a Catanard. I understand Mehfiel himself returns as Festous!”

Cal had to say something before he laughed out of his nose. “Elkard, Lord Kath does this for love of country.”

That still didn’t remove all of the shock. The Elf added, “I will redraw these to scale, translate the Elvish and change the measurements to our count. Elves use twelve rather than ten building their numbers.”

“Lord Kath? Troll Kath?”

“The same. Now, if you have a man who is good with design, I could use a hand on the renderings to free me for the calculations. I will try to get them to you in within a month. Would that be satisfactory?”

Suvien breathed, “Quite. Cal, Lord Kath, thank you for coming by. I will be in touch.” Just like after hoodwinking the Sindarin library in Cal’s youth, they waited until they were well down the hall before laughter reigned.

The Elf returned with a red Odar for dinner to see a gentleman waiting in the main room. Fortunately, Athmandal knew guests did not need to be watched for light fingers. Where the lad was from, you paid attention.

Nag Kath waved off a handshake until after he could wash the fish off his hands and introduced himself. In return he heard, “Good morning, Lord Kath. I am Edelman Turembad. I work with Minister Suvein.”

“Ah yes. I see you have tea. Please, come sit here at the large table while I get the book.” The Elf sat beside him and slowly turned the pages saying, “I have some larger ones we found on the floor but this will give you a sense of the design. Are you an expert in ship-wrighting?”

“Expert might be generous, but I’ve learned a thing or two. Lately I worked on a new harrier we will use off-Anduin to support our transport vessels.”

Nag Kath offered, “I am an engineer as well and offered to copy these for Prince and King. If you can do some of that work, it frees me to translate the notes. Some of these were not drawn to scale. I'll change the Elvish dimensions to ours alongside in pencil.”

The engineer nodded slowly and said, “Yes, I can do that. So I do not interfere with your household; I can make the drawings and return every few days for you to complete them.” Nag Kath sliced the binding thread to remove the smaller two ships for himself. The government man took half of the newly-bought paper and most of the volume with the intention of comparing their work in three days.

After he was gone, Athmandal asked, “You’re a Lord, sir?”

“Aye, a couple times over. I am nearly a hundred now with plenty of stories to while cold nights. What do you know about building ships?”

“Some. When you look to crew at sea, you ask at the docks. Men are always working on their craft. The better keel and rib wood comes from the Ringló. Plank wood is better up the Anduin. Pelargir or Ithilien makes most of the metal bits.”

Lord Kath said, “I want you to keep your eyes on building. We need a ship.”

______________-------______________

The trip north was a test for exploration to the south, below the dry sands of Near Harad. There were said to be strange lands, too strange for a merchantman to justify such a long trip and of no interest to the Lords of Gondor. That left Nag Kath and his invitation from Orlo. He learned going north that the master commands. Nag Kath knew more than your average farmer but the pilot of the ship made the rules on his vessel including who went and how they got there. 

First came the ship. Turembad returned with excellent work. He had a good eye. Nag Kath showed him perspective at different angles so men could see above and side renderings in a single sketch. That alone was worth the engineer’s time. The man worked on new drawings at the main table while Nag Kath added Westron notes and calculations to the homework. Most pages showed how a beam was spliced into a joint or other details needing no explanation. After a few hours, they thought two more sessions was time enough to complete the drafts.

Nag Kath dropped the hammer as Turembad was leaving, “Lieutenant, I would like a look at your new ship ... give me a feel for our work here.”

Those vessels would be built by a trusted wright away from prying eyes, but for the Lord who shared his trove for opera tickets, Turembad saw no difficulty. As he slipped the paperwork into a large folio the mariner said, “I am going there now.”

The Elf gave Athmandal a wink that he was going alone and followed the young officer to the far end of the War Harbor. The gate corporal stood at attention and never questioned Turenbad’s guest. In the ways on the dry dock, a keel had been laid of bent and pinned strips of hardwood glued together with pitch and wrapped in rope to hold the lamination. Men off to one side were boiling pieces for ribs that would rest like wishbones along the spine.

Nearer the water was the same type of vessel being planked with smooth seams rather than the overlap of most cargo-craft. Once a plank was secured, men would caulk and pitch any gaps between the boards. They would construct the different compartments in the hold before adding the deck.

It was a Dwarvish racket of men pounding, yelling, cursing and stinking with supervisors walking about making changes or reminding the lads they were being paid. A few puffed fine paper tubes with the superb new pipe-weed newly arrived in the city. 

Leaving, the two stopped in the office. They were making government-contracted ships but the yard was the respected and private Stieffild and Yarlundar Shipwrights. Mr. Stieffild Junior, the oldest Stieffild living, was sitting behind a desk with a pipe of his own. Turembad introduced them. Old Junior was sixty if he was a day and had the skin of a Mûmikil from long years on sea or in the yard. His hands were as rough with two fingers missing on his right hand. Walking around the desk to shake hands he had a noticeable limp too, so his days on the water were long over. He was a very successful man. Nag Kath would buy him wine later.

The Lieutenant’s office was only two buildings over so the two engineers parted with plans to meet. Nag Kath went home to write a letter in Sindarin;

** **

** _Dear High King Elessar Telcontar,_ **

** _I hope this letter finds you and your family in good health. The trip to the Grey Havens yielded a number of ship plans locked away in a vault much like in Rivendell. Those are being copied now by an officer in the Prince’s service_ **

** _The city is deserted. An Elf-keeper told me a ship of men had looted what little was there ten years ago, though I did feel faint wards – that suggests the Eldar may still slip in and out, though I am not sure. Mithlond is still a grand place. If your Lordship has designs that way, no one will stop you. We did see a few Dwarves in Harlond. Your contacts may know more of them from trading on the Brandywine._ **

** _I may stay here or abroad some time but am always at your service. NK _ **

Researching his trip meant Scholars. They were as haughty and proud as in Minas Tirith, with good reason. Archives here were treated deferentially, usually in private hands. With his resources, Nag Kath received introductions to collectors of the city. He sought information about the peoples south of the Southrons. He thought them ‘Black Numenoreans’. That wasn’t a color. These were exiles of the doomed island who retained their allegiance to Sauron. Dol Amroth was held by those Faithful to the Valar, driving the Evil survivors further south as they became the Umbar and other clans. Long were they powerful enemies of northern men.

Cal had Ulvant Kastagorm for wine to introduce his vaguely-explained relative. Kastagorm was a celebrated collector of classic writings and a fair hand with Sindarin. He was no fool either. Nag Kath explained he wanted to know about the races inland and south of the desert Southrons. Kastagorm spoke in lecturer’s tones, “There is what I know, which is probably wrong, and there is what I think, which is also probably wrong. I will give you both.

“Legend has those lands settled by adherents of Ar-Pharazôn who was seduced by Sauron in Elf form. Known as the Kings-men, they settled here but lost in long, bloody combat to the Faithful of Ilúvatar. Driven across the river, they were the power behind Umbar, building cities like in the north which are said to survive to some extent even now. Eventually their society collapsed and Umbar was overrun by Swerting wildmen who live there still.

“My own thoughts are that the Black Folk survived further south, below the dusty inland where, is said, green forests grow again. Many years ago, a traveler of the Anduin sailed down there and came back with fantastic stories of beasts and colored birds and fruits that grow in all seasons. The Captain would have been accounted a hair-brain, but he brought back many unique things crafted in as fair a hand as ever made here and lived royally to a ripe old age.”

Nag Kath said, “I have heard that story from two other men, each in very different stations. Sir, should these King’s-Men still be there, what language would they likely speak?”

That was a perceptive question from the young adventurer. Kastagorm considered it carefully and replied, “I speculate here. They would have originally spoken Adûnaic but likely changed to Sindarin before the sundering.” The Scholar in him came out, “Sindarin is a hard tongue, young man.”

“I read and speak it, along with some Quenya. I have read Adûniac but can’t claim to understand it very well. I also have good Variag, Haradric, some Rhûnic and Plainstongue. He left Black Speech and wargish out.

Kastagorm cried, “That calls for another goblet of Cal’s excellent pale! Young man, we shall get along famously!” The changeling was beginning to feel self-conscious when mistaken for a young man. Early in life he was much younger than he looked. With Phylless he was as old as her. Now he felt of no real age. Dressed and groomed as a man in the age of men, no one would know.

Nag Kath came to the next monthly meeting of wealthy collectors and Scholars of the old days. There were eight this afternoon, mostly the cream of the Dunedain so their association with the stout, bald Kastagorm showed he was a force in the making sense of their past. The past mattered a great deal here.

Nag Kath suggested that his purpose should not be widely known. Kastagorm would be discreet, opening with, “Gentlemen, this is Nag Kath who I have invited because he is interested in ancient peoples down the coast of Harad. Please welcome him and share your thoughts.”

Acknowledgement ranged from smiles to indifference. He was a handsome specimen of fine bloodlines which counted for something. He also listened and drank lightly; something young people seldom did anymore. Despite a few doomed attempts by Kastagorm to steer the conversation south, the dominant topic was the works of Inbraien, largely confined to ten years on either side of Third Age 1566. Halfers! Nag Kath had never heard of the man but paid attention. He was immortal. He had time. 

Another man who said little was Scholar Opher who had a bit more eastern blood than the pale greater-men in the room. Like Tallazh, there was no trace of it in his Westron. Nag Kath would ask him an innocent question when they adjourned.

The Elf shook hands with those who didn’t flee for the door. As Opher gathered his notes off the table, he was approached and thanked for his courtesy. The Scholar smiled and said it was a pleasure. As if an afterthought, Nag Kath said, “Oh, I should have asked. I would like my servant to learn reading. Can you recommend a tutor? I live above the Commercial Harbor if that matters.”

“I think so, Mr. Kath. Do you have a card?”

Nag Kath gave him one of several, this one with his address but no title. Opher considered it, “You have a fair hand, sir, more elegant than a purely western script.” The man raised the pitch of the last word, making it almost a question.

“That, sir, is a long story. Perhaps you will share a meal with me to justify your time.”

“Gladly. I will be in touch.”

In the meantime, Lieutenant Turembad returned with the rest of the renderings. Nag Kath translated the notes into the common-speech and finished the calculations turning the Elvish twelve count into the mortal ten. He would let the administration sort through those and before speaking with the shipwright.

It took another week but the Elf received a note inviting him to dinner at Mr. Opher’s home three days hence along with the name of a tutor who lived nearby. Nag Kath had Athmandal, which everyone shortened to Dal, take his acceptance up to the scholar’s house so he could explain where it was. Then Dal was to report to Tutor Fulgreave’s lodgings with a silver for a course in reading and writing.

Fulgreave only taught at his home. Athmandal would have to go there for two hours, three times a week to study with considerably younger students. He could have been embarrassed but his ability to tell rollicking tales of the seas more than compensated for late-life learning. New clothes and no visible tattoos helped.

Opher had done well for himself. Teaching obscure subjects to disaffected youth had not built this home. A liveried servant showed him to a private office where the amateur scholar was seated on the couch. Opher looked up and said, “Ah, right on time. Please, join me.”

Nag Kath sat in the tallest chair while Opher wrote something in his notebook and set it aside. “Thank you for coming. Kastagorm was unusually remiss in your history, young sir.”

There would be no evading this man other than walking out the way he came, and Nag Kath needed friends. “By design sir. I am the last Elvish sorcerer in Middle-earth. My care has been destroying the remnants of Sauron’s allies.”

“So, Kath of the Water and Trolls?”

“You are well informed, sir.”

Opher opened his notebook to show a small symbol of Orlo inked on the inside cover. “And Kath of the Nûrnen too?”

The Elf started quietly, “I met Orlo during Gelansor in the year 30. He gave me the key to discovering the trolls.”

Opher was still as the grave. Nag Kath continued. “The sorcerer left me this coin which took me years to find. It survives from what is now Gondor as the King’s-men were pushed south to where is rumored a great gulf lies south of the sands. 

“I purpose to travel there, but would rather sail into as few surprises as possible.”

The Scholar gave the coin a close look, “Then I may be of some service. Come, let us dine. My family knows little of my outside interests. For tonight you are a distinguished student of …”

“Khandian?”

“On the tip of my tongue.”

Opher might be fifty. His wife was definitely of western bloods. His son and daughter were introduced but had plans to dine with neighbors, probably no accident; that. Unwhieila, shortened to Eila at birth, was well on her way to matronly proportions with a nice smile and intelligent eyes. During the meal she asked a pair of questions Opher had planted earlier. Her husband now knew the answers and turned the subjects back to current events.

Nag Kath was not as forgotten as he thought. He would have to get his host’s background another time. All in all, he felt his team was falling into place.

A few days later, a courier brought an envelope and dashed off when it left his hand. Six seats near the Prince’s box had been reserved in his name for the upcoming Catanard season at the pavilion. The grin! He had been jesting to let Minister Suvein know he did not need payment for his duty. The man now knew that, but good deeds are rewarded by noble Lords nonetheless. 

Now, he had to put backsides in those seats for the five performances. Divided in mannish, Elvish or Khandian counting, six means three couples and he was loudly alone. Eniecia hinted her daughter Callistra was a worthy successor to Talereth in meddling and matchmaking, as an amateur, of course. Now the woman would be up late conniving to introduce suitable females. Nag Kath would not protest overmuch.

At dinner the next night, Cal slapped his knee extending the laugh leaving Suvien’s office. The tragedy ‘As Father Wished” was playing in four nights so Captain Ivandred deputized as Nag Kath’s date. Cal and Eniecia had the middle places on the bench. Callistra and her husband Phaeron would get last two and only increase the pressure to produce a fashionable widow by ‘The Reason We Try’.

Other projects unfolded. Athmandal was progressing in his reading but told by his teacher privately that his sea lore was too salty for the privileged ears in the room. Nag Kath wasn’t sure what to do with him so Dal had lots of time to practice his lessons. Opher was also in touch. They spent several hours going over the darkness known and supposed of the Black Numenoreans. A bad lot, but, as the Uruk could attest; sometimes the chief made the wrong choice and everyone else paid the price. At least he could talk to them. 

______________-------______________

Militia season was nigh. Nag Kath applied for and was quickly moved to the top of the list for training on the new harrier-class support ships. It was slightly longer and thinner than the First Wife but the same ilk. These craft did not have boarding ramps or extended prows for ramming enemies below the waterline. They were fast, used only wind and were not for hauling seasick soldiers to and from land attacks. In the right situation, they drove pirates towards the artillery vessels or kept them from escaping. He was one of twenty-three militia crew, not including the Captain/Pilot with First and Second Officers. 

Acting First Officer Fendirand didn’t like him. First Officer was a necessary step for ambitious sailors. From there you made Captain on this size vessel and might be promoted to First Officer on a capital ship, the next stage before full Captaincy. Loafing rich-boys jeopardized those chances. The tall blonde bypassed stronger candidates when someone in the palace pulled strings. Even obeying dutifully and keeping his mouth shut, it was bound to happen; “Kath, why is that rope not coiled?”

“I was told to wind the winch, sir.”

“Did I tell you to wind the winch?”

“No sir.”

“You do what **I** tell you.”

First Officer Fendirand was on shaky ground. Second Officer had given the beardless blonde sailor a legitimate order in hearing of experienced hands. A lowly seaman would have nowhere to hide but had the sponsored trainee whined, it could put the Capt’n in a tight spot. The Elf said, “Aye, sir” and coiled the rope. It did not satisfy the First, but everyone else in earshot knew he showed true colors.

They docked in plenty of time for the Catanard. Cleaned and presentable, Cal and Nag Kath walked and let Eniecia and Legorn share a man-cart also reserved for the trip home. The Librons were already there, chatting with old friends just behind them. The word must have already spread that the mysterious blonde stranger was unattached. Eyelashes fluttered. He smiled.

It being the first show of the season, one of the hands pushed a backdrop off the stage but the singers soldiered on in the tale of an arrogant man controlling his family. The audience knew it well. How they felt afterwards depended on who played the man’s doomed ward. She was good, but not great, so no one left the pavilion overly miserable. Wine was found across the street with everyone tucked in bed by the ten-bell.

Back onboard at eight, this was the deck archery day with additional trainees joining the crew behind the shields. Nag Kath had done this forty years ago, albeit on a larger ship. He brought his Northman bow and an assortment of arrows. Captain Penandoth walked the deck making sure the archers were spaced correctly behind the fixed shields with good footing. Most men used the bows provided on the ship but a few had their own. 

The target was a stack of straw bales on a wharf about fifty paces away. Still in the harbor, the ship wasn’t rocking much. With only three days left in training, the officers wanted to get this over. A group of eight men fired thrice in unison. Then a second group took their place. Better than half of the arrows hit the straw. Nag Kath planned to use the same Dol Amroth arrows as everyone else and no one could really tell who shot which.

First Officer Fendirand must have had a loveless night. Trying to look important to an experience Captain, he walked behind the Elf and barked, “That is not a regulation bow, seaman.”

“No sir.”

“Why not?”

This charade had gone on long enough. Lord Kath said in his Lordly voice, “Because they are inaccurate, sir”

Captain Penandoth had had enough of his training Lieutenant as well. Before the tall seaman tossed his loaned-First over the rail, the Captain said loudly, “Sounds like a challenge. My money is on the Lieutenant!”

Regular deck hands couldn’t have bet fifty groats but the selected civilian trainees had nearly a nipper straddling the match. Penandoth said in his quarter-deck voice, “What’s your name again, seaman.”

“Kath, sir.”

“Kath, I want you to put three arrows in those bales.”

“Which one, sir?”

So he wanted to be snotty too! Very well, “Second from the left, third from the top."

The Elf put three of his game arrows within a foot of each other just slowly enough for the men to see him nock and pull.

First Officer was trapped. He was a fair archer but out of practice. Stringing his Navy-issue bow, he put all three arrows in the bales but with two on one edge and one six feet away, and not nearly as deep. 

Nag Kath seized the initiative, “I am sorry Captain. It seems we have drawn.”

Penandoth took the offered escape, “Very well. Next group, up and ready!”

After they were dismissed, Nag Kath stayed on board a bit longer to gather his weapons. Captain said from behind him, “Good enough for troll eyes, Lord Kath.”

The Elf turned and answered, “Sorry to make your man look bad.”

“He’s not mine, and you let him off the hook.”

“He is not our enemy. I have a fair idea about that.”

“What brought you here then?”

“I need a ship this size and want to know who does what.” He thought a moment, “That may need to stay between us, sir.”

“You are the ‘sir’, My Lord. I think Fendirand can do without you for the next two days.”

Nag Kath thought a moment and asked, “Also between us; are you committed to a long career in naval service?”

Penandoth held his chin, “We should talk about that.”

______________-------______________

It was time for Nag Kath to take stock. To visit the mythical great gulf a thousand leagues south he needed to acquire a ship, captain, crew, any maps or reference material that could be had and experience. He already had time, money, no local obligations, a shipbuilder, excellent advisors and a compelling reason to go, not to mention a cabin-boy. Nag Kath also had power, especially over or near water. Hoisting that seaman by his ankle over the wake was almost too easy.

“So you intend to go through with it?” Cal poured three cups of the pale North Belfalas wine in front of the Elf, his da and himself. 

“Oh yes. I enjoy a mystery.”

Old Legorn observed wryly, “Your granddaughter will not care for this.”

Nag Kath grinned, “She is in good hands if orphaned. Now, what does one of those harriers cost?”

Cal replied, “I asked. On the order of thirty Florin, give or take fittings. In your case I should think take since you won’t need shield placements or a boarding castle. Keep the ballista mounts though.”

Legorn asked, “Will you carry any cargo at all?”

“Probably, sir. We will be welcomed more warmly with things to trade and may come across things wanted up here, nothing heavy, mind. 

Cal said, “You have already looked at the ship. Keep her fast. We must consider what people there need. Money buys anything here but they might have Dwarves on a pile of gold. Crafts and finery for the gentry won’t take much room.”

Legorn was practical, “Get on the list. You did Minister Suvien a favor, but he will soon make his fancy boats and the Prince’s order will come first at the ship-ways.”

Nag Kath said thoughtfully, “A good thing, perhaps. I am not in a hurry. It might be good for them to build one or two and I slip in after they make their mistakes. I made a point of meeting Mr. Stieffild. He seems a man who can, shall we say, prioritize. I will pay him another visit.”

Legorn grinned, “I don’t suppose you need an experienced mate?”

Nag Kath smiled warmly and put his hand on the elderly hero's shoulder, “In a heartbeat, my friend. You are the great Bilbo, always ready for a new adventure!”

“Oh yes, I would go. How long will you be out?”

Cal wanted to hear this too. The Elf answered slowly, “A year at least, but I do not honestly know. I may travel deep inside. Hopefully the ship waits or I have a long swim. We will have little sense of the winds and weather. There might be nothing to see. All I have is a coin with dots punched around the back.” He added seriously, “What do you know of a Captain Penandoth?”

His grandson sipped and replied, “An up-and-comer, but no family to grease the ways. He has impressed?”

“We will have an ale after militia.”

Cal said, “I will keep an ear open.” More soberly, “Father is right. And my wife will not be pleased at you going to uncharted lands.”

“Then there will be all the more joy in welcoming me back. She will have plenty of me beforehand. I am no shipwright, but I cannot see leaving before next spring unless a ship appears from a Dwarf-hole.”

Cal changed the subject slightly, “Oh, and speaking of idle time, I think Callistra has found you a guest for ‘The Reason We Try’.” He grinned.

“Do you mean to say my dear companion Legorn here has to sing by his lonesome?”

Cal put his hand on his father’s knee saying, “We’ll find da a ticket, maybe two if Calli has a likely lass for him.”

Legorn was pleased, “Good! I prefer the comedies.”

Cal said more sternly, “Neither of you heard that from me or I will be roasted over coals. Act surprised and gracious, Orc Six!”

Uncle Nag did. With just the Ivandreds at dinner, Eniecia said as if trying to sound like there was nothing less substantial in the world, “Caladrion, Calli has asked her friend Earmina to join us for the play.”

In proper husbandly fashion he replied, “Lovely. I hope the weather is fair.”

That was the end of it. Two season seats behind theirs were purchased for an exorbitant but undisclosed sum. That was what money was for. In the household comedy production, Eniecia must have explained Uncle Nag’s long and consistent taste in females to her daughter, less one unrequited admirer. Earmina Pfennick was widowed not quite two years ago when her husband washed up on the rocks after fishing. Since he didn’t fish, and it was soon learned his business was late on payments, everyone assumed he took a long walk off a short pier. Mina’s parents took her back and she was emerging into society again after the long mourning customs of the Dunedain. 

Other than her being a widow, none of that was mentioned to Uncle Nag. Damaged goods newly back on the market were Nag Kath’s specialty. Since she was billed as Phaeron and Callista’s guest, they brought her from her parent’s home to the pavilion and met the Ivandreds at their seats. 

Mina was lovely. She was not the model of the Elf’s women, being only of average height. Her hair was almost raven and worn up for the gala. She reminded him of a smaller Queen Tilli. It helped that on her way through the crowd, people said how glad they were to see her again. If anyone looked down their noses, she didn’t notice. That gave her confidence at this; her first outing since poor Waltram’s swim. By the strangest happenstance, Earmina and Nag Kath got the two new back seats together. She bowed, he being a Lord, and they took their places as the musicians tuned-up. 

Catanard audiences in the Dol Amroth pavilion were a knowledgeable bunch. ‘The Reason We Try’ was only about thirty years old, so it had flourished at its debut, but wasn’t yet a tradition. Its claim to fame was the tenor’s lament in the second act that could stand alone, and often did, for solo performances. The man who could please this crowd was acclaimed. And with a happy ending, the play was popular with couples who had romance in mind afterwards.

Mina kept a set smile and watched closely. She was not a devoted Cantanaräe but knew the form. Her hands were in white lace gloves and she kept them folded when lustier patrons hooted and hissed the villains. She would hold them to her cheeks in moments of tension. Her blind-date figured her for thirty. He had no idea what she knew of him, probably little if she agreed to come. It was also possible she had no clue this pairing was concocted by females who had learned from the best.

At the finale, everyone lived and either found true love or perdition for their schemes. As surely as this chance meeting was planned, there would be something to follow. The party had reservations at the Lion’s Beard just across the street and filed-in with well-heeled patrons. Light fare was already prepared with wine or ale waiting in pitchers.

Mina ventured a conversation, “Did you enjoy the play, Lord Kath?”

“Yes, I did. Please, Nag Kath is more than enough name for a lucky fellow.”

“Very well. Do you sing yourself, Nag Kath?”

“Only one note. Now Caladrion and Legorn here; they can cover the range better than most.”

Son-in-law Phaeron took that opening, “Oh yes. They can do the top and bottom of ‘Merrily I Wait for Her’ in fine fashion.”

That was an invitation if ever old Legorn had heard one. Since the song started with the baritone, the Captain began before his diplomatic son could object. Young Cal was doomed, as intended, and came in along with half the patrons who knew the song by heart. Mugs were hoisted afterwards and a fair tone was set across the room.

Mina did not drink more than her first cup. She kept her smile throughout and listened carefully to the conversation, sliding in comments when there was an opening. After an hour, Phaeron and Callistra offered to escort her home rather than leave the widow to Uncle Nag’s tender mercies. The proper lady thanked her hosts for a lovely evening and was gone with slightly more sway in her walk.

Eniecia announced, “Good. Da, let us call our man-cart and be off.” Nag Kath walked outside and whistled it up from the queue. Fifteen minutes later, Eniecia took her tired father-in-law to his bed and rejoined Cal and the Elf in the main room. Still early, Miss Jarvus was ready with tea.

Eniecia looked at her grand-da and demanded, “Well …?”

“I had a splendid time, my dear. Thank you for thinking of me.” It was the most infuriating answer possible; too vague for information and too polite to be questioned. The deeper reason was that he was planning, perhaps unbeknownst to his granddaughter, a mad voyage to the end of beyond after sitting next to a fair lady who wore lace gloves. Even authors of imaginary lore would never think of that. She was exquisite. Maybe someone would squelch whatever interest she might have by mentioning Orthanc.

Cal intervened, “Interesting that Prince Alphros hasn’t been to either production.” The Princely box was only ten seats away from theirs. At both operas, the places had been taken by his younger daughter’s or Chancellor Fulnorran’s families. 

Nag Kath said softly, “Child, do you remember doing your water blossom dance for him and his father all those short years ago?”

She replied very tenderly, “I remember that more than anything else I have ever done, dear husband and grand-da.” To break the tension she added, “I was ready to rend you and my gloating brother with my teeth until I realized you had given me everything I ever wanted.” She reached over to hold Caladrion’s hand.

Tenderness over; “Now, Orc Six. What of Mina?”

“She is very fair. I will inquire after her in due course.”

Cal knew that meant after he put the down payment on his ship. Eniecia deserved to know so he cleared his throat and started to say, “My love, your grand-da and I have been involved in the most terrible conspiracy to …”

“… to have him sail off the edge of the world.” She looked at them both. “What else is he to do? Nag, you are so sweet to love us mortals. Granna was right. You could never be a dark lord. Go with our blessings and come back safe to more stories and music.”

She rose, kissed her speechless husband on the forehead and said goodnight. Before reaching the hall, their water blossom turned to say, “But since you are here; Callistra told me Mina adores lore of great heroes. Be kind to her.”

** _Dear Mrs. Pfinnick,_ **

**_Thank you for joining us at the Catanard. Your presence made the evening. I would be honored if you could join us for ‘The Mayor’s Niece’ playing in three weeks time. _**

** _Please let me know of your decision and I hope to see you again, NK_ **

He wasn’t sure if that was wise. They were both in their mourning period, as these long-lived Dunedains measured time. Perhaps that would keep her from thinking he had longer-term objectives. In the courtly land of Dol Amroth, there were few whirlwind romances. He loved the company of women for all occasions but had a long, dangerous voyage planned.

______________-------______________

At Ulmo’s Locker; “Good to see you, Lord Kath.”

“If we can put aside ‘Lord’ and ‘Captain’, the conversation will be shorter.”

“My first name is Ronalt.”

The Elf asked, “How much do you know about me, Ronalt?”

“Some. It seems it was your idea to put longbows on our ships before I was born. Little wonder. How old are you?”

“The same age as Prince Alphros, as it happens.”

“Twas you put the arrow in the eye of the troll?”

“The second. A Marine got the first. I was not as clever with the other troll.”

Captain Penandoth refilled his goblet and took a small sip as if to say something but held his peace. Nag Kath filled the space by saying, “I told you I need a ship like yours. I intend to sail below Harad for the great gulf said to go hundreds of leagues inland. I can pull ropes and don’t puke in rough water, but that does not make me a pilot.”

Penandoth considered that a moment and said, “That is not my ship. The Helenndor is my vessel. I wanted a look at the new design. What you suggest is … an adventure?”

“Research only I can do. My last such endeavor lost men. Others have gone better.”

“Dorwinion?”

“There, Dale, don’t forget Mordor.”

Penandoth sipped and positioned himself, “Not a lot to interest a rising naval warrior.”

It was time for the changeling to flip one of his Dukks cards. “Ronalt, you will run out of uncles and princes up the hill just as my son-in-law Legorn Ivandred did.”

The Elf took a sip and leaned forward, “I seek a man who does this, and does it right, then never has to work again. By that I mean money up front and more on the back. If you are interested, I need a counselor to build the boat, crew it, all of it. We will take light goods with us and bring some back, but my purpose is to destroy residual evil of the dark lords. I intend to place the order for the ship with Stieffild before the month is out.”

Nag Kath turned over another card, “Three Florin before we leave. Half the cargo or ten Florin when we return, whichever is greater. I will put the latter in trust before we go in the event you return and I do not.” He took four nippers out of his vest pocket and placed the stack on the table saying, “Pick those up carefully.” 

The Elf’s perception about Penandoth’s chances for promotion hit home. With no worthwhile wars, Captaincies for the capital ships went to Lords and Lords’ sons. If he took the Florin, he was the Elf’s man. The card Nag Kath did not know he had was that Penandoth’s lovely Clarissus was a wife better suited for passionate reunions than everyday life during long stints in dock. Last night she gave her Capt’n an earful over some niggling chore rather than enjoying her marital pleasure. That happened often lately. At thirty-six, the Captain did not feel past such things. 

The Captain stared at the dented Kings before putting them in his pocket. Four little ones would be easier to diversify in the family lockbox than a big one. His employer stood and said, “No need to share this with the Admiral just yet. Here is my address. If you are free tomorrow morning, I have some interesting drawings to show you.”


	41. Sea Legs

** _Chapter 41_ **

** _Sea Legs_ **

Miss Glynnys made as good a porridge as could be, but Nag Kath never ate it more than three times a week. The local nuppers helped and he could afford eggs brought from the mainland. His breakfasts were still cheaper than Nemren’s, which had to be carted over the same causeway. 

Penandoth arrived as Glynnys was cleaning the kitchen leaving Nag Kath and Athmandal stabbing at their bowls not really wanting to eat any more. The sailors were introduced. Since this was the only table downstairs, the lad cleared it and retook his chair while the Elf rolled out a series of drawings. Cook brought the Captain tea.

Nag Kath said, “These are the plans for the new harrier. Don’t ask me where I got them.” He showed the side, front and top-down compartments in the first three pages. “Now these are from Elvish ships of about the same size I got up north.” The Elf flipped through the rebound volume and some of the larger sheets Athmandal gathered from the floor in Mithlond.

Nag Kath continued, “I see a ship using some of both, very fast but built more for comfort than grain.”

Penandoth shook his head, “No pig-boat; this. The Ministry would dearly like to see these.”

“They have. That is why I want to slide my contract in before the rush. Other shipwrights would serve, but those harriers are now proven. Dal, what tidings?”

“Thommi said Lieutenant Turembad is much about lately, but kicking the planks. The wright said they do that while the palace negotiates.” The Captain agreed.

Nag Kath got down to cases; “Gentlemen, it is time to put a deposit down. Captain …” he kept it formal since Athmandal would be subordinate at sea, “… I think it best you keep to your official duties until this is more than smoke, but I hope you will study these drawings.”

The Elf twigged his teeth walking to the shipyard and asked to see Mr. Stieffild. The woman who kept salesmen at bay remembered him, as women often did, and said the old wright was at the water’s edge but should be back presently. Stieffild ambled back about fifteen minutes later to see the tall, blonde had returned, alone this time.

“What can I do for you young man?”

“I would like a few minutes of your time to talk about having work done, sir.”

The wright looked at his clerk and asked, “When does Urath get here?”

“He is delayed until tomorrow, Mr. Stieffild. First thing, he thinks.”

Back to Nag Kath; “Come in.”

Nag Kath shut the door behind him. The office had a large pane-window looking into the interior of the covered part of the yard. It was open on the sides thanks to the mild weather of Dol Amroth but had a roof for work better done out of the rain. Stieffild stood looking out for a moment so the Elf remained standing too. The old wright sat at his desk and started cleaning his pipe. Knowing it would take a while he motioned for his guest to be seated. Unlike Gandalf, the man spoke as he filled a new bowl, “Tell me what is on your mind.”

“I would like you to build me a ship, something akin to the harriers you make now.”

Stieffild lit his pipe and shook the match out with his three good fingers. A satisfying puff later he said, “That is a lot of money, young man. Have you got it?”

“Yes.”

“And it is likely we will be busy soon. The Navy is working on changes for the line.”

“I know. I drew the plans. I was hoping you could finish mine in the summer, after you have had a chance to test the design.”

If the shipwright was surprised, he didn’t show it. Another pleasing puff later, he would see the blonde’s coin. “The base ship is thirty Florin. Whatever else you want stacks on that. We require one in five parts as a deposit. That’s ours if you change your mind. You get it back if we cannot deliver. Things happen, if you take my meaning.”

Nag Kath knew their terms before he came. Nodding, he said, “That is fair. If your folk will prepare the contract, I will return tomorrow morning with six Florin. Now, I will have some changes, and don’t intend them to be difficult or expensive. I will get those to you in good time. When do you think you will lay the keel?”

Stieffild had to light his pipe again before saying, “February, first part of March. You understand I work for less than sympathetic folk?”

“Don’t we all, Mr. Stieffild.”

______________-------______________

In the meantime, Opher proposed wine at The Quill with another friend who had not attended the Scholars meeting. The Quill was a watering-hole for academics with coin. The food was edible and the wine better. Their waiter was an energetic young man who needed the work but also sought readers for his saucy romance books. It seemed ladies rented chapters by the week with a healthy deposit against keeping it. The Elf suspected these works bordered on topics the Prince’s Arbiters might find inappropriate.

Opher’s friend was Khandrash, a Southron with an unintentionally deceptive name. Khandrash had been an employee of the Prince’s administration in the interior counties for his entire career but was born in Dibis on the northern side of the peninsula enclosing Umbar to the south. His father, a learned man of the Dhuur clan, was encouraged to move north after refusing to acknowledge the suzerainty of tribal lord Randsie. By the time they made it to Pelargir, someone put a knife through Randsie’s eye. That news didn’t arrive until his da had a job at a winery that paid much better than anything he could return to.

One thing led to another and his da, mother, brother and he worked their way into the heartland of Belfalas. Da stayed in the wine business and Ubier Khandrash eventually became the supervisor of roads connecting market towns in the prosperous Principality counties of Eregost and Mithrast. His lads kept them smooth and fixed the holes. When he retired, he devoted himself to his beloved learning, including tales of the homeland he had never since visited.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Khandrash.”

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Kath.” His accent was almost too faint to discern.

Khandrash took a bite of the chicken before it dried and said, “Mr. Opher told me of your interest in southern lands and thought I could assist.”

“It was kind of you to come, sir. And yes, I purpose to visit the far coast where it is said the dry lands end.”

“Ah, Mr. Kath. That is much further than I ever went. I fear I can tell you nothing of the roads or distance.”

Nag Kath responded, “In truth, sir, I am more interested in the people I might meet. I know quite a bit about men close to the Gondor border and spent considerable time with several Mûmakil crews working construction projects.”

“My! Those beasts come from much further south than my humble beginnings also. My father was a wise man who learned and taught lore of the region. In his youth, he listened to the old men who survived the dark days. They said the huge creatures came from the rivers flowing into the Umbar gulf from the south. 

“Sauron’s minions went there to demand tribute from the Lords. For reasons only known to them, they were placed in the service of the fierce Chelkar allies from the Khandian rim. Many of them were slain with their handlers in Gondor. Since then, the two peoples will have nothing to do with each other.”

The Elf started a prepared exchange, “I am sorry, Mr. Opher. I did not mean to exclude you. Do either of you gentlemen know of the Black Numenoreans?”

Opher answered the planted question, “The Faithless; said to favor Sauron over the Valar to the doom of their island. What little I know is that they took all of Harad after the sundering. As their vigilance waned, fierce tribesmen from the eastern deserts overwhelmed them even as the Gondorans attacked from the north. I cannot speak to those further down.”

Khandrash continued, “Perhaps I can. Grandfather said in the dark days, servants of Mordor traveled there to demand aid. Terrible wars among factions yet again divided the dark ones and those who had reclaimed their faith, even though it was long since any of them knew what that meant. Some came here in fealty to Sauron while others refused."

Nag Kath took a sheet of Fûl on one side and Orlo on the other and asked, “Have you ever seen either of these?”

The right-living Scholar knew them both and played his role, “I know Fûl, but only from the works in your life, Mr. Kath.”

Khandrash nodded in agreement but looked longer at the right-living symbol. The Elf and Opher watched closely for a reaction. Tapping his temple with his finger the Southron stammered, “Forgive my failing memory. I left Harad when I was eight but that reminds me of the glyph the houlars used to show their trade.” He looked at Opher, “Houlars, yes? Women who used herbs and ointments to heal hurts and illness. The only reason I recall is that men whipped my father to leave and he was later tended by an old crone of that symbol. I could be completely wrong, but that was my first impression and I have learned to trust them.”

“Mr. Khandrash, do you recall if any of the men who attacked your father had red collars?”

“Schieal! I do not know. Mother hid us away. Father later said they were foot-sore for being sent all the way from Isgar. They gave him the lightest of beatings with little malice and were more concerned with stealing the grain bucket. He only accepted the ministrations of the Hoular woman because she walked long from Hito and was of good family.”

Nag Kath held his chin and smiled. Orlo, you crafty old devil! Did you create weak female sorcerers to further your cause? Were some of them brought into dark service to balance the scale?

Nag Kath apologized for taking and offering nothing in return. The Scholars were not offended. Opher said, “Please, Mr. Kath, some of us are resigned to remembering. Some of us create. In our small way, lore lives on through those like you. When we meet again, perhaps you will tell us other things we should remember."

Nag Kath took Opher aside to tell him he would need some Righters on his ship. Dol Amroth was not a hotbed of them. They tended not to pursue affluence and Dol Amroth liked its comforts. The difficulty in getting all right-living folk was; one needed experienced sailors for the kind of trip he had in mind. The sea could be a cruel mistress with no malice aforethought. Sailors might not see the same need for sacrifice. Irons were in the fire. Dal was woefully under-employed. That would change when the Captain officially resigned. Barahir was rumored coming here. He was building a ship, oh, and an attractive woman might be interested. 

______________-------______________

Things got slightly less complicated with another domestic squabble between Penandoth and cherished Clarissus. He gave her one of the nippers for the household shopping, far more than enough to include a large jug of barley spirits. Deep in her cups, the woman gripped the change from her liquor and cursed her husband blue for all manner of imagined faults, finally screaming, “Had I a Florin, I would be shot of you!”

The Captain came by Nag Kath’s before cook even got there. The Elf opened the door, stared for a moment and swung it wide. Penandoth walked in and sat at the table. The Elf gave the groggy Dal a wink to take a walk and sat down himself. Penandoth said without preamble, “I will resign my commission and work for you, but I need another Florin, now. It is personal and I am ashamed to ask in this way.” 

The Master expected to be interrogated but Nag Kath went to his little desk for a coin and laid it on the table without a word. The Captain stared at it longer than he did the four nippers before gently slipping his fingernail under the edge and rolling it into his palm, “I will be back in two days. Please forgive me.”

One needed a stable marriage to advance in the Navy to high Captain. If he didn’t need that career, he didn’t need that wife. Walking to the notary, Penandoth slowly grew a grin that left Nag Kath’s in its wake. 

At dinner with the Ivandreds the next night, Eniecia said to the air in the room, “Mina seems a very nice young woman.”

When Uncle Nag did not respond, Cal said, “Yes, very nice indeed.”

Undeterred, Eniecia commented, “Now which is it … yes, ‘The Enscior Murtal’ is next Thursday. Sometimes the tragedies make me melancholy, but they can be uplifting.”

Not even Legorn would touch that one. Their water blossom bloomed on, “My friend Lurnith knows a woman who enjoys …”

The stern Elf-Lord glare froze her tongue. Eniecia had never seen it before but Nag Kath had a lot on his mind and juggling females had no room on the manifest. The Countess of Dale had another bite of fish. Uncle Nag said he would skip the tearful, three-act dirge. Cal and Eniecia’s children could have his seats.

______________-------______________

Nag Kath’s raised eyebrow never threatened Talereth’s, but Captain Penandoth got his best when he showed the following morning. The man traded his Florin for a signature, moved his things to a small apartment near the shipwrights and got his handshake at the Naval Office. He was in neck-deep with little to do until Stieffild and Yarlundar started bending boards. 

It was too early to look for crew. Penandoth explained the expected outlays. Senior men came first since they would need to commit before the next trading season. The crew could come afterwards and a few Haradrim nearer sailing. The last were easily found. Though not sworn loyal to the Prince, they were reliable since they would be treated worse than the western sailors if captured by former countrymen.

The Elf hadn’t expected Penandoth to be available so quickly. Taking a long sip of tea, Nag Kath said, “I need to tell you what I am about here. I have told you of some of my skills. There are more. I am going south following the suggestion of a very powerful sorcerer to see what is left of Sauron’s powers and, if possible, to destroy them. It could well mean having the crew in a safe port while I thresh the wheat. 

“It might be nothing, we trade our goods and turn around. It could take months to discover the secrets. The sorcerer, wizard, probably, has a following which for thousands of years has sought to disrupt Sauron’s intent. They work humbly and quietly, and seldom in the west. Last week I sent a letter to a friend in Osgiliath inquiring if a few can be found to be among our crew. If I need to go deep into the heart of the beast, they will be my companions. The Righters are almost certain to need training, but will be brave and true.”

Penandoth wasn’t concerned, “That is no trouble. If they are greenbottoms, I will need sailors to fill those duties. It only means we have a few more folk onboard.”

As with the aqueduct, Nag Kath called a meeting of the principals including the Captain, his new adjutant Dal, the right-living and southern scholars, Minister Cal and himself. There were no secrets. This was not a government project but it was sanctioned by the highest Lord of the land. Since responsibilities had been divided, everyone was fascinated by the whole. Opher and Kastagorm would not accept compensation. Khandrath took a modest retainer for very valuable information about customs and history of a place most of the world tried to forget. After today, Nag Kath met the scholars separately.

Khandrath explained Harad was the first enemy to reach terms with the Elessar. The northern Easterlings raided several more years until the King’s and Prince Faramir’s troops destroyed their forces. Everyone knew a more recent probe-in-strength was slain to the last man by men stationed in Dorwinion. Nag Kath told them it wasn’t until Dulgov that the two sides broke bread. 

Harad was a huge place and after the war, no one part spoke for any other. The King’s agreement was with the tribes closest to the border but that carried no weight with those of the deep-south and southwest. The clans along the southern Mordor Duath had been the most fanatical which earned them the worst casualties on the Pelennor. They might be trouble now that their population was at pre-war strength. That would have been far worse had the Visitors succeeded in pushing their aims to the less-defended Khanates below. Nag Kath’s Mordor story gave that context.

After hauling his things to a home mercifully without Clarissus, Penandoth spent time with the Ministry and Elvish plans. He proposed a few changes; adding brackets along the rails so shields could be used at need. Installing a derrick davit near the main hatch would let them onboard anything heavy since they would not be crewing extra men for cargo. He also suggested two pivoting rear-ballista mounts. If the ship was built to outrun, the enemy would be astern. With no objections or new business, a demi-cask was tapped. Nag Kath told them any of them could speak to any of the others without his leave and that he was proud of them.

______________-------______________

By all accounts, the Catanard was as depressing as advertised. Purists believed they had to suffer through at least one per year to complete their ritual. This time, Callistra and Phaeron brought their children so old Captain Ivandred neatly avoided the protracted heartbreaker. Looking forward, one simply cannot appreciate the situation without understanding ‘The Mayor’s Niece’. One of the oldest Catanards still performed, it is usually the anchor of the season. Songs requires great range in both the male baritone and tenor leads. The women are more comedic than musical but get the best speaking lines.

Tradition matters. The Niece is a bawdy tale hinting in the opening act that the maiden may not be, shall we say, inexperienced. It also encourages the sort of audience participation to make the Elves of Lorien cringe. The piece was too well established to deny, even by a line of rather priggish Princes dating to before Imrahil. Given the rotation at this; the shrine of the musical form, it played every four or five years and always to standing-room crowds.

Who sat in the Prince’s box mattered.

With that backdrop, Nag Kath collected his lovely belle on the chime of six and walked her down to the pavilion. The sun had chased the few light clouds away hours before Arien carried it behind the Prince’s Citadel. One could not have ordered a better evening.

Mina wore brighter colors and her hair was up again, held in place with two long, thin strips of blackwood. She was more relaxed than the last opera and pleased to be out. He wondered if he would ever be alone with her. The older Ivandreds were already seated with Field and Grenda. Raniece came last year but this was daughter Talienne’s first opera as an adult. The eighteen year-old chatted with the pretty, enigmatic widow.

When members of the Princely family attend this or any other large event, the audience stands as they find their chairs. Tonight the patrons got a thrill when the heir, Lord Imrothil, his older sister, Lady Lourden and both their spouses arrived with several of their children and a special guest, young Lord Barahir of Ithilien. A murmur through the crowd told everyone who he was. 

As he was taking his seat, Barahir saw the Ivandreds twenty feet away and waved calling, “Ah, splendid to see you. Let us speak after the performance.”

The Lords of Belfalas seemed pleased and settled on their cushions as the Sayer walked on stage to set the night’s intrigues. All prepared themselves for the opening except young Talienne, who, from the relative angle of their seats, was directly in line with the handsome northern Prince speaking to the Elf behind her. Her eyes were as big as those of the frogs men hunt with polished lamps at night.

Mina leaned against the tall Elf to enjoy watching the poor Niece escape her Uncle’s schemes to divide her dowry by marrying her to an ill-favored businessman. Leotas was in fine form as the Mayor. A large, florid man in grotesque face-paint, he broadly acted his sinister designs to vocal condemnation. Of course, the actors played off the audience too. One patron cried, “How can you treat her so?”

Leotas bellowed, “You would too with this heavy costume!”

A great success! People stood and clapped as the cast, musicians and dancers came back on stage to bow and thank their noble sponsors. Lord Imrothil started speaking with the man in next box which gave Barahir a chance to work through the patrons and shake Nag Kath’s hand.

The changeling said, “I am glad you could come. When did you arrive?”

Barahir answered, “Just yesterday.”

The Elf asked, “May I present my family? This young fellow is Captain Ivandred. This is Minister Caladrion, who I believe you know, and his wife, Countess Eniecia. Together they were the players from the famed trip to King Elfwine’s wedding.” 

Barahir reassured with; “That was one of grand-father’s favorite stories, and my Aunt Lilleth’s too.” Looking at still beautiful Eniecia, “She was much taken with your poise.”

"These are their children, Field and Grenda Ivandred and their daughters Raniece … ” he nodded to the other end of the box, “ … and Talienne, who, is rumored, can sing like a bird.”

Barahir kissed the blushing girl’s hand and said, “I am indeed fortunate.”

“And this, My Lord, is Mrs. Pfennick who knows more about this music than I ever will.”

“Enchanted, Mrs. Pfennick. Nag, what is the day … come up for lunch on Saturday.”

“I will be there, sir.” The Prince’s box was preparing to leave so the young Lord excused his way through the patrons again and was off with the guardi escort. Everyone stared at the Elf who waited for the ladies to gather their wraps and make for the Lion’s Beard. 

The Ivandreds did no singing this night and left after the first pitcher of wine. Grenda and Field took their awestruck daughters home leaving just Nag Kath and Mina while people from the audience trickled in to take formerly reserved seats. It was the closest they had been to being alone. Both finished their cups and walked up a side street that wasn’t so crowded.

She said, “It seems you are more hero than I know. I suppose I will have to wait to hear your stories, Nag Kath.”

“A fair exchange. You are dazzling tonight.”

Arriving at her parents’ home she said, “Thank you. It has been some time since I dressed for an occasion. Now, I have done it twice in a month. Perhaps my luck is turning. Thank you for a lovely evening.”

______________-------______________

Nag Kath had not been to this part of the palace before. Barahir was in secluded guest quarters closer to the Princely family than the administrative offices. He suspected they had private council-rooms in-between. Other than meeting Prince Imrahil in his office, his only visits here had been in the more public rooms or for finger-cakes in large settings.

The city was abuzz that the heir of Belfalas had come to the most important Catanard of the season. Prince Alphros was now 92, six months older than Nag Kath. If Imrothil and his eldest sister came with their broods, the Principality should prepare for that from now on.

Nag Kath had only met Alphros once at the wedding sixty years ago and never met Imrothil. He supposed that would change. Barahir’s father was still in his prime so the young man was probably representing Ithilien’s intertwined interests and meeting his own generation.

“Ah, come in, my friend!”

Nag Kath bowed and shook Barahir’s hand. The young heir showed him to a chair at a small, round dining table and took one beside it. They helped themselves to cool tea from a pitcher and clicked mugs. Bara said, “Thank you for your letter. This visit had been in motion for a long time but your being here is a nice touch.”

“Thank you, Bara. It seems we both have considerable family on the island.”

Barahir smiled, “I have made discreet inquiries about kingly romance. To be honest, I imagine my tale with difficulty as the ending might not go as well as the rest. You are right that events must be considered after the moment.”

“I feared you might, sir. And if I may be so bold, those who write them are often of their own moment. You have opportunities and responsibilities in the here and now.”

“Father often reminds me of that.”

Nag Kath knitted his eyebrows a bit and remembered, “There is a source you must consider, lo I do not know if it is even of Middle-earth anymore. Do you know the Hobbits in the Shire?”

“Oh indeed I do. Both Thain Pippin and Master Meriodoc were often guests or we saw them in the White City. That is where I heard my first stories of our Liege before his Kingship.”

Nag Kath warmed to his lore, “The Ringbearers wrote their history, going back to the destruction of Smaug. Bilbo began. Frodo has the bulk of it and Samwise added more later. It was an ongoing tale and much revered, bound in red leather, and written in different hands with pictures and maps. 

“You must look at that, and perhaps have copies made so all the world can see the tale of such noble little people. If your later duties call for a trip to Annúminas, you go right through the place. You would certainly be welcomed in their gracious style.” The Elf smiled, “Take a scribe along for the ride.”

Bara exclaimed, “You make my labors too easy! Yes, I shall do that, or, at least, send the scribe.”

Servants brought a light lunch in the local style of putting different things between small sliced loaves like his picnics with Phyll. The friends took what they wanted from the plates and constructed their own with sauces and greens. After finishing a large bite, the heir changed the subject, “King Elessar was much taken with the drawings from Mithlond. As I understand it, Ministers here think to include Elvish elements in their vessels?”

Nag Kath winced inwardly. “I thought those might make their way upriver. The main difference is the shape of the hull. Their craft are deeper, methinks more stable in high swells. Men are working on that now.”

It was not especially secret so Barahir added, “I know Prince Legolas was in the White City not long before me and was said to enjoy seeing the craft of his kin.” No surprise there. The Elf would need a boat one of these days. He may have been to the Grey Havens fifty times over his long life but somehow, Nag Kath thought fewer. The Woodland Realm was the outlier among the the firstborn in Arda. His father was the last Elf of Middle-earth who styled himself as a king. Legolas was honored in the other realms, but not of them. 

The Elf asked, “Now to the important business; did you enjoy the music?” That impossibly broad question could range from the portly villain’s comical intrigues to the succession of Dol Amroth. 

The heir formed a curious smile, “I did, but I cannot say I quite understood it. The men of Ithilien style themselves as hard defenders of the borderlands. Leisure is weakness. While folk here have been fighting almost all the while, they allow themselves surcease, knowing it refreshes them.” He winked, “Osgiliath; does not signify. They have their pleasures. Your party seemed to know when to cheer and boo.”

The Elf had a long pull of the excellent tea and added, “All among them were born and bred here, except my granddaughter Eniecia. She is a granddaughter of Brand of Dale but came into her own in Minas Tirith. Her mother, my adopted daughter Ardatha, was friend to your grandmother Éowyn. It can be a confusing web of lines in these closed worlds.

“And the charming Mrs. Fen …”

“Mrs. Pfennick. I just met her at the connivance of my lady relatives.”

Barahar thought a moment, “Yes, I am on the block here also. Now, the young lady in front of you, she was very fair indeed.”

“Talienne, my great, great granddaughter.” Nag Kath chuckled, “She is our Queen Nephtat.”

The heir cocked his head slightly to encourage the rest. The Elf elaborated, “In that family, every few generations brings forth a woman who resembles a painting of an ancient Queen on the seventh. The hair can vary but the face is as painted centuries ago. Talienne is now just eighteen. I do not know her parents very well and have not asked their plans for her, though I do know this was the first season she accompanied her parents as a woman-grown.”

Barahir was here to represent his father in consultations with the blood relations of the kingdom. As the young man alluded, he might also be shopping for a Lady Wife since Ithilien was not overcrowded with nobility. There would be a variety of courtly maidens who happened to be in his presence while he was here for as long as two months. His larger duty was to spend time with Imrothil and his brother Emphar. Imrothil was the same age as Barahir’s father Elboron and the imminent successor. Nag Kath knocked on that door, “Bara, if it does not betray any state secrets, how fares our Prince of Dol Amroth?”

“No secret, my friend. He is still sharp of mind but has difficulty with his joints. Lords Emphar and Imrothil are doing more of the endless tasks that come from managing such a cumbersome government. It is an orderly succession as these things go.”

“Please convey my best wishes to the family. I do not know this generation.”

Barahir did not care for the Belfalas leafy cabbage and removed it from the rest of his stack before saying, “And now; what of you? Your guest seemed very fair.”

Nag Kath laughed, “We just met, but yes, she is lovely. My problem, and this is no great secret but not widely known, is that I purpose to sail to lands below Harad. It is probably a long, dangerous business and I do not need to make the poor woman a widow twice.”

“Hence your interest in Elvish ships?”

“Umhumm. The sorcerer of Rhûn left a clue to that land. If he was there, there were probably men of his path fighting those of Sauron’s flock. I will see what remains of both.”

“I should go with you. Statues aren’t erected for administrators.”

The Elf chuckled, “Then you haven’t seen my statue. It is in the annex of the water gates in Osgiliath. If you look, you will appreciate that noble men do what is right for their people, in war and peace. Not that you wouldn’t be welcome. Dear Captain Ivandred was my first volunteer. He is a mere one hundred and five, a famed Captain of Marines!”

“Tell me more about it. Father’s Chamberlain has a full schedule of meeting and greeting but there are sizeable gaps.”

“If royal food grows old, come to my family’s for dinner. The blue Odar are running.”

Barahir thought through his schedule, “Give me two weeks.”

______________-------______________

Nag Kath took the time to organize. Penandoth presented his modifications to the ship plans. It had the deeper hull but was otherwise closer to the Navy than the Elvish design since the ship had to start before the first new harriers would have really been tested in blue water. Dal kept with the Captain and the two got along well. Penandoth needed him more than Nag Kath and that would only increase from here.

Preparing for the south was a jumble of unrelated pieces so Nag Kath spent time with his helpers separately. The Scholars, both the two and occasional meetings of the larger group, were an enormous resource. Opher considered his way of life to be right-living had not been to the east. The Elf spent many hours with him talking about the sorcerer and the Ghurates. With family and, no doubt, a secure income here in this excellent place, he would not be visiting there as a pilgrim.

Khandrash knew of languages and types of men to the south. He had been no further than he was born but folk traveled north and south along the coast all the time, some from well down. One old-timer remembered the female Mûmikils going up to work on Nag Kath’s water-path. Most travelers spoke some sort of Westron or Plainstongue. Rumor had it; the surviving Black Numenoreans still spoke Sindarin when they lived in Umbar. 

Dal spent most of his time with Captain Penandoth, sometimes sleeping on the man’s floor and sometimes at Nag Kath’s. Glynnys made breakfast and usually dinner for all three whether it was served at the Elf’s home or not. The sailors had more to do and were usually together, but Dal still ran errands for Nag Kath.

Uncle Nag paid a call to Field and Grenda Ivandred. Field watched the properties here in Dol Amroth for his parents after Eniecia inherited both her parent’s estates. It wasn’t much work since most of the property was upriver, but the man made sure the bank drafts were booked. A sedentary job helped after resigning his Marine commission because of a broken leg at sea. He could walk fine on flat surfaces but avoided steps. 

Both girls were out, as Nag Kath suspected. Grenda showed him in for tea and they deployed around the low table. Field said, “How is your boat coming along?”

“We keep playing with the design but the wright won’t lay the keel until late winter. I think they are trying the new design soon so I will sneak by for a look until they toss me out.”

Grenda said, “The Captain enjoyed the comedy. I love it when grand-da has a good time. He is still very hale.”

Nag Kath grinned, “He is the best of men. Forgive me for coming unannounced but I wanted to catch you both alone. If this is not my concern, say so, but I wanted to ask if you have considered Talienne’s future.”

Grenda replied, “Of course. She is coming into her own.” The woman demurely poured her tea and stated, “You are up to something, Nag Kath.”

“The heir to Ithilien asked about her. I do not know if he was merely being polite, but he is not here entirely to wish his Uncle peace beyond the circle. If he asks again, what do I say?”

Field took a long pull of his tea, prepared with honey in the custom of his kin. Then he looked at his wife. They had educated the girl as Eniecia had been taught. She was intelligent, mannerly and attractive. But she was also still quite young. Heritage certainly qualified her. She was in the direct line of the King who slew Smaug. On Cal’s side she and Barahir were kin to the King of Rohan. Talliene had not been groomed for royalty and they would not force her into marriage to feather their well-feathered nest. If the right prince came knocking that was fine, but he would need more than his title to claim either of their lasses.

Grenda did the talking, “You know him, Nag, is he a wholesome man?”

“Indeed. A bit bookish but also an earned officer of their horse, and they take that position seriously across the Anduin. Between us, though it is probably no secret, I think life is a bit dull for him after schooling in the White City. It pays him and his parents, who are very fine people, to visit his kin here. What their other designs are, I cannot say.”

Field had another sip and said, “If the man inquires, I think Talienne would enjoy meeting him again. I have never seen the painting you say captures her line, but perhaps she is a queen of old.” Grenda nodded. Not much slipped past Grenda.

______________-------______________

The last opera in the fall season was ‘That Which Comes to Us’. It was the performance Nag Kath saw when he escaped the guest quarters after he was taken from the cave, not that he knew. It is a short work in a single long act. 

Most of the classic forms are adults trying to manipulate younger relatives; tragedies if they succeed, comedies if they fail. This story has magic; the tale of a sorcerer of indifferent morals and ability who learns he has a nephew contemplating marriage to a noble lass. He must choose between his kin and his own interests. At times in its history, rulers forbade its playing thinking it gave commoners airs that they could rise above their station. No one seemed worried about that now so it played every six or seven years at the end of the season when folks’ attention was drifting from summer entertainment.

Mina was waiting by the door. The old steward turned and saw her before shuffling out of the way. Nag Kath kissed her hands as she showed him into the main room. 

It would have been unthinkable for a maiden to leave unchaperoned with a man, and butler Demandred thought Nag Kath a man. But Earmina Pfennick, nee Reynthalar, had been a married woman and they were allowed more freedom in the Principality. Her parents had no trouble with that, but the poor butler still thought of her as the shy lass he knew since birth.

Nag Kath collected his lovely Earmina after greeting her parents and they strolled to the pavilion. She was very quiet and held his arm this time. The Captain was there. This was one of his favorites and included a song he had sung for ninety years. That could have been annoying except he was good. Cal and Eniecia were seated and this time the Libron’s joined them with their son Menalgir. 

It wasn’t until the fourth song that Nag Kath realized this was the beauty and the glory that saved him. Mina felt him become very quiet and leaned against him in the faint light. When it was time to cheer or hiss, he remained still, holding her hand, never taking his eyes from the stage. 

The wizard was a parody of famed wizards, including his three, including him too when he did his sums. He carried a staff equipped with a small lamp that had to be cosseted not to go out dispensing his inept spells. The lad and lass were not as dim-witted as in the family comedies. Neither was especially young either, but with face-paint, it was their voices that mattered.

Mina sneaked looks at her enthralled Elf. The stage wizard was in the throes of doubt how to help without jeopardizing his position with the local squire. In the end, he chose what was best for his nephew and all was put right. 

Nag Kath smiled and seemed attentive at the Lion’s Beard but Earmina knew his mind was still on stage. Was it the wizard? He said he knew several. Was it the choice of human good? She was not sure. Callistra gave Mina a wink as the older members left Uncle Nag and his date by themselves.

Mina probed, “Nag, what is it? You seemed lost to us tonight.”

He smiled and said, “I am sorry. That was the first entertainment I ever saw. It brought back associations I thought gone. It is curious that the hapless wizard should be so far from the real ones. They seem distracted, but there is steel inside”

She asked, “May I ask what you are a Lord of?”

“Galador. I performed a service for Prince Imrahil, got my name carved in a monument somewhere. My dear, you seem especially fair tonight.”

“Why thank you, Lord Kath.” She became more grave. “I have not been out much since my difficulty.”

He looked down at her in puzzlement. Her face drained realizing Callistra had not explained the scandal of her widowhood. Oh dear! Here was this courtly gentleman, now trapped into being seen with her publicly. 

The woman stopped breathing. “Nag Kath, my husband died under less than noble circumstances. I would have you know that before you risk your reputation in my company.”

She was so lovely, even pale from this painful exercise in courage. Her lip quivered slightly but she was determined. “Since I started this, you should know my late husband was found floating in the harbor several days after disappearing. It was later discovered that his accounts were in arrears.”

Nag Kath misunderstood, “Did they catch his killers?”

“Oh, no, he must have cast himself in the bay.” When that didn’t change his expression she added, “It was not a great deal of money. He had a dice habit. It was not so much that either of our parents could not have settled. It seems his father had before and ended-up doing so the last time too.”

“I am sorry, Mina. Why would that reflect poorly on you?”

Her lip trembled again. She squeezed her fists with the thumb inside. “I was the wife of a man who disgraced himself and his family. In our little world, wives are complicit. I am sorry Lord, excuse me, Nag Kath. Your people are said to be so fair.”

The Elf had a long pull of the pleasing wine and used one of his more serious faces so as not to make light of the woman’s difficulty before saying, “Please, do not give it another thought, for my sake or anyone else’s. You are a dear woman with so much to look forward to. I am proud to be seen in your presence.”

She recovered her color with a slight blush to boot. Nag Kath went on to say, “You must tell me all about yourself but I suppose I have some confessing to do first. I was changed to this form through unknown craft and tutored by wizards so I have some weak sorcery of my own. I am a powerful healer which has come in handy many times. Since the Elves are neither hostile nor welcoming, I have always lived among men and found my greatest happiness among them, though I am still in my own mourning period for the loss of my wife.”

Callistra had not mentioned he was recently widowed either. “I have been married three times and enjoy that state, but it is only fair to tell you that a long, dangerous voyage awaits me beyond where the maps end.”

“You are an immortal? Like an Elf?”

He held his hair back. She said on her breath, “Are you ages old?”

“Not yet a hundred.”

She grew excited, “Even so, there are great tales of Elves even recently. One killed the trolls of Pelargir!”

“Well, uhm, that was me.”

The young woman felt his ear, “You are a hero, then?”

“I fear so.”

She said rather urgently, “Nag Kath, your behavior had been so courtly. You are a true gentleman.”

“Thank you, I think.”

“I am not a maiden. There are those who would think that I might, well, might have more mature needs.” She began to cry softly. Mina dabbed her eyes and found strength to say, “It is more than that though. You, your family, comes from the breed of heroes. I was a spinster, a lass and then woman with her head in the clouds. My only choice in life was to remain so or marry. Waltram was at times a thoughtful husband. But I could never have been more than his wife and then I became less. 

“And now there is you. But you do not touch me. I do not know if it is because I am a tradesman’s daughter, or sullied by circumstance or because you would not take me and then leave on your quest. Forgive me.” The tears started again, “I have overstepped my bounds. I think I should go now.”

The Elf did not release her hands, “Let me tell you a great story of the bravest woman. She was a maid in a land of fierce warriors, in love with a man already betrothed.

“Her King had her care for the women and children as her people stood against the most fearsome foe. They prevailed, but she would not be left behind for the next battle so she disguised herself among riders in terrible strife until it was she who slew the greatest of their enemies. Then she married the finest of men and had children and grandchildren in their time. You met one at the last play.

“All of those were noble duties and brought her honor and joy in their turn. You are no different. I feel your strength. You are brave and loyal. Do not despair. Your parents have been brave to keep you safe. Poor old Demandred protects you against unsavory Elves.”

Mina laughed. The notion of the sweet old retainer broke through her melancholy. 

Nag Kath continued, “But you are right; I would not take you and then leave you for my frivolous adventure. Now, as to touching you, I can imagine nothing finer. I am very fond of that. But I have learned that even greater heroes than me cannot leave such thoughtlessness in their wake.”

“Yes, yes I enjoy that too, but not when done in hopes it would keep my Waltram from the gambling hells. He would leave after and I knew I was not enough. I am sorry, Nag Kath. I am so ashamed.” A single tear slid down her cheek.

In watching the rudderless wizard finally decide for the better, Nag Kath resolved to be chaste with the young widow. But this was also Barahir’s story of Arwen and Aragorn reversed. Nag Kath was not a Lord of dark or light here to judge mortals. Mina was a woman who was bound to the strictures of her small society. She would rather be with a strong man even for a while than spend the rest of her life trying to make-up for things beyond her control. She deserved better. In the end, he would not have her waiting most of her mortal life for him. Like Grace, the perfect man lived within a mile of her. 

Grimly he said, “I suppose I should return you to Demandred.”

Nag Kath felt terrible. He could have taken her to bed and showed her how heroes please their ladies, but that would leave her doubly shamed. He could marry her to live the best years of her mortal life a widow twice-over. Kissing her hands, he hoped she might be here if he returned from Harad or might find a hero who could share life’s stages equally.

It was a long walk home.

______________-------______________

Khandrash knew of an Umbar captain’s diary in a private collection that described the harbors around that gulf. It was old enough to be in Sindarin, suggesting the mariner was a Black Numenorean. The Umbar regions had been overrun by men of Harad centuries ago who would have used their language or a common-tongue if they kept records at all. 

Nag Kath sent a letter to the owner introducing himself and asking if he could look at the document with his friend, Scholar Khandrash. After a week there was no reply. He sent another and waited another week. After a while, he decided there was nothing for it and walked to the imposing home in the Castle Quarter below the bailey. 

A tall, soldierly retainer opened the door and Nag Kath stated his business. The man said, “Lord Éomandar does not receive unannounced guests. You will have to send a note to schedule a time.”

“I did.”

“Then it is likely he does not want to see you. Good day.” 

As the man was about to shut the door, a curious yellow light hit his eyes. Behind that he heard, “Tell the Lord that Lord Kath is here on business from the crown.”

Khandrash kept his tongue behind his teeth and watched the doorman’s frown as if trying to remember why he had tied a string around his finger. He turned with a half-hearted effort to close the door which hit the Elf’s foot. They followed the retainer as far as they entry hall and waited.

What they got was the lady of the house, an imposing creature if there ever was one. She would be a doyen of this the most prestigious area of the city other than the citadel itself. Lady Éomander appraised the two pitilessly and said, “My husband is indisposed. What is your business here?

Nag Kath said, “Forgive the intrusion, ma’am. I am Nag Kath and have come for permission to review one of Lord Éomander’s histories. It may be helpful on a mission I am tasked to perform by the King.” The King didn’t know anything about this but he had no trouble with the Grey Havens and probably wouldn’t mind this little incursion either. 

Another thing Nag Kath knew for sure was that an offer to rent or buy the information would die on the vine. The only way to get at this or anything else Éomander had was from above. While the woman mulled that, he wondered if they were any relation to the Rohirrim in Orthanc. It did not seem politic to ask.

Lady Éomander said to the doorman, “Make them comfortable in the library.” Implied was that they were not to leave his sight. The tall servant led them to a very nice room that got the eastern sun through fine-paned windows. No refreshments were offered.

Better than a quarter-bell later, an old cove shuffled into the library and said in grave tones, “Well, you came. What do you need?”

Nag Kath said, “I wanted to ask if you own a copy of Captain Hearinald’s sailing diary.”

“And if I did, what is that to you two?”

The Elf did the talking, “I will be traveling that way next year.”

The old boy considered that for a moment and said, “It is in Elvish.”

“I was hoping it might be. Does it have any maps?”

Now that he had established these weren’t salesmen, Lord Éomander relaxed. His wife and doorman did not and continued scowling at the two seated scholars. The old man walked to the rack next to Khandrash and pulled a small book off the top shelf. He took an age to find his half-specs and make sure this was the right one then handed it to Nag Kath. A piercing look over his specs was followed by the command, “Tea, Meanace.” The man was gone followed by Lady Éomander.

Nag Kath opened the small book. It had been rebound in velum to match others in the collection. And it was in Sindarin but neglected most of the proper Elvish punctuation and capital letters – something you might expect of a writer on sea in bad light. Éomander sat next to Khandrash and watched.

The Elf looked up and asked, “Have you read this yourself, Lord Éomander?”

“To the extent I can. Elvish was not my best subject.”

Thinking he had a potential ally, if not friend, Nag Kath began reading with the slight theatrics of the Elf-keepers;

** _Clouds converge from the west. I have ordered sail brought in enough to run with the sea and make Ardûmír before they soak us. We are at half-hold with the gureeq grain. Making port will cost us three days to Umbar but we are too heavy to fight north or run the gauntlet if the Haradaich hide in the rocks above Nar Point. Remind First Officer to ration the wine tonight. _ **

Nag Kath found a map.

** _A fair harbor with few lighters. Rocks along the outer edge, sand bottom on the lee. Anchor in the blue deep channel. Natives can row to us with their dried fruit. Better to come in January. Woman wearing gay colored shawls watch carefully._ **

The Elf looked at the Scholar who said, “The port of Pondurash, methinks.”

Éomander looked at the two as a rather comely maid arrived with a pot and three mugs of tea. Deciding it was too hot, the man put it on the straw pad and said, “An ordinary diary, it would seem, gentlemen.”

As scripted, Khandrash said, “Those are often where the details lay, Lord Kath.”

The old collector said, “Lord? You some sort of Lord?”

“Yes, sir, of Galador.” He was a lord in Dale and Gondor too but the leading lights of Dol Amroth considered Gondor more ally than overlord. Hadn’t their Prince come to the Pelennor when Aragorn was a mere ranger?

“Can’t say I’ve heard of you, but then, I don’t get out the way I used to.”

Nag Kath said, “I have only been back this season visiting family.”

The Elf was prepared to drop names shamelessly but that was more effective when asked. His Lordship did, “Anyone I know?”

“Minister Caladrion, though he is now retired from active service.”

“Good man, needed to be firmer with Pelargir, though! Now, what about the book?”

“With your permission, I would like to read it and make a few notes to see how it compares with the fleet records.”

Khandrash knew how to keep his mouth shut. ‘Fleet records’ implied there were documents dear Lord Éomander didn’t have. He wouldn’t get them either since there weren’t any, but they could attend that later. The old Lord muttered, “Well, I suppose that is fine. Make yourselves at home.” He rose and made for the main part of the house.

Nag Kath read quietly but would say ports and people’s names if Khandrash could place them. One thing stood out; at the beginning of each day’s entry, the mariner wrote a symbol that was not Elvish. It wasn’t any of the Sauronic glyphs he recognized either. Perhaps that was for the King’s-Men. He copied it carefully.

There wasn’t too much to this volume but the ones next to it might have secrets. Reading his mind, the Scholar rose and stretched looking for someplace to put his empty mug. When no one came to take it, Nag Kath took a quick peek at three books with matching covers. 

Oh my!

One of them was in even older Adûnaic. Only understanding every fifth word suggested this was a description of the exodus of Numenor after it was destroyed by Ilúvatar. Gandalf had not spent any time with that. From what Nag Kath had learned afterwards, Sauron’s body was drowned along with everyone still on the island and he was relegated to spirit form.

Two camps of survivors remained in Middle-earth. The Faithful held to their belief in the Valar. The King’s-men, loyal to the line that sought to invade the Undying Lands, still followed the poisoned tongue of Sauron. 

They worked their way south until the King’s-men were eventually forced by Gondor south of the Anduin, after the sands and wildmen of Harad wore them down, still further south. If the men of that gulf were still loyal to Sauron, Orlo would be concerned. They hadn’t come north for the Ring battles. That didn’t mean they didn’t still harbor tools of the dark ones. 

Divining the secrets of this book would take more time that mooching around Lord Éomander’s library. There might be other books here as well. Nag Kath was prepared to slip it in his satchel but preferred permission.

After a while, his Lordship wandered back in. The scholars were sitting, talking about possibilities. The old boy said, “Well, did you find what you needed?”

The Elf replied, “Aye, sir, that and then some. I would like to speak to you about this book.” He pointed to the volume next to the gap on the shelf.

Lord Éomander said sharply, “I gave you no leave to look at any other book. Get out of my home!” The strapping doorman came in to enforce his command.

The Elf said in his best Lord’s voice, “I am charged to keep the peace of the kingdom. This book will help me. I ask you to but lend it to me until I can learn its secrets. If not, I will leave with it just the same. I am a good friend and a terrible enemy. Choose wisely.”

The old man was furious but he was also a patriot. He might not have liked his odds with the imposing blonde scholar. Éomander said curtly, “Take it and go.”

They did. It would take the scholars a while to parse through this one.

______________-------______________

Information they already had was confusing too. Umbar was a puzzlement. They had an understanding with Gondor and made no military threats to the northern kingdom but they did not discourage privateers either, other than making examples of men who did not share their takings with the government. There were no ambassadors or official representatives in either realm. 

The cities themselves were of classic design, becoming more Haradric over time. A superb natural harbor, it had no rivals along an otherwise exposed coastline. Sailors of the region could be found here and Penandoth intended to add a few as the last men on board. Given Nag Kath’s interests below, it made sense to swing wide in the sea around Umbar rather than risk meeting corsairs nearer the shipping lanes.

The Captain knew all about corsairs. His ships both as officer and master were sleek attack vessels supporting the transport ships when pockets of pirates were found infesting the Ethir Anduin. As a younger man he had served on transports too. Most corsair vessels had both sail and oars. They could go anywhere, not as fast as pure sail but not needing it either. They rocked like corks in rough seas. The ship his employer was considering was not a likely target since it obviously would not carry much and be hard to catch. Still, if it was the only candidate, corsairs would do their worst. 

The Umbari tended not to use on-deck fire-ballista since their plan was to either ram or use boarding ramps. They had to get close. Burning or sinking a ship from a distance did them no good unless the cargo floated to the surface. Umbars would shoot firebolts into the sails so you wanted yours to go further. Their archers were fair. If the Elf was ordering his Northman bows and would train half the crew to hit what they aimed at, they could do some damage shooting into the oar ports. That would only kill or injure slaves, but it was no time to be picky. 

Penandoth also stopped by the Chandler’s Guild. One difficulty with the closed port was that many of the things ships needed came from elsewhere. When he sailed under the Prince’s flag, it was another man’s problem. This was a part of his new profession he needed to hone. There were so many things a military captain took for granted. The lad Nag Kath found was from the end of sailing where you scrounged everything you used, right down to the nails. 

An unmarked note from Barahir was waiting in the hand of a palace attendant when Nag Kath got back from the market. The man bowed and started to leave. “Hold a moment.” Nag Kath opened the seal and read it twice before taking it to the writing desk and scribbling a comment in pencil. He gave it back to the messenger and said, “Thank you, young man.”

That was confirmation that the young Lord would enjoy coming to Cal and Eniecia’s home for dinner next Wednesday. They knew it was coming but not which day. 

There were fourteen members of the family, all certain to attend. Grenda had to tell her daughters who else would be there which caused a frantic search for just the right apparel, none of which they currently owned. In near panic, Derissa asked Uncle Nag what must she do or say or not say. He told her to breathe.

The family was assembled. Barahir was late, but not so much that anyone was worried. That was a Princely prerogative, and it took a long time to get anywhere from the citadel. Everyone in the city wondered why the Lords did not put a more comfortable mansion in the lower bailey now that the Umbars were at terms. They could still withdraw to their fortress at need but not have to travel half a mile in the rain to see an opera. 

The young lord was reintroduced or for the first time and given a goblet of what Nag Kath knew was his favorite vintage. Barahir sipped slowly, like his grand-da that way. No one in this family punished the liquor either. Dinner was still some time off so they deployed around the large main room. The former officers had a quick look outside to see a pair of tall sober men in civilian clothes quietly walking around the property.

There was no avoiding the first topic of the water blossom on the famous trip to Rohan. That was the last meeting of the great war leaders in one place. The dynasties in place today were cemented by policy and family decisions from that moot. Captain Ivandred was all for an encore but it did not come to pass. 

Raniece asked, “My Lord, it was said your grandmother attended the wedding as well. She had a storied part in victory.”

“Indeed, Miss Ivandred. I do not remember her but my father spoke with Meriodoc of the Shire many times. He said he stabbed the Witch-King in the leg and then Éowyn stabbed him in the face, or whatever was inside his helmet. Both of them were terribly poisoned. King Aragorn nursed them to health and that was where she met Prince Faramir, a happy story in the end.”

After a while, Talienne found her voice and said, “My Lord, Uncle Nag said you are much interested in lore.”

The young man turned to look directly into her eyes and said, “He knows a great deal and has helped me with historical romances.”

Somehow the next Nepthat managed, “I did not know such things were written.”

Very softly the man said almost as poetry, “It can only be. Greatness comes easier to those with a woman’s strength to steady them.”

Dinner went well. Barahir asked some questions of his own with considerable experience around the table to answer. Menalgir got to talk tactics. The older diners knew he would have been paraded in front of eligible young women since he got off the ship and that begins to grate. 

At a decent hour, the Lord said his goodbyes and thanked Cal and Eniecia for a lovely evening. The two men fell in and they strolled out to the Prince’s Walk for the citadel.

There was still considerable life in the night. The younger women talked to each other. Nag Kath wished Mina was with them. Several times he almost marched to her home and held her close. 

When they were alone, Cal said, “Is he serious? Talienne is quite young.” 

“It took your cousin Tillith three years to wrap Elfwine up, and the Rohirrim don’t go in for long courtships. It would take several trips here and there before anything is resolved.”

Cal smiled, “Probably so. The girl will have to learn her mind first. Eniecia was a bolder lass than Talienne.”

“Florin to groats she hears something before he takes the ship up the river.”

______________-------______________

The Elf was wrong, they did not hear from Barahir again before he ended his state visit. Talienne was not crestfallen. She knew he was busy and in demand. She had got to meet him twice and that was two times more than most. Imagine a man interested in old romance?!

While their betters were dining on Odar and Rosuldrië wine, Penandoth and Dal were scouring the island for the things they would need to equip a ship. The builders would manage the bolted parts like storage tanks and a galley but that did not include a stove. Stores were scarce for the coming season. Captain visited the Chandler’s Guild and found a few but they were having trouble with supplies too. It was a good thing they started looking early. 

Nag Kath had a few suppliers too. He sent a letter to Tumlath, Tumlen’s son, asking if he could secure a list of items before folk fought over them in Pelargir.

He also sent a letter with a bank draft to Mr. Grueffan, a Dalish bowyer in Minas Tirith, ordering ten bows of middling tension along with another Dun Brethen for himself and several gross of war arrows to be sent before the spring melt. The sailors of whatever he called the ship should be able to hit more than straw bales in a bay. Penandoth had already seen to ballista and bolts.

It was time for more money. Stores were three Florin and it would soon be time for the next payment to Stieffild. Penandoth said he had his first officer in mind and it was not too early to approach him. The man ran like a scalded dog when he heard the destination. By December, another man was engaged with a fat bonus. His recommendation for Second was good too. Second Mate Kevland had been in commercial shipping since his naval training and Penandoth did not want to have all soldiers running the ship. They were trained to destroy rather than parlay. 

Finding men was not as hard as they expected. The best way to make something public is to try and keep it secret. Second Officer Kevland did the first interviews. One in three men made it to the Captain and there were enough. He had his eyes on two brothers of Harad. They were good sailors but there was no need to mention where their ship was going just yet. Captain Ivandred was ready to go, teasing, of course, but he took a man-cart to the ship after the ribs were attached and walked around the hull. Nag Kath hoped he would be here when they returned. It was also time to think about cargo. 

Their outward stocks were basically bribes. Items were mainly ordered from Osgiliath that sold to the well-off of that city and Minas Tirith. The idea was that some would have no equivalent where they went. Items were light, portable and could be doled in small quantities for favors including; a thousand fire-glasses, a hundred reading spectacles, fine, thin woolen fabrics in colors and some undyed. They had surplus swords for sale but really for right-livers if they found any that needed them. In sealed boxes were several thousand matches. Not for sale were three Syndolan rockets painted to look like table legs. Hundreds of decorative boxes were included for presents or sale.

The largest outlay was for jewelry in a wide range of quality. 

In a split-decision of counselors, they added five large casks of Belfalas wine. It seemed the good wines got better in the barrel while the hearty peasant reds got worse. Ale would spoil. It wasn’t from Quaille but they laid-in a crate of Southfarthing leaf just before leaving. 

______________-------______________

In April there was a soft knock on Nag Kath’s door. Glynnys was alone cleaning and opened it enough to inspect the visitor. He seemed a denizen of the quays; small, middle-aged, hunched over and dressed too warmly for the weather. With her foot wedged behind the threshold to keep the man from pushing in she demanded, “What is your business?”

In a curious accent he replied, “I have come at Nag Kath’s request, ma’am.”

She wasn’t used to being called ma’am, but that was not enough to let him in the door. “He is seeing friends. You can wait on the bench.”

The fellow smiled, took his pack off and made himself comfortable on the plank just outside the window. Almost two bells later, Nag Kath walked up the steps and saw the fellow sleeping against the wall. The Elf gently shook his shoulder and the fellow opened his eyes but made no other motion until looking up and saying, “You Kath?”

“That’s right.”

“Listracht.”

Nag Kath said nothing. The man sat up straight and added in Variag, “I am but a poor follower of rightness, seeking a few coppers from the kindly.”

The tall blonde chuckled, “Come in.” He took the man inside and called to Glynnys, “Dear woman, can you find Mr. Listracht a cup of tea?”

She turned, somewhat surprised that the man got this far, and answered, “Certainly, Mr. Kath.”

Listracht shuffled inside using a long staff against his hunched gait and looked around. He had not had many chances for bathing on his long voyage. That might make him a fine sailor but not a house-guest. The Elf asked, “Do you know about me?”

The visitor took a long pull of his tea before saying, “Some.”

Nag Kath said, “Let us get you clean and fed.” He turned to Glynnys, “Love, can you have Mr. Roanfinnis fetch water for the bath and have Dal attend us?”

She nodded and left to collect the block handyman. 

Nag Kath walked to the kitchen and tossed over a full-sized cake of Lembas knowing it would restore what food of the road had not provided. The man ate it all.

Not five minutes later, old Mr. Roanfinnis came in with the first two of a dozen buckets and walked back to the bath by the privy. He was nearly done when Dal returned with Glynnys. The man stripped in full view of the woman, who did not seem the worse for it, and climbed in the water. Before she drew the curtain, Nag Kath noticed a few scars that would have come from the wrong end of a blade. Dal sat in his usual chair and was silent, knowing more would be revealed than the backside of Listracht. The bather splashed about and lathered singing in a soft low voice. Glynnys announced she was going to get more food. A few minutes later, a normal-sized upright man pulled the curtains back. Dal fetched a shirt, trousers and underwear from Nag Kath’s room and tossed them down from the balcony.

Listracht drained the rest of his tea and said in Khandian, “Pleased to meet you. A friend from Hanvas Tur said you might like help. Shelturn was my mentor. He was poorly when I left two years ago but Chûr is doing well. He married a girl who looked just like him and their two girls do too. His hair is pure white now.” Listracht’s own hair had abandoned him as a young man.

The fellow put on the clothes, rolled up the trouser legs and sat on the couch.

Nag Kath said in Westron, “This is Dal. Dal finds things.”

The right-liver responded in a heavily accented version of the same, “Got to have that. Pleasure to meet you, young man.”

The Elf said, “Thank you for coming. That is not an easy trip.”

“Your man bought the tickets. I just got on. Never been on the sea before. 

They talked for two hours. Athmandal drank in every word except when they had to use Variag. Listracht was forty and originally from Kelepar but had been in Khand for years before working the Anduin, helping folk stay in touch, often as a guard for small merchant caravans. 

After rehashing the Mordor campaign in what to Dal’s ears was astonishing detail, Nag Kath said, “Here’s what we have; Orlo left me a task, well, call it a hint. We travel to the great gulf where are said to be the last of the Numenorean followers of Sauron. I am having a ship built to take a crew down there.”

Listracht stopped him, “A moment, you met Orlo, in person?”

“He came to me as a vision and gave me the key to the trolls in Pelargir. They would still be there today except some fool of a commander ordered them dug up. Finding Orlo was why I returned to the Ghurates, almost sixty years ago now.”

The Righter had heard his share of Nag Kath stories. He asked, “If you are a wizard, shouldn’t you be frightening?”

“I am self-taught. Getting to the point, what I am thinking for the south will be a more leisurely version of Mordor. We go down, see if there are any artifacts of power remaining of the Yvsuldor and destroy them.”

Dal was agog. This was a good time to be somewhere else but he decided he would stay with the Elf and see what came of it. Listracht grinned, “Good! When do we leave?”

Nag Kath put him in the spare room downstairs. Glynnys almost didn’t recognize him standing tall in decent clothes, which meant the shambling beggar disguise worked. He had others at need. One of his first introductions was to Opher. Meeting a rank-and-file Righter from Sauron’s back porch was interesting. 

In May the crew was hired and waiting for the ship. Nag Kath taught some the rudiments of archery. A few men had shot in their training and Bosun Iberníeg was good. He got the stiffest of the ten Northman bows.

No one spoke Sindarin, or whatever it had become beyond the horizon. Nag Kath taught them a few simple phrases but this was not going to be a project. He did spend time with his scholars to decipher the Numenorean book they extorted from Lord Éomander. That was eye-opening. The writers over at least a hundred years chronicled the King’s-Men’s exodus southward through their holdings in Middle-earth. Folk forgot that they ran most of the areas western men lived now. More accurately; many of the western men here today were of that migration. 

It was a harsh time as comforts they knew for an age were sunk beneath angry seas. Kings came, went and often fought while here. In Numenor before the disaster, Lords would embrace and disdain Adûnaic and Sindarin depending sympathies to Sauron or Eru respectively. This lot was firmly in the dark Lord’s camp. Eventually the scholars made sense of it and copied it for themselves and Nag Kath. Titles and speech patterns alone were priceless.

When that was done, he returned the book to Lord Éomander himself. The imposing retainer opened the door and stared down the step at the Elf who said, “I have come to return this. Please thank your master for its use.”

The Lord himself had only been in the next room. As Nag Kath turned to leave, he called, “Hey, you, a moment!”

The Elf turned and watched the old boy come down the steps, both feet on one before the next. Reaching the gravel he walked up to Nag Kath and said, “I asked about you. It seems you are one of the good ones.”

“I hope so, sir. Sorry I was so insistent.”

“You did what you had to. Retain our honor where you go.” With that he was off and his man closed the door with a stare.

As the men fared their women goodbye, he realized that leaving Mina was no different than every other man with a sweetheart. He did hope she would be here when he returned. It seemed to take forever but as July began, Nag Kath paid the last fifth and the Swan Breeze was his. The first exercise was seeing to all the gear. Sailors know to put everything back but it has to start there first. The Elf stayed out of the way. By the fifteenth, they were ready for the maiden cruise. Penandoth ordered her cast off and they tacked against the wind out of the White Harbor and into the Belegaer. There was a pair of leaks below-decks, one serious. Crewman Lanislogen stuffed it with oakum and it would hold until the seam could be pitched back at the dock. 

She was a lot like ships these men had sailed their whole lives. Knots were wrong. Short-cuts were needed without a large, military crew. Things were not to hand, but overall, they could sail her. 


	42. Swan Breeze

**Chapter 41**

**Swan Breeze**

The most useful maps for the next few chapters are; coastal Haradwaithe, Haradwiathe and Far Harad. This is now outside the realm of Tolkien canon. <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8>

The Swan Breeze eased into the channel on July 18th. Captain Penandoth swung wide at the mouth and made due south for Harondor. After seven days of a favoring breeze, they turned thirty degrees to starboard about even with the Harnen river mouth. Still well to sea, the plan was to avoid Umbar altogether. They were friendly on paper, but stealth was better than diplomacy. Thirty-five leagues of sea between the Bay of Umbar opening and the Swan kept them away from coastal raiders.

The Peristonig brothers, Ubier and Udan, were from Umbar and kept one eye on the eastern horizon no matter what else they did. Their father left home under less than gracious circumstances. No one knew them from Durok, but they would rather not answer questions. Listracht taught them a few objections in Khandian to trick port authorities. Listracht was not a sailor but he wasn’t sick either and learned things as they went.

The route would take them past the islands of Tol Ulaigaer. That was deep in Umbar waters too, but no matter which way the wind blew, they would have the faster ship. That would be a good place to take on fresh water. Questionable reports suggested the islands had some independence from the Umbari lords but that could be good or bad. A Navy harrier with bowmen and ballista would not be a fat target. They had Gondor, Belfalas and several other flags to run up the mast depending on the company.

The Swan Breeze had to fight the wind a bit more heading west and that came with a fair summer squall. The triangular rear sail was easily converted to catch rain for the barrels. That gave them the option of sailing between the islands and the mainland and not needing water at all, but a few leaks from the Swan’s first long outing would be easier to caulk in the harbor.

Three weeks and three days after leaving Dol Amroth, the ship rounded the tip of the largest island and made due west for the capital of Erelond. Folk here called it Uialdur. Like most deep-blue islands, it was a steep mountain sticking out of the water. The west side caught more rain but the east had enough to service Erelond and a few smaller ports on the protected side of the rock. They anchored two hundred yards off the city in calm water to stuff oakum into the seams. 

At rest, a lighter rowed by four-men came alongside offering fruit and water or they would go get other supplies in town. The Swan had water but the fruit was too good to pass. They also had an owner not nearly as stingy as most. Second Mate Kevland did the negotiating in Westron with Udan listening if needed. They bought all the fruit and ordered baskets of rock-crabs to be brought back that afternoon. Yellow Odar were biting off the lines so the hard biscuits could keep getting harder for now. Nag Kath had enough Lembas to last the crew a month if they ate it in Elf-sized portions.

From here, Penandoth sailed south southwest for the Cape of Mardruak. This was considered the end of the world for men of the north. It was also the last reliable map in the chest. From there down they only had rough drawings that did not show shoals or islands. There were rock islands off the tip of Mardruak so unless they sailed well west, they had to skirt those in sunlight. It was also only a week’s sailing with a favoring westerly wind. In sunlight the coast varied from yellow to brown with occasional fields along meager streams. 

First Mate Jeurgans made notes in his log about the wind direction, currents, tides near the coast and even what bait the fish ate along the way. They might have to fight the same winds the whole way back. Mardruak was also the first place men noticed new stars to the south as ones to the far north got closer to the horizon. The due-north Carnipal star was still visible but probably only had another several hundred leagues before it would be lost with the rest. Mate Kevland watched for new bearing-stars coming into view.

It was hot. They needed the breeze to travel and to dry their shirts after a hard day’s work. Precious water was not used for any but the most essential washing. At night, the aft sail was manned for enough speed to follow the wind but the mainsail was rolled. For entertainment, the crew told stories. Listracht told Nag Kath tales better then the Elf. Since a few yarns were proven, men tended to believe most of the rest. The Elf had not shown any sorcery but had stitched a few cuts that healed much faster than they should have. 

After making the cape, the Swan Breeze turned ten degrees further east. From here they only sailed by the rear mast at night. This was still open-ocean but one of their dubious maps showed bare islands so those were probably there along with others not included. On this course, they should pass a bay larger than Umbar servicing the largest river of Harad. They barely saw it but that it was where someone had drawn it gave the navigators slightly more confidence in their charts. 

Two weeks of blue-water brought them to another point and a sheltered river harbor called Ûrêzáyan. Penandoth ordered her anchored on a good sand bottom two hundred yards off the wharf and they waited to see who arrived. This time it was a military vessel perhaps two-thirds the length of the Swan. With both oars and sails, it was better suited for coastal fighting than the Belfalas harrier if one did not consider the sorcerer on board. They pulled to well within ballista range but were not aggressive. Their officer called in a pigeon combination of mostly Southron with Sindarin, “Good day, travelers. How can the Khan of Ûrêzáyan assist in your travels?”

That took a few minutes to translate between the Peristonig brothers and Nag Kath. Whatever else the Ûrêzáyani were, they were not Umbari. After the back-and-forth, the Elf interpreted for the Captain, “Thank you for your courtesy. We seek provisions.”

“The Khan would know who visits on this fair day.”

They had an answer for that if they could figure how to express it. That fell to Nag Kath who shouted, “We travel to Miraz where it is said are learned men.” He hoped he hadn’t said ‘we come to burn your children’.

That took some head-scratching on the other ship. Finally the man shouted, “Perhaps we talk, yes?”

Nag Kath looked at Penandoth and said, “I will take the boat with a couple lads and make some sense of this. Keep bows to the ready but below the gunwales, eh? 

Penandoth nodded grimly and muttered, “Charts.” 

The Elf’s entourage included Dal, Listracht, Ubier Peristonig and Seaman Garhvies, who looked like he ate nails in his porridge. They dropped the skiff and rowed over to the Haradrim craft, climbing up a rope ladder and presenting themselves on deck. The northerners knew how to bow and did. So did their hosts. The three senior crew sat amidships on cushions with a like number of local men, one of whom looked much too old to be an ordinary sailor. He said little but it was clear he made the decisions.

Given a respectable time to ask, interpret and answer, the Gondorans explained they were going to the great gulf further south to trade and learn the lore of ancient ancestors. Nag Kath was very careful not to give any clues how they felt about the Faithful/Sauron question. Sailors seldom wore articles of faith unless one included small Ulmo medallions on lanyards should the great Vala Lord have to decide their fate. Those were in pockets now. No matter how one felt about dark lords, favor with the sea never hurt.

There was no telling how these people were ruled, but if the local man claimed to be a Khan, that implied he had more ground inland than just the city harbor. After an hour of pleasant conversation more about the northerners than Ûrêzáyan, the older man said something to his fellows. The officer considered that and said, “The Khan would extend his courtesy for your high-men to dine with him tomorrow. Does that meet with your approval?”

Nag Kath had a decision to make. He dragged nineteen men with him to investigate a five-groat copper. A pure merchant would be asking what these folks had to trade. Since that probably did not amount to much, the Elf smiled and said he would be honored. A day’s leisure would allow them to prepare an appropriate gift for his Excellency.

The old man said something else after that was interpreted and the officer said, “Our ruler is known as Khan Feurhlan. A lighter will come tomorrow after mid-day.”

Someone was getting promoted. The Captain and First Mate would stay right where they were. Second Mate Kevland was neither married nor skittish so he half-volunteered to be the ship’s officer representing unspecified Lords of Gondor. Dal and Listracht would come and so would one of the Peristonigs for Southron. The brothers were now well south of old troubles and getting good pay for what to this point had been a pleasure cruise.

Now, what would the esteemed Khan of Ûrêzáyan like from the hold? 

Picking through the crates, Athmandal started with a small pouch of the Halfling leaf, along with a pipe. There were several nippers worth of rings and earrings in the bag. One of a dozen fine Dwarvish daggers for just such an occasion worked well in Mordor so they would try one here along with a small box of fire-glasses. If those went over well, a pair of reading spectacles might too. Also in the hold was an assortment of presentation boxes. This was the first time they had been used but being nice to people they met was anticipated for a dozen times.

The lighter pulled alongside at the two-bell and the dignitaries climbed down the rope amidships where the rail was lowest. There were six oarsmen and a caller on the tiller. Neither side understood the other so the travelers sat along the rails and the boat made back to shore.

It was not much of a wharf but easy to disembark so the august representatives were led on foot along a surprisingly wide boulevard towards a white mansion on the hill. It did not seem the sort of place one with enemies would live. The wall would stop creatures from eating the plants but not anyone with a ladder. The gate-guard opened the door without a word and they were led into a very pretty garden still in full bloom with flowers none of them had seen before. Two door guards stiffened as they passed and the five found themselves in an entryway leading to a spacious main room with large plants, trees almost, in huge clay pots near windows covered by a very fine screen mesh to repel stinging insects.

A steward stood with them wordlessly for a few minutes until a man dressed mostly in white with a sword and blue cap came in from a corridor accompanied by the old man on the boat. On cue, the Gondoran’s bowed and stood ready to receive their host’s greeting. Joining them from the other side of the room was a younger man with longer, oiled hair and good teeth; a ladies man as one might style one’s self in Ûrêzáyan. He had some Westron and asked the dignitaries to step inside and make themselves comfortable on cushions facing an elevated dais. 

On the riser the two counselors took seats on large pillows to the Khan’s left. The pillow on his right was not used. The lady’s man introduced his superior as Khan Feurhlan to seated bows from the Swan crew. The speaker was Qhuerisj and the esteemed gentleman was Dur Ouranda. 

This was Nag Kath’s show so he introduced the other four knowing he would have to take their promotions back on the ship. Before any further discussion, could they humbly present an unworthy tribute to their lordly host?

Dal brought his small chest halfway between the two parties and opened it facing the Khan. Then he bowed and resumed his seat. An attendant from the shadows collected the box and placed it in front of Dur Ouranda who picked through the items. 

This could go several ways; the man might be dismissive to show superiority. They could dig in like orcs eating the parlay pigs. What they got was genuine interest in the practical things, especially the fire-stones. After explaining them, it would not do until their hosts took one outside to burn holes in a leaf. Judging the way the exalted looked at the leaf, Nag Kath thought he would risk the spectacles saying, “My Lord, the small leather case has fire-glasses for one’s eyes.”

Ouranda found that and removed the delicate silvered frames. Nag Kath made dumb-show of how they fit. The counselor put them on and his eyes got as big as saucers. He pulled his hand in and out of focus and smiled, reluctantly handing them to his Lord. Feuhrlan would try them at his convenience.

Dinner was Odar and mutton with local grain, vegetables and fruit to follow served around a low oval table. No alcohol was included. In the course of the meal, Nag Kath said they were scholars seeking wisdom said to be archived in the great gulf eighty leagues south. That could be touchy. They could be here to scout how to bring an invasion fleet. Great Lords of the north would not bother with Ûrêzáyan but these lads might have allies along the Gulf of Harad who wouldn’t appreciate collaboration with infidels. 

They were lucky. Ouranda said through Qhuerisj that the high Sayers of the great gulf were largely in Bozisha-Dar, the furthest interior river delta of the gulf. That was where the Kaintug (King’s Tongue?) was still spoken. Other records were kept in the Bûr Esmer river mouth but they were of new speech. Of course, no one of repute would look along the southern gulf coast, it being inhabited by persons of low intelligence and character. Second Mate asked, “My Lords, have you sea charts of your recommended places?”

The three Haradrim consulted each other and Qhuerisj said, “Our navigators will provide you with one after breakfast. So; they were staying the night. That almost got complicated when the last course was served by two stunning young women identically dressed in sheer garments of pale green. After two months at sea, the sailors had trouble keeping their eyes inside their heads. The women, not much more than girls, brought a small bowl to each diner. It was some sort of long white grain with spices and sugars in a milk sauce and would have been delicious if anyone was paying attention. 

That course concluded the meeting. The guests rose to bow as the Khan took his leave with Ouranda. Qhuerisj’s men showed the sailors to individual rooms with comfortable cushions on the floor over woven mats made from swamp reeds. The morning amounted to no more than a bowl of the same grain served plainly, fruit and local tea. As they were leaving, an attendant brought a tube which presumably held some sort of chart. Udan whispered that Nag Kath should not offend by opening it until he was back on the Swan.

Penandoth and the Elf unrolled the sheet as soon as they got below-decks. All the other four did was talk about the girls which wound everyone on board all the tighter. Perhaps they would find a city on the gulf that did not observe Gelansor too strenuously.

The chart was useful but probably not to scale. It had been copied in the night. What mattered was showing the cities of note along the northern coast of the great gulf all the way back to Bozisha-Dar. It was a little like the Rhûn with deep river inlets defended by sharp peninsulas like fingers into the ship channels. None of the southern coastal cities were shown, if there were any. Were they hostile or stupid?

It was still more detailed than the charts of Lord Éomander’s book and similar from here to the mouth of the gulf, about twenty degrees south southeast west. A collection of dots off one of the fingers suggested they weren’t found for the next fifty leagues. A gift of fruit baskets was appreciated. It was enough that some was dried in the sun for later or it would spoil in the heat. Sailors often have trouble removing waste with a diet of hard meat and grains so this was considered medicinal as well.

__________------__________

Another weeks’ sailing brought them to a thumb of land Counselor Qhuerisj called Belazhn. That was the turn into the Gulf of Harad. All things considered, they got here sooner than expected. They hadn’t seen a single hostile ship. No one scowled at the two places they stopped. The weather was fair and there had been no serious accidents or deaths in a business that could deal them with blinding speed. 

But that should have been the easy part. If the new chart was any good at all, there were two bottlenecks where fleets could pin them to the shore or issue small craft from harbors, maybe both. This gulf was three times the size of Elvish Lhún with many more inlets, coves and outright bays for corsairs to hide. 

Penandoth and Nag Kath spent time on deck as the Swan made her way along the coast towards the thumb. It was open water for about thirty leagues inside the gulf but narrowed to a pinch between peninsulas from north and south to get to the next two thirds of the way. They made the turn into the waterway and lazily looped along the northern coast. 

There were a lot more than lonely Dwarves staring at the ship. The first tense moment was when a smaller merchantman of Umbar design passed them outbound. Men on deck nodded as they often do and neither vessel changed course. Fish liked their bait but there were also strange creatures with long limbs that shot through the water in large flocks. Men tossed nets off the transom and snared a few for the pot. Too tough to eat as they were, cook smashed them with a mallet before adding them to the stew. Other large fish swam along the surface, just out of spear-range, and blew water from holes in their heads.

Real trouble started after passing the pinch and riding the upper coastal waters. Two ships from the north and one coming from the east converged on them. The Swan had the wind behind and the other ships had to tack for position but it was still three to one. The two vessels from the north depended on wind as well but the larger one had a single square sail and what looked like fifteen oars to either side. She was a fighter, and no error.

Penandoth had his mates call for bows to be strung but kept out of sight. The floating shields were ready to mount and the ballistas had been in place since they left home. There was a ramming nose on the galley, no sign of smoke for fire arrows yet. 

This was one of those points where it might pay to see what the locals could manage. The deeper they went, the harder it would be to get out again. They had no idea if the men who governed this vast water-land were in accord or if each city-nation along the shore made its own rules. Losing the two sailing ships would be no trouble. Turning hard would take them out of the galley’s range.

Nag Kath said, “If you think it wise, let us learn their intentions.”

The Captain nodded. He ordered the Swan to tack slightly starboard, giving the galley a clear path by. If she shifted towards them, they would turn hard and see how far Northman arrows could fly. The galley held course but slowed. So did the Swan. Two hundred paces away, the galley shipped oars and drifted forward so Captain Penandoth took in sail to pass slowly, about eighty paces between them. A man in pale colors climbed the rigging and shouted over in a similar tongue to the Ûrêzáyan but with more emphasis on the Sindarin.

“You sail the waters of Khan Nurvahl. What is your intention?”

“Nag Kath said in Sindarin, “We make for Bozisha.” That was taking the chance these lads were friendly. The Swan flew the colors of Dol Amroth for all that meant here. It would not be long before the two coastal ships reached them. Putting on sail fast gave them another five minutes before it was time to leave. One word and it would happen. Men watched the galley for smoke or heads failing to stay low. 

They saw both. Whatever these men thought of Bozisha, they would help themselves to the Swan. A fire ballista was lit on the galley and shot towards their sail. It missed, but now they had the range.

Men clipped the shields to port and took position with their bows. All that was rendered moot when the Elf stood on the rail and unleashed a fearsome bolt of fire from his hand. It seemed to burn a swath along the water across the middle of the galley. Men below-decks screamed as smoke billowed out of the oar ports. A second flame headed directly for the man who hailed them, burning the clothes from his body. Without Gandalf’s true fire-bringing, this was more fireworks than weaponry, but the galley was not going to loiter finding out. Except for the burned ports, they pulled for their lives towards the closing sail-ships that were now veering hard to either side.

If the Swan crew wasn’t already about to regret all the fruit in their diet, one of the galley sailors dousing the fire on deck suddenly flew overboard and skipped across the chop like a flat stone until he smacked into the side of the Swan Breeze. Men pulled him out of the water as the wind filled their sails. Other than some bruises and coughing water, he was intact. Penandoth ordered, “Bind him below-decks. We will have words shortly.”

With their pursuers bringing in sail and the galley facing the wrong way, the Swan sailed due east leaving the locals in the horizon. Storytime was different tonight. Nag Kath sat down with his bowl of squashed tentacle fish stew and said to those not navigating, “Good work lads. I think we should hear what our guest has to say.”

Seaman Curisau wasn't so sure, “With due respect, sir, I would like to hear what the DOUGSH happened this afternoon!”

Listracht commented, “That was an interesting combination, Your Lordship.”

That was what everyone else was thinking so Nag Kath answered, “I am a wizard, probably the last. I am going to our destination to see what is left of Sauron’s tools. If I find them, I will destroy them. I made an example of that galley so when we leave, those folk will be less inclined to interfere. 

“I cannot say what to expect as we get near the river mouth but I suspect people there are much more like those of Dol Amroth than the Southrons. They were the last King’s-men. Does anyone know who they were?”

One man offered, “The Faithless.”

“Right. It is said that the Faithful and the Faithless battled again down here. We do not know who won. My guess is the Faithless, but the ships we saw today are probably just pirates. The Captain and I will get the prisoner’s views on that shortly. Anything else?”

The Harad was escorted out of the stifling bilge and tied to a pylon. Seaman Gharvies took the gag from his mouth and gave him a long drink. He had fouled himself below and had a wicked weal on one side of his face from hitting the ship. If he could die right now, he would. 

Udan Peristonig was with the Captain, Listracht and Elf away from the other men on deck. Nag Kath asked in Westron, “What is your name, sailor?”

When that got nothing he tried Sindarin. The man understood some of it but it wasn’t until Udan asked in Harad that he said, “Voulshuh.”

“Why did you attack?”

Voulshuh was confused. They gave him a drink. No one had bent his fingernails back or tied stones between his toes and twisted the string. There were many ways to make men talk and he had seen none of them yet. He said in a Southron dialect, “Captain says to burn sail.”

Penandoth was interested but knew their primary need was for who was in charge here so he deferred to the Elf for questions. Nag Kath obliged, “Who commands?”

“Captain Hughl.”

“Who commands him?”

That question didn’t stick. Nag Kath tried again, “Who is Lord on land?”

There was no answering that. It was as Nag Kath thought when asked why his Uruks were in Gondor. If you say, the boss will take a week to kill you. If you don’t, this lot uses you for bait. Better later than now so he said, “Dourouthu of Ajesfa.”

Penandoth asked “Where’s that?”

“North, north harbor on peninsula.”

The Elf asked, “Where is Bozisha-Dar?”

“East.”

Penandoth; “How far?”

“So far, we never go there. Hard men, good ships. Duneishda!”

The Elf took the lead, “Dunedain?”

That was a stretch too far for deckhand Voulshuh. 

Nag Kath did not come from the interrogation school of Belfalas sailors. This man wasn’t going anywhere. He couldn’t get away. He obviously was not willing to die withholding information out of loyalty to his loving Khan. As far as the Elf was concerned, he was the newest crew member who would share everything he knew for a considerably better outcome than he deserved. Nag Kath said as much to Penandoth who saw it the same way. Udan was deputized to be his new friend.

Udan wasn’t too sure about that, but he interpreted. Nag Kath took a piece of paper out of his pocket with Fûl on one side and Orlo on the other. The stunned sailor did not respond to either, even after a flash of yellow from the Elf. Penandoth said, “Cut him loose and get him some food.”

Later; the interrogators sat near the prow, Penandoth with a small clay pipe of the bribing pipe-weed. After a good puff he asked, “That little trick with the yellow?”

“A confusion spell. Not a good description as I do them, but it will be hard to get out of his mind. I need that man to tell us what we’re sailing into. If we get a chance, someone closer will be better, but I am not expecting many volunteers. 

“All is on plan. We sail into the river mouth with goods for sale like any merchantman and see what they have to trade. A curiosity, yes, but we’ve seen half a dozen ships minding their own business already. We find out if Sauron or the Witch-king has any real power here, not claiming it or aligning with old demons, I mean summoning powers of old.”

Listracht wondered, “Then what?”

“One of us dies. If they get me, sail home and collect your money.” Nag Kath grinned, “But not before.”

Voulshuh settled in fairly well. He ate like he hadn’t been fed in months. He might not have, but more than the slaves pulling oars. Men on board were careful with their deck knives. When a sail-tie worked loose, Ubier ordered him up the rigging to secure it and was obeyed with fair competence. After a few days, the man thought he might live.

___________------___________

The Swan Breeze took their time getting across the middle wide zone of the gulf. They faced a second pinch point to enter the last bay which seemed rather spacious past that point. The hills to the north were getting greener. Capt’n anchored in a group of islands on the boot-toe of the peninsula to see what kind of commercial traffic came and went. Elf eyes on the nearest rock scoured the water for merchantmen plying this route. Men used the time to swim and wash their clothes in the streams. The ship was perfect; new enough not to be rotting and fully broken-in.

Two days later, a convoy of three ships sailed past them into what was called the Bay of Miraz. The lead ship was a fighter under sail with oars shipped. The two behind were cargo-craft low in the water carrying as much sail as they could. Penandoth eased the Swan out three leagues behind them just like a child following his big brothers. 

Made for speed, the Swan only hung enough sail to keep in sight of the convoy. The next day, the fighter took the rear-guard to watch them but they maintained their pace. It was a long trip. This leg of the gulf was fully sixty leagues from the pinch to the river. Part of the reason for following was to appear one of the pack, but another was to see how they navigated shallows. Sizeable islands dotted the north coast and came in from the south protecting the huge bay of a large river. 

On the third day, the experiment was put to the test. Two war galleys were moored off the furthest southern island. The convoy sailed past with the Swan Breeze ten miles back. Men on the decks looked at the sleek design but no one ordered them to do anything. Voulshuh muttered, “Duneishda.”

Udan explained that to Nag Kath. “Warriors. Old, fierce, not Harad.”

The Elf asked the prisoner, “Do they speak your tongue?”

“Yours.” The prisoner wanted nothing to do with the Duneishda but knew he was staked to the ship with the man of fire. It was said men here could do likewise. They set anchor along the northern bank to consider the next move. The convoy had continued but the gulf was getting tight and there was no reason to rush. Chances were good another flotilla would be along soon enough if they wanted company. Ships in groups of twos and threes passed them outbound in the morning. They seemed ordinary enough. 

About lunchtime, a smaller, single merchantman came their direction hugging the bank. It saw them and stopped. A harrier in the Anduin mouth was the poor-cousin in those fleets but it was a capable pirate in the Bay of Miraz. The merchants were trapped. Turning back exposed their flank. Going on took them perilously close if the Swan Breeze wasn’t friendly. She seemed to be waiting for a group to join.

Listracht, Penandoth and Nag Kath, who started calling themselves ‘The Three’, agreed they should have a word. The Swan put on just enough sail to pull slowly fifty paces off her port side and drift. Men gathered along the rail. No weapons were displayed. The Elf stood on the rail holding on to the rigging and called in Sindarin, “We would like to talk.”

In the same tongue, after an age of separation, the deck officer yelled back, “About what?”

“Discussing cargo. I will come over in a small boat.”

The Captain of the Phaezael thought if the man volunteered to be a hostage, he could hear his tale so he shouted, “Come aboard!”

The men of the Swan Breeze were now sure that the Elf was mad or had eggs of brass, probably both. Dal and Listracht got the job of rowing him over and all three climbed the rope ladder. The Master, a tall man here at six feet, walked up to the travelers and said, “This way.” Dal stayed with the boat.

The tillerman left after a wink and the two foreigners sat on a bench along the stern.

“Well, you are here.”

“Thank you. We are heading to Bozisha for the first time and were attacked some leagues back by a galley and two one-masted huraugh. I want to be sure of my welcome.”

“Huraugh? Not ours.”

“That is good to know. So we are not confused for enemies, what is the way to present ourselves at the harbor?”

The Captain had now decided this lot wasn’t here to take his ship so he could cooperate. “Use the orange dock. State your business. The harbormaster will ask a few questions. His wife is fond of jewelry.”

Nag Kath leaned forward a bit, the universal signal that a more confidential question was coming. “There is another concern. Being from foreign lands, we do not want to seem insensitive to the customs of this fair port. Who rules and does he have strong religious views?”

Captain Estanfurar thought that a very foreign question indeed. Like all civilized men, they believed in the Valar, headed, of course, by Melkor. A man needed a sense of fitness. The blonde northerner with the impossible accent brightened noticeably when told, obviously pleased that men here understood the nature of Those Named, unlike the swarthy race that attacked them.

The smiling blonde asked, “Should we be asked to explain ourselves, who rules the lands of the Bozisha, best of sirs?”

“Lord Ar-Gimilzôr.”

“A Khan?”

Estanfurar stared at him as if he was not as bright as he first appeared. Relenting he said, “King. Khan is a Harad term. You will not find that appreciated here.”

The tall man stood gushing, “I cannot thank you enough. We would disgrace ourselves for lack of consideration. Oh, the corsairs were just off the second point on the north; two huraugh hugging the coast using the breeze and the galley in deeper water.”

Captain Estan-furar thought that a fair exchange. The greenbottom was rowed back to his ship and the merchantman dropped sail to deliver their cargo.

___________------___________

Melkor!

They rowed in silence.

Melkor!

Listracht and Nag Kath exchanged enough glances that Dal started doing it too. 

Melkor! Why Melkor? Dal asked, “Something is new?”

The Elf said, “No, and yes. A very old player has come into the game. It is probably nothing. We need answers.”

Athmandal knew that meant to keep his thoughts to himself. 

The Swan Breeze added sail as soon as they were on deck and the skiff hauled onto its mounts. That evening, Listracht, Penandoth and Nag Kath sat on the fo’c’sle and smelled the breeze. The Captain said, “I know the name. He was Morgoth, yes?”

Listracht pulled out of his reverie and said, “They say the most powerful and terrible being to ever stalk the earth. It took all of the Valar, men and Elves to barely beat him. I don’t know much more. He was said to be destroyed well before his servant Sauron came up in the world.

Nag Kath added, “I suppose it matters more what he is to these people. The Captain said Melkor now leads the Valar. We know better. We will need tidings and those might be a while in coming.”

Listracht said, “Like in Mordor. There is true power and there are those who claim it, both dangerous. Nag Kath, can you feel such things?”

“I think so. Here is our new plan; the Ship is now the Fûl.”

Penandoth asked, “The Fool?”

The Elf grinned, “Close enough. Please have this carved onto new prow boards before we dock.” He pointed at the Visitors' symbol on the two-sided sheet. “From now on, we are exactly what Mr. Listracht and I claim to oppose. We are of the Yvsuldor, followers of the Witch-King of Angmar. He was Sauron’s servant. Sauron was Morgoth’s servant. If this Ar-Gimilzôr wants to outrank us, we will admit the error of our ways and ask his instruction.” He made a note to hide all of the Tar-Palantir nippers since he was a bitter enemy of those who became the King’s-Men.

Nag Kath continued, “From now on, I am Nag Solvanth, the arrogant, witless son of a savvy Pelargir merchant. I have small powers in the service of the Witch-King. Captain, you are exactly as you seem, trying to turn a profit with side orders to make something of me. I will become entranced by the new order of things here and you must tolerate it because you get a large bonus for returning me to my loving family alive.

“Mr. Listracht, you are also my father’s counselor or servant at need and will stay with me trying to talk sense into my thick head. At other times you will be the High Visitor while looking for Orlo.”

New High Visitor Listracht said grimly, “Methinks the disdained south bank is the likely wager for those chafing at Lord Melkor’s kindly rule. If they are here, they will be watching the ship.”

The Elf closed saying, “Captain Penandoth, keep a sharp eye for little harbors where you can lay up while the foolish son wastes your time. Make it comfortable and out of the way. You will be in charge of the bribes. We were just told the harbormaster’s wife is fond of jewelry.”

The Captain told woodworker Soldient to carve new name boards. Nag Kath took a candle to the bilge for a small ballast stone and spent the next morning chiseling strange markings into one side.

Like others in this gulf, the river harbor was a long funnel of mostly mud banks with occasional rock outcroppings. There were settlements on both banks with a small island nearer the south. The newly-named Fûl followed a small galley past it and saw two small patrol boats come to intercept them. Penandoth ordered them to bring in the sails and they drifted as the boats rowed alongside.

A young man called from the deck in the curious Sindarin dialect, “You are new here. State your business!”

Nag Kath replied, “We are men of the north come to trade and pay our respects to Lord Ar-Gimilzôr.”

That seemed to be the right answer. The fellow talked with someone on deck a moment and said, “Continue to the orange dock on the starboard side with the other deep water craft. Speak to the Harbormaster.”

Nag Kath asked, “What is his name, best of sirs?”

“Benigrautha. He will find you.”

It was still several hours with the breeze in their favor. Both mates were watching the wind closely wondering how to tack their way out in the tight bay without getting within ballista-range of the banks. They saw a number of merchant vessels but it wasn’t until they made the main wharves that they saw more war ships. Two sail galleys were moored before what they took to be the orange dock. Ninety feet long and broad abeam, they would be serious customers if they caught you against the wind.

One was empty but for the deck guard. The other was fully crewed and they stared to a man until an officer told them to get busy. Second Mate Kevland noticed out-loud, “I count three ballista on this side and another up front. If there is a ramming spike below the line, it is hidden to my eyes.”

The orange dock had a large sign on pier posts in that color. It was in Sindarin but written in the fashion of Adûnaic, an almost Dwarvish block style. It wasn’t long before a retinue of well-dressed officers arrived. One must be Benigrautha. A herald announced formally, “Prepare for inspection.”

This was anticipated. There were no references to any of the Valar on board but there were a few hastily painted symbols of the Witch-King where they would be found. As arranged, Penandoth approached with a bow and said in Westron that he commanded. 

The Harbormaster seemed piqued. Nag Kath heard him tell his officers something to the effect that these peasants did not honor the proper tongue. His most senior man tried in a pigeon version of Sindarin, not unlike the language Nag Kath’s comical scholar reputedly spoke in Mordor. He proclaimed in dramatic fashion, “This is Harbormaster Benigrautha. He will inspect your cargo!”

A nose rub from the Elf had Penandoth smile and say, “Certainly, sirs. Mate Kevland, take these fellows below.”

Only two of them went. The more soldierly two stayed on deck and made obvious mental notes of the curious vessel. Crew on deck treated them no differently than customs-men at any other port-of-call. The ship had conspicuously nothing hidden or reasons to seem furtive.

Below deck, the Harbormaster ordered a crate opened. Crew dragged it into the light of the open hatch and pried the top off revealing fine wool fabric, thought to be scarce here. The man felt it carefully and ordered it closed. As if it came to him then, the mate opened a small chest containing some nice but inexpensive necklaces and earrings. Benigrautha grabbed a handful with no effort to get matching pieces and stuffed them in his inside robe pocket. Never changing his expression, they made their way back on deck. The next senior man said, “The docking tax is ten rhules.”

Since they knew money might be different here but likely based on the Numenorean currency everywhere, Penandoth had First Mate Jeurgans bring a locked box with a scattering of silvers and groats on the top tray. The functionary pointed at one of the silvers and held up both palms with all fingers. There were nine silvers on the tray so the mate scooped them up and Penandoth pulled another from his pocket to round-up the total. A soldier tacked a wooden sign to the dockside rail showing the ship had been inspected and the party climbed down the boarding plank without ever looking back.

___________------___________

It was time for the owner’s indolent son to taste the fruits of Bozisha-Dar.

Nag Kath slipped off the ship in broad daylight, expecting to be followed. He made no effort at stealth. From the harbor, the city stretched almost due east along the river-mouth. Buildings were not built for large swings in the tide but some showed high-water marks at almost head-level.

Most structures were a cream white in varying states of upkeep. The commercial docks were largely single-story go-downs but the businesses and later homes in the better section often had two levels. Flowers were everywhere. People were too. They stared at him, which was not unusual, but he was closer to them than the Haradrim. He smiled back. For the most part, the better-dressed looked like men of the north, which he supposed they used to be. Southrons were clad with more of that influence but with gayer colors. Neither seemed particularly down-trodden. 

It wasn’t until he got within a quarter mile of what must be the palace that he saw his first temple. Nag Kath slipped inside. A keeper was on a stool, avoiding direct sun. Next to him was a small, wooden bowl on a stand. The Elf dropped five lonely groats in and the fellow nodded with the trace of a smile.

There were no windows. Come to that, he hadn’t seen many walking up. It was like the inn in Tharbad where you used louvered shutters or they were wide open. Elf eyes helped in the darkness. A small altar was on the long end. Nag Kath bowed to it, hoping that showed proper respect and then looked for marking or symbols of the reigning power.

He found one. If the Elf was going to act the ignorant tourist, he would start now. He asked the attendant in Sindarin, “I am visiting. What is this table, sir?”

The fellow answered, “The Place of Return.” He was more understandable than the lords of ship-bribery. 

Nag Kath continued, “And this symbol, good sir? It is hard to see in this light.”

The man looked askance and decided it was an innocent question. “The Valar, of whom mighty Melkor is supreme.”

The Elf pulled a match from his vest pocket and thought better of scratching it on the mighty Melkor’s stone so he struck it on his boot to ask the man of the symbol. He must have never seen a match before and it was almost out before he pointed to the highest lord’s glyph inside the ornate design. Nag Kath gave the man his own match. He broke the first and tried four times with the next until it lit but that was the pinnacle of his day. With his other hand he dragged a fingernail along the dark one’s line before the match got too hot. The Elf bowed and gave him a dozen more matches for his pains. 

Walking up the street the homes got larger. So did a pair of what he took to be the local guardi. They stared but only nodded, unmotivated to assert arbitrary power in the hot sun. At what he thought might be the twelve-bell at home, Nag Kath found a restaurant that smelled like baked fish. He took a chair inside for a look at the city moving around him. There was no menu. You got what they cooked until it ran out. The meal was the long, thin silver fish they had hooked off the back deck for the last week. It was spiced, including something that made the mouth warm like the sauces of Yhammâs Fruhir and tasty, served with the same little white grains of the southern sea coast and a green of some sort. The cool tea was green and quite weak compared to the darker brews of home.

It was another quarter-bell before the lunch patrons arrived. Most seemed to be shop-keepers with enough authority to leave for a while. They stared at him too but not suspiciously and not very long. Most shoveled down the modest helpings and were out the door at the last bite. One fellow past the age of gainful employment savored his lunch and smiled.

Nag Kath smiled back and asked his server the charge. It came to five groats. Groats were called groats. He added a couple to show he was pleased and walked back to the ship with his head full of notions.

What a curious place! He thought it about ten thousand souls, including four or five small harbors lining the route. There were probably more of them further in as well. He would look. There were elements of clothing that seemed northern but more colors, perhaps more natural dyes or lighter fabrics? Women were not covered head-to-toe as they were in farmlands to the north. Most wore shawls either over their heads or as scarves. He got a few relatively brazen appraisals from ladies who usually traveled with several others but not with male protectors.

Men were seldom armed. He left his sword on the ship. Soldiers wore long-swords. He saw only three bowmen, all staying close to a wall Nag Kath did not investigate.

This land was said to worship the darkest of dark lords but it seemed like the Khandian capital with fish. Nag Kath knew a bit about dark lords. People did not seem ready to flinch at the whip of old Sauronic lands. They might change their tune about good-old Melkor after hauling sacks of grain to Gorgoroth. Melkor was a tormentor of Elves, primarily, since men were in just the early years of their development. The Elves took their records with them so that was conjecture.

Of all those left in Middle-earth, only three knew what Melkor looked like before he was Morgoth, and one of them lived alone in a forest. As he got closer to the wharf, Nag Kath noticed a temple he hadn’t seen on the way up. A peek inside woke no attendant so he hurried over to the altar and rubbed charcoal over a sheet of thin paper for the outline. 

The crew seemed none the worse for the wait. Fish was cooking on deck when he returned. Mate Jeurgans said an occasional guardi-looking fellow wandered by but didn’t scowl or act important. They timed his rounds. Another ship docked just behind them. Men carried sacks or boxes along the pier to wagons at the gate pulled by some of the sorriest donkeys of Harad. Mostly things were carried by people. Several men with baskets held by a strap around their necks offered fruits and cakes. They were darker-skinned than most Nag Kath had seen and spoke something closer to Southron than Elvish. Sad for the crew; one thing no one seemed to carry by any means was ale. 

That evening Listracht said, “Well, this is different than Mordor. From what little I know, Sauron told the King’s-men to worship Morgoth. Some came to Middle-earth as conquerors, some came faithful to the Valar and most got a dunking for their trouble.”

Nag Kath laid out the tracing for the senior crew and Listracht to see and asked, “Seen this before?” He traced the Melkor part with his nail.

They shook their heads. Penandoth said, “That Harbormaster does more than check bowlines. I would wager he is more of a lordling than in the mud-flats of the Ethir. 

Second Mate Kevland agreed, “Aye, his da landed soft.”

The Elf said, “I wasn’t watched at all. We need to attract some attention -- let this harbor-man earn his keep. My thoughts are; we have some loud, smoky ritual to our lesser Witch-King and sell a few of our wares in the market and see who notices. Sayer Listracht, how would you like to be the High Visitor onboard for observances?”

The bald man grinned, “I can’t think of anyone more qualified.”

___________------___________

Nag Kath kept exploring the town. Folk were not hand-shy though not chatty. The following day the crew stage-managed a production that would not challenge a proper Catanard but drew a crowd. Listracht donned a hastily-sewn outer cloak of different symbols and began loudly incanting amidships an hour before sundown. Pinches of firework powder from a rocket were put in bowls and lit with a punk every so often causing small, colorful bursts of light with large, annoying clouds of smoke. The crew gathered around to repeat calls Nag Kath had coached them in the Black Speech. Pronounced by men of the west it sounded nothing like the original, but it didn’t sound like anything else either.

It took nearly half a bell for the local authorities to arrive. The Harbormaster must have gone home but his night-man was spoiling for a fight. Any kind of fire, never mind blasphemous fire, was discouraged on a wharf of wooden ships. The fellow trooped up with half a dozen guardi and demanded, “What are you simpletons doing? This is a dangerous!”

Nag Kath called, “We observe the ritual of Fûl to honor the dark servant, sir.”

“What nonsense is that?!”

“Once per week, at the end of the day of atonement, we are called to respect he who still holds power over the earth.”

The official barked, “Do this again and we will see how high you float!” The man turned on his heels with the toadies flanking. Sailors on the ship just past an empty berth seemed to be smiling.

Listracht slipped his vestments over his head, “Someone noticed.”

Penandoth quipped, “I suppose that makes me the merchant. I’ll have a couple lads take some eye-catching things and find a market stall near the lordly. In my humble experience, there is nothing the high ruler hates as much as those beneath him gaining fine things he doesn’t have.”

Listracht thought of the women he saw walking by and added, “Have them cut a good price for the ladies. I suspect they squeeze low fruit in the merry port of Bozisha-Dar.”

___________------___________

Crewmen Yeltzyr and Ubier Peristonig went to market. One was tall and fair, the other short and swarthy, both much smarter than they were to appear. They had one of the right languages and none of the wrong ones. Their instructions were to spend a day or two finding the nicest market square in the city, bribing the square master or guild if they had such things here for a space and selling an assortment of useful or decorative items to the fancy including; jewelry, fine woolens, fire-glasses and reading spectacles. At Mr. Solvanth’s recommendation, that included boxes of matches and they should light a few to attract attention.

Both of their efforts worked in one fashion or another. The morning after the theatrical flashes, a middle-aged man in immaculate clothes wandered by the Fûl one too many times. He was stern, dangerous and had no business among the barefoot stevedores. In the meantime, Yeltzyr and Ubier had a gay time misunderstanding people who would not take no for an answer. The matches were a sensation. Yeltzyr had a briarwood pipe and a pouch of leaf, occasionally lighting-up by dragging a match along the paving stones or flicking it with his thumbnail. They burned holes through pieces of straw with the fire-glasses. Men gathered to try the absurd face-wires that let them see things the way they had as youngsters. They sold everything they brought by lunch saying they would return tomorrow. The men knew they found the right market when one woman bought a necklace and matching earrings made of Garvas stones and walked off without asking the price, leaving her female attendant to count out the silvers. Money talks to money so the word would get around.

After the display in the market, they could have sold goods off the side of the boat but the crewmen went back to the same stall, bribed the same guildsman and opened for business. This time they brought some of the better jewelry.

The news was out. A number of important men and women gathered and the crowd parted for them as the first viewers of the day. The sailors enjoyed making a hash of the language and negotiations but were told not to come ship-side until they sold all their wares with promises to return next week after resupplying. That’s how Lentaraes would have done it. Slightly against instructions, they could not discover if folk wanted to trade ale for their merchandise.

As they were leaving for the market, the grave official returned to the ship with four men along who looked a sight more disciplined than the guardi trying to avoid daytime sun. The man called from the dock demanding to see the Captain. Penandoth walked amidships and said he was Captain in Westron, the only tongue he had. As planned, neither of them could make sense of the other so Listracht was summoned with no success. With a roll of his eyes, Nag Solvanth was collected from below.

The official repeated himself, “You will explain your desecration of the high lord the other day.”

The Elf replied, “We are followers of Fûl, Lord of the Nazgûl.”

By the man’s arrogance and assurance, this could only be the high priest of whatever passed here for lore. He said, “That is a blasphemy! High Melkor holds sway here, as all men know!”

Nag Kath held his chin, “We are come from the north where servants of the Witch-King still have visible power. Our understanding is that Melkor was destroyed.”

The man bristled, “You could be boiled alive for such lies.”

It was time to set the hook. Nag Kath considered that and told a waiting crewman to produce the bilge rock before saying, “See, here is one of Yvsuldor’s stones.” He took it in one hand and it glowed enough silver to be seen in daylight.

In an attempt at reconciliation he added, “If the servants of the greatest lord return to his further his purpose, perhaps we are in accord, mister … ?”

The man said in a huff, “That remains to be seen. Be here when I return tomorrow!”

With that he turned on his heel and led his hard soldiers up the quay.

Listracht watched them go and chuckled, “He’s in arse deep. Did you see his eyes when your hand lit-up?”

“Umhmmm. High Visitor Listracht, I think we should see the nightlife in Bozisha-Dar.”

___________------___________

That evening Listracht and Nag Kath slipped off the ship and followed their noses to a workingman’s restaurant. There was ale, in only the most charitable use of the term. It was not served until after sundown. Listracht puckered his face, “They could have left this in the donkey.”

The Elf had a sip and made less of a frown but took a pull of his tea directly. After swishing his tongue in his mouth, he said, “I wish I knew more of these Numenoreans. For a time, they ruled supreme. The book said some of the Nazgûl were their most terrible sorcerers. So how did they end up down here?”

Listracht ventured another gulp and grimaced, “They kept losing. I am more interested in how they think Melkor walks the halls of the Holy Ones. I should think he is clanking his cup in the gaol.”

The Elf thought about that. “This Lord Ar-Gimilzôr has some of the same questions. Let us discover if he has rocks of his own. I might even have a nipper of the original bastard. Do you suppose they will sell us that little cask to take back to the Swan?”

“The Fûl?”

“Of course.”

It wasn’t until nearly high-sun that the Arbiter returned, this time with six men. He ordered Nag Kath to come with him. It would not do without his Sayer. Both men tried to bring cargo swords but the guards weren’t having that. 

The train walked without another word all the way to the area Nag Kath thought was the palace on his first excursion. Guards clad much like those of the Gondoran seventh stood at a series of three gates. They opened the doors on sight and the Righters and Arbiter’s men trooped to a grand, white-stone mansion reached by thirteen fanned steps. It opened onto a room not unlike the entry in Orthanc except for more open windows and cream-white stone. The Arbiter spoke briefly with a man also in robes with a blue cap who retreated down a corridor. Their man walked back over, jutting his chin in importance. 

The Chamberlain or Herald returned after a while and nodded. The guests, Arbiter and all six guards followed him to a throne room of white but with black stone fittings. On the seat of power sat an old cove also wearing black with a crown of silver, possibly mithril. One gnarled hand gripped a miter in his lap. He leaned forward to better see the men brought to his justice. They both bowed deeply and stood at civilian-quality attention.

The Arbiter formally announced, “Most High, these are the men who defamed our lord Melkor!”

The ruler nodded and the Arbiter took his leave. The guards stayed.

For a few moments the old man did nothing, finally, he curled his fingers towards him to bring the two men closer. In Sindarin he said, “So, you think to bring your backward ways to the last of Numenor?”

It was up to Nag Kath from here, “Nay, my Lord. We serve he who serves the highest of lords.”

The old boy took some time clearing his throat but asked, “And who might this servant be?”

“He is the Witch-king of Angmar, sir. His strength grows in northern lands against weak Elessar.”

“Why come you here?”

Nag Kath said with some hauteur, “Now that King’s-men retake our lands, we come to trade and see which of our kin remain loyal servants.”

The man was still for a long time. On the wide range of possibility; the lord was a true believer and devoted to restoring the rule of their chosen Ainur. On the other, he was a ruthless despot using age-old terror to cow his peoples. Nag Kath would try to be useful either way but his main purpose was to see if the old man had his own glowing rocks.

The Lord grew angry, “How dare you surmise!”

Unbowed, Nag Solvanth said respectfully, “The Yvsuldor makes his power clear to us. Forgive me, high sir, we come in common purpose. May I ask how Lord Melkor makes his will known? Perhaps these ARE his tools, wielded through those who keep them.”

The man grumbled, “I will consider this. You will stay here until I summon you.” He gestured to the guards who allowed the visitors to bow again before escorting them to the far wing of the palace.

___________------___________

Listracht looked around the quarters in awe, “How is it that the nicest place I’ve ever stayed is a prison?” Their lodgings were not where his Lordship tossed scofflaws. A large central room, beautifully appointed in carpets, was between separate bedrooms. Nag Kath would have no trouble getting out of the third-story window but no one else could without a rope.

As the sun set, two women brought platters of food. Not nubiles of Ûrêzáyan; both were stout gals with flat faces who kept their dispositions to themselves. Still, the meal was edible. Nag Kath checked both plates with a quick wave of his hand for poison before they ate. 

Listracht had no trouble gnawing his half chicken to the bone. With a belch he said in Khandian, “Nag, we’ve seen a few troops and the guards, but I haven’t heard so much as a squeak from line soldiery.”

“You are sharper than me, my friend. I hadn’t noticed, though even a light Marine fleet could make short work of those two pig-boats facing the wrong way.”

Listracht had some of the white grain and said, “I wondered as well. I must say, this Bozisha-Dar is a grander place than I’ve ever lived. Do you suppose the poor folk are kept out of view?”

“Maybe with the soldiers. That river mouth goes much further back. Now, when I should have been paying attention, I thought of our lord, all wrinkled and wan. Had he so much as a Dwarf Ring, he would cut a more impressive figure.”

Listracht said, “Let us consider that he is made to look like the king and the true villain watches from elsewhere.”

“That or they are the last of their kind, keeping Southrons from the door with the craft of greater sires. This foolishness with Melkor; I need to discover if there is cause.”

Listracht looked around his cell, “One thing is certain, someone is paying the bills. This hovel is a sight fairer than Sauron’s old haunts, except for the women of Khand, not that a right-living man would know of such diversions.” He grinned.

The Elf reflected, “We will give and get. Do not forget I am a witless merchant’s son here to be made a man. Tomorrow, Captain will seek what these folk have to trade. From what I have seen of most women here, he needs to get those lads away from the city, somewhere where they can enjoy the hospitality discretely.”

The next day they were called before the seated ruler. This time, a younger man sat in a lower chair next to him. The face was quite different but the hair reminded Nag Kath of Shurat Maedos with the shock of white against jet black. He was modestly but expensively dressed in dark clothes and wore no hat or cap. He also wore no obvious emblems of lordship.

The old man pointed at Nag Kath with a wizened hand and said, “You will show me the sorcery you claim from your Lord’s device.”

Both travelers looked at each other before the Elf said, “Your pardon, sir, we were not told to bring it. It is but a common Yvsuldor stone, though. My servant can collect it and return here.”

The old boy talked with the younger man quietly and said, “We will consider that shortly. Before then, why do you claim it has power from the Angmarach?”

“I beg pardon, sir. I do not know that term.”

The elder seemed frustrated, “Angmarach! Servitor of Angmar!”

“Oh, there are battlefields of his dead waiting in spirit form to return at his call. They grow more active each passing day. Friends in Rhûn, Khand, Mordor itself prepare for instruction. Folk can see them.”

The next line was crucial. Nag Kath had to be respectful but also hoist something of a challenge against these men’s assertions of a resurrected Melkor. “The Angmarach is giving us plain tools, perhaps for his own purpose or perhaps to further his highest Lord. What signs have you seen here, sirs?” 

In Dukks, that was enough of a wager on strong cards that opponents either had to match the bet or concede the hand. Their own Arbiter had seen credible sorcery or they wouldn’t be here. In the parlance of the game, without ladies present, it was time to ‘check the eggs’. 

The Numenoreans choices were slim. They could bluster and claim their lordship did not require them to make their case to ignorant foreigners. They could threaten to return the visitors’ heads to their ship. They could make any number of excuses, but anything less than backing their claim was weakness. They probably also wanted to know else what these Visitors had in their bag of tricks.

The younger man spoke for the first time with a more difficult accent than the elder. “Please excuse our lack of courtesy, esteemed guests. Your appearance was unexpected. Indeed, you may be a rivulet that creates the river of awakening long sought. Have your servant return with the stone. We will see how it comports with such craft as we possess.”

Nag Kath translated that for Listracht along with telling Penandoth to stay in port unless the authorities made that uncomfortable. Listracht bowed as a servant should, a reliable disguise, and then bowed to the host before shambling out the double-doors. The man with the white blaze stood and said, “While you wait, you may follow this man where food will be brought.” His nod served as dismissal and a rather pretty male door guard walked Nag Kath to a small meal room down a new corridor. Now, had this lad some measure of Elf?

The table would seat eight but he was the only one there. It might have been a quarter-bell before two servants came in with covered trays of food. Nag Kath seldom ate lunch but would have some of whatever it was in respect. What made this interesting was; the servers. They seemed to have elements of orc in them, the way they walked and the way their noses flattened against their faces, perhaps the males of the serving women yesterday.

Nag Kath gave them a farm-boy smile and took his pen-knife out of his pocket to cut his meat. It showed no blue. Were they part orc? Had they been cleansed as he had? They didn’t seem surly enough for real orcs so he thanked them with a nod and took the cover off the first plate.

It was good too, and far too much to eat even half. It came with the same weak green tea that probably all peoples made in one way or another to boil drinking water. The room had no ornamentation. That was unusual. Most rooms in a palace seen by any but the staff had art or paneling or something to suggest it wasn’t a barn. When he finished, he walked to the one large window. It faced east, a different direction than last night’s quarters. At this height he could see a huge swath of genuine forest stretching as far as the horizon. That would explain how they controlled shipping in the Gulf of Harad, food too. It did not seem an ominous wood. 

Waiting, he thought he might do more than seek evil. These people claimed to be the purest survivors of the greatest mannish civilization, the height of navigation, celestial observation, counting and governance. Most craft dated well before Sauron’s influence. The quest must take precedence, but Nag Kath would also study good things that had been lost to men of the north through all the myriad ways men lose things.

A less orcish attendant walked in and told him to return to the throne room. Listracht was looking suitably servile and bowed wordlessly, putting on a pair of the trade spectacles and ostentatiously picking lint out of one of the carvings before handing it to his master. Their hosts received bows from the Yvsuldors. The old man said harshly, “So then, this is the device you claim brings you closer to the Angmarach?”

“Yes, my Lord. Forgive me, sirs, but we do not even know his name. Have you heard it in your scholarship?”

The younger man said, “Ar-Balkumagân, thought slain in battle against the Gondor.”

That was a mouthful, young man! Nag Kath did not know his Numenorean kings, but he knew from Éomander’s book that ‘Ar’ meant ruler. And that this fellow volunteered it suggested he sought information. The Elf made a show of repeating the name to Listracht so he could rummage through the cash to see if there was a nipper or Florin with his likeness. 

Nag Kath asked, “May I approach the dais, noble sirs?”

The old man waved him up. Nag Kath walked close enough for the seated Lords to inspect his rude carvings in the stone. This was not his better artwork but a fair match for the stone he destroyed. The Elf said, “Three of the eight runes are important. In order; Fûl for power, then patience, last is war, each in the proper measure.” He handed the stone to the geezer who hefted it like a bilge rock and gave it to the younger man. 

He did try to divine power but appeared to make nothing of it. Nag Kath felt a thin surge. Before he lit the counterfeit stone, he would be far enough away so the man couldn’t tell what was stone and what was Elf.

The old one rasped, which seemed to be his speaking voice, “What does it do?”

Nag Kath had days to position his demonstration. What worked in Mordor might work here. A narrative would emerge that this hallowed stone signified the Witch-King’s presence among the worthy. The intensity gauged the effect. Of course, he could light his dinner plate the same way, but these men didn’t need to know that.

The hook was that it was only a search beacon, not a coming. Visitor servants sought similar talismans to combine humors of strength. Men of the north with small powers to transmit the source weren’t uncommon nowadays, but he was the only one on this boat.

Taking the stone back, the Elf looked around where the ceiling met columns as a show of positioning himself correctly. Then he raised his hand and made the bilge-rock glow with his normal silver summoning. It was brighter inside than it had been on the docks. 

Nag Kath borrowed from the comic wizard in the Catanard, staggering slightly and ending the light, putting his thumb and fingers to either side of his nose. Sure the Lords were watching intently, he handed the stone back to Listracht and said somewhat unsteadily, “I sought confirmation that King Ar-Balkumagân has presence here. This was stronger than I have felt before. Perhaps he is near ... Your pardon, good sirs. I … I must rest now.”

He waited until they nodded and then unevenly walked back towards his new quarters led by his faithful man and two of the guards.

His servant laid him in bed, saying in solicitous Rhûnic, “That was a proper goat’s breakfast, revered master. I thought the old boy would pee himself.”

Nag Kath croaked feebly, “Your tongue will get you banned from better taverns. What did the youngster do?”

“Nothing.”

Listracht started taking his master’s boots off. Nag Kath thanked him by saying, “Then he is our man. I think he has some power. Next we must see what he thinks it will bring.” The Elf leaned back with a pained groan while his servant put his boots at the foot of the bed. Listracht looked for tea. Finding nothing, he walked outside and gestured drinking to one of the guards who waited until an attendant walked by to have him fetch some.

The right-living soldier said in soothing tones, “So, how long before you are recovered if I am asked, Mr. Solvanth?”

“I need a quiet look around here tonight. Tomorrow morning I should be right as rain. What news of the ship?”

"Capt’n broke out a cup of wine last night and a little pipe-weed. Men are patient but they are still sailors. Bosun’s keeping them on board. First Mate is wandering the markets seeing what these folk sell themselves and what they might like.”

Nag Kath leaned back in the bed with feigned exhaustion saying, “We have lovely serving wenches.”

Listracht was excited until dinner was brought by the same men with orcish faces. Just to see if they could speak, Nag Kath asked as squire of the manor, “You, what is this meat called?”

The creature came over and said with mannish teeth, “That is flesh of the boar, honored guest.”

"Is this from here in your homeland?"

The server answered, "It is from here, but my homeland is far to the west."

Were they the folk to avoid? The Elf grunted his understanding and the two northerners were left with their thoughts. As soon as the door closed, Listracht said, “Ugly as the back of a …”

“Charity, right-liver. Remember the lessons of Dostrenes. I thought they were orcs but they aren’t. Let us wait until dark.”

___________------___________

Even barefoot, Nag Kath had trouble keeping quiet on slick stone floors. He confused the door guard and crept down the hall to the throne room. It was unguarded. The thrones themselves had no humors. He got no sense of power in the room at all. Sneaking down the corridor the men came from was also cold and also devoid of any art or decoration. About to return to the room, he passed one smaller annex that did have a number of wall-hangings. The window let in almost no moon. The best he could tell these were more stern Numenorean Kings scowling for posterity. A look in daytime would tell more.

The next morning, servant Listracht told the guard that his master was recovered and could attend their Lordships. Half a bell later, fresh guards brought the two men to the throne-room. After obeisance, Nag Kath said, “Your pardon, sirs. That was difficult. The stone tells the presence of the Witch-King’s spirit. It was strong but also seemed to be seeking something on its own, as if drawn to a kindred power.”

The younger man, “So, you are a vessel for this stone?”

“Only that it may pass through me. A more experienced Sayer could tell you more than my sorry effort.”

The old man this time; “What does it seek?”

“I cannot say, esteemed sir. This is new. Does your realm have artifacts that could draw the stone to them?”

The old man growled, “Give me the rock. I will see what it brings!”

The locals seemed to expect a fight. Nag Kath shrugged his shoulders and told his servant to deliver the ballast-stone. The Lords walked down the far corridor and left the visitors standing. After a half-bell, with both Visitors straining not to laugh out loud, the Lords of Bozisha-Dar returned. The old one huffed, “This is a fraud! The stone has no power.”

The question was if he knew or was bluffing. Knowing was much more interesting so Nag Kath would pursue that line of defense. “I do not think it has any power of its own. It passes power through humble persons like me. Since it is of no use to you, can I interest you in a supply of fine woolens?”

If there was anything to this claim of Melkor, the peddler’s effete son essentially said that the dark one could repay their truculence with wrath for delaying his revival. Gandalf explained Morgoth was relegated to the void, whatever that was. He clearly was not restored to the Valar since hated Arien still brought her sun to grace Middle-earth.

But the tall blonde also shined with power and said the stone sought something. If nothing else, there might be value in his pale, indifferent hand. The young merchant stood there either waiting to get his rock back or trudge to the ship and chalk a mark on his slate. And he could stand there longer than they could sit. Finally the old man said, “Return tomorrow for dinner. We have other things to discuss.”

Second Mate Kevland welcomed the returning servants of Fûl effusively and had a man fetch fresh tea. After seeming to have nothing to do long enough to bore any watchers in the warehouses across the docks, the mates, Captain, Dal, Listracht and Elf gathered in a circle on the rear-castle.

Listracht gave his assessment, “If these lads have any sway with dark lords lost in the mist, we did not see it. Their guards are competent and sober. The fellow who brought me here and back yesterday seemed to know his business. Pikemen carry a dirk. Others carry full swords. I only saw four archers near the gate. The shifts change about every four-bells. It is hard to tell here. A determined party of a hundred could take the palace in surprise.”

Nag Kath held his chin, “I saw some of the same things. What perplexes me is what I did not see; there were no hangers-on. I’ve been in every palace of the world now. All of them have men who seem to be waiting for orders or petitions or delivering cheese, usually in each others’ way. I saw none of that here. After you have conquered a place, rulers have to make sure the water wells work and settle squabbling nobles. List, did you see any such comings and goings?”

Listracht pulled his own bearded chin and answered, “A few more than you, but no, there were no idle servants waiting on their Lord’s slightest whim.”

First Mate Juergans said, “We may have other interest from our little demonstration. A woman has walked past twice, paying special attention to the new name board with just the single glyph. She is unremarkable in every way, which makes me think that is meant.”

Nag Kath asked, “What times of day?”

“Once after what might be the nine-bell and again nearing dusk. I will point her out if she returns.”

Second Mate thought he should mention; “About those bells, sirs, the days are getting longer.”

Everyone turned to him so he added, “Not long past the little town we visited on the coast, the sun readings started getting longer, by about as much as they had gotten shorter further north. Might that be in hand with new stars to the south?”

Penandoth nodded and speculated, “Perhaps Varda travels differently here. I have noticed the breeze is more southerly at times.” The Captain turned to both mates and said, “Let us ask other mariners of those winds and storms. As to trade goods, I could not get a look in those warehouses.” Penandoth whistled and called, “Yeltzyr, Ubier!” The two deckhands trotted up and were told to sit. The Captain asked, “I think we know these folk will buy whatever we brought. Did you get a sense of what they have besides money?”

Yeltzyr nodded a moment and answered, “Same sized money as us, mostly the same coins. Didn’t get a look at any gold. One man wanted to trade what looked a very fine linen or other weave for a quantity of fire-stones.”

Ubier nodded too and continued, “It was the sort of fabric used in windows to keep insects from entering. The wealthiest of Umbar proper wear it gaily colored for it is light and smooth but very tough, made of cocoons, I believe. We watched the other stalls and peddlers with asses. They sold mostly food or fabric, the same sorts of things you see everywhere.”

Yeltzyr added, “Not a single weapon. Many folk carried small knives but no swords or bows. The soldiers, guardi, more like, seemed to be looking for them.”

Listracht asked the group, “Any look at who is out after dark?”

Mate Kevland admitted, “Tierneis went out for vegetables and got back at dusk.” No one wondered why. “He felt a follower but he returned with a basket of greens and roots so no harm done.”

One of the deck guards gave the secret whistle. So everyone didn’t stare, Gharvies casually peered over the rail and saw a different woman carrying a parcel. She wasn’t well trained. People on the wharf bustled. She seemed more strolling, but not dressed well enough for leisure. The Elf sneaked a peek. Turning back to the group as if he had merely been leering, he said to Listracht, “I think we need more vegetables.”

The Righter nodded and silently padded down the gangplank with an empty basket after the woman reached the next ship. Yeltzyr muttered, “I am glad he is on our side.”

Nag Kath stretched his legs and changed the subject, “Tomorrow night I’m to present myself at the palace for dinner. List was right, if there is sorcery, it is hidden. I will go myself and let Listracht see what becomes of the curious shopper. He knows the ways of the right-livers in the north.”

Listracht did not slip up the plank until high-night. Second Mate had the watch and woke Penandoth. Dal was awake too and they congregated amidships to hear the tale. The Righter reported, “That was almost too easy. She wandered up the alleys at the same pace then went in a door and out another on the street-side. From there she hurried the other way and was admitted to a home. The door opened before she got there so she was expected, though I heard no one on the rooftops signaling. It is an educated guess, but I do not think anyone has paid much attention to this lot in a long time. 

“I had a look around; no symbols or other tells. An hour later, a gent leaves from the back door and goes to a finer home southwest, up the hill a few blocks. I saw no guardi or anyone else interested in either of them.” He grinned, “By then, it was too late to get more taters.”

Nag Kath asked, “What of the new home?”

“I don’t have your eyes, but it was a deal larger than most of the little huts on the way to the Lords. There was a garden in front. Were I a wagering-man, I think the right-livers found us. With Fûl carved in the prow, we are enemy now and need to watch for torches thrown into the sails.”

Penandoth looked at Dal, “Tell Yeltzyr and Ubier to take their wares door-to-door tomorrow along the warehouses. Let us see what else these folk have to trade, especially things not yet ready for delivery. Go with them and try to have a look at the smaller wharves we passed further west.”

“Aye, sir”

Listracht asked of the Elf, “Planning to do some visiting of your own?”

“We leave at dawn.”

___________------___________

It was nearly full sun when Mrs. Oram walked into her garden room to close the shutters before the cooler air of night could escape. She saw Listracht sitting in one of the great chairs looking like he was waiting for breakfast. With a ‘heighh!’ she turned to flee and there was Nag Kath by the door she entered looking like he had already eaten his. 

The Elf said quietly in her tongue, “Do not fear. We are not here to harm you. May we have a word with your husband?”

Bravely, but unconvincingly, she protested, “There is no husband here. You have burgled the wrong house!”

The imposing blonde man approached her. Two steps back was as far as she could go before she reached the hungry guest and she debated whether to scream. The servants would arrive first and likely be killed. Then she would be killed as a witness. Nag Kath saved her further consideration by handing her a folded piece of paper and saying, “Give this to the husband who isn’t here. We will wait patiently.”

She took the note, gladder he had unblocked her way than what the message might say. Two minutes later, she returned behind a man still in his nightshirt and slippers carrying a curved sword. The northerners both thought him about fifty but in good condition. Nag Kath had taken a chair by Listracht. The husband glared but did not get closer. Finally he said, “This is an honest home. We have nothing worth taking!”

Listracht said in Variag, “He has not read the note.” The Right soldier stood and approached to within sword range, “Here, use mine” handing the fellow the reading spectacles off his nose. Holding a sword in one hand and putting on specs for the first time is not recommended. Finally, his wife took the sword while the villains watched so he could fumble with the unfamiliar spectacles. It was just the symbol of Orlo which he could have seen with naked eyes.

He looked at the intruders, at the note again and said firmly enough to be heard in the kitchen, “Ferishtand, tea for four, please.” He nodded to his wife, still holding the sword, and whispered, “My dear, be at ease. These are favored guests.”

Mrs. Oram leaned the weapon against a corner so it wouldn’t frighten the domestics arriving with tea and something hastily prepared to eat with it. He gestured for Listracht to resume his seat while he and the missus dragged wicker chairs over to join them.

No one said another word until a man and woman arrived with tea and a platter of thin crackers, only leaving after reassurance from their mistress. Then their host said to Listracht, “You are not who we expected, sirs.”

Nag Kath interrupted, “Forgive me, sir. My friend does not have your tongue.” The Elf had heard enough here to adapt to varied pronunciations but it was still a work in progress. We are followers of right-living from Gondor and Khand. Orlo suggested we lend such aid as we could.”

“Orlo is a symbol, not a man.”

“He is a spirit. I can speak to him.”

The fellow ventured, “How are you known to him?”

“My friend is Listracht. I am called Nag Kath.”

“Kath of the Trolls?”

In most other situations he would have hung his head but the Elf kept the initiative, “Yes, the same.”

The woman said, “We are Heraldin and Sophiel Oram, at your service. What is your purpose here?”

Listracht knew Nag Kath would include him when it mattered so he ate the little crackers two at a time. Nag Kath answered, “I followed Orlo’s invitation to visit. We had thought to find evidence of the Witch-King, but it seems the land is much taken with Morgoth." When they drew a blank he added, "Melkor. Now we must learn if that is a fraud or if there are remnants of either dark ones in these lands.

“Before I go any further, do not tell us of your friends in the event we are put to the question. For all you know, we are northern traders seeking goods to take home. If we need to meet again, choose a safer place.”

They nodded between them as the changeling brought Listracht up to speed.

Nag Kath continued, “I would know this; what is this business with Melkor being leader of the Ainur? Has there been anything to suggest that is more than bluster from the palace?”

Heraldin answered cautiously, “Perhaps in the deep eastern forests. Know this, men of the north; Bozisha-Dar is the western edge of lands that go two hundred leagues inland along the river valleys. You will only see here what traders of the Unworthy may see.”

Nag Kath gave that to Listracht and was asked to ask, “How does this sorcery manifest?”

“It is said; small pockets of power, as if a fog or smoke, beyond my ken.”

They spoke for an hour. Listracht ate every cracker. In readying to leave, Nag Kath said, “I am to dine with two men at the palace tonight. One old in black, the other younger with a shock of white in his hair. I have represented myself as a minor sorcerer in the service of the Witch-King.”

Sophiel, who seemed to have equal voice in right-living here, explained, “The old one is an honored uncle who administers the city. The younger one is Prince Tarquin. You are interested in his father. Do not expect him tonight.”

Listracht kept his eyes on the hosts and told Nag Kath, “They need to do better than strolling kitchen maids.”

The Elf translated, “Someone who has not been to the docks needs to come by daily offering local trinkets guaranteed to bring good fortune to ignorant foreigners.”

Coming as no surprise, there was a better way out than the window they crawled in. It led to an alley behind the home. The two northern sailors continued north a few blocks before returning to the quayside road.

___________------___________

Anticipating lordly summons, Nag Kath had a suit of civilian togs stowed in his cabin. Dal tried to remove the wrinkles. As usual, his long Elvish hair was pulled over his ears.

The two Lords had already been seated. With them was a beautiful but hard-looking woman dressed in clothes of ancient form. In this heat they looked uncomfortable. She had an arched eyebrow to rival Tal’s at her reddest. Across from her and next to him was a thin, middle-aged fellow in cooler fabrics. Bozisha-Dar was not a hand-shaking place. He nodded and said he was Mr. Rathbairn. Next to the woman was another, older woman whose face registered no expression at all. She was not introduced. This was not a social occasion.

The old uncle said, “Thank you for joining us, Mr. Solvanth.” Nag Kath was glad he hadn’t used his real name. The right-livers did not know how the story of the trolls came to this land but it had, so it was good this lot knew him by his alias. Some news of the north seeped down from the Haradrim but they shared nothing with the northerlings in return.

The old boy continued, “We are curious of your tale. Perhaps you can share your thoughts in this more cordial setting.”

“Certainly, Lord Ar-Gimilzôr.” He now knew this fellow, when acting in the King's name, could use that title. “Before I impose on your graciousness, may I offer a token of my people’s respect?”

He could. The gift had been confiscated at the door so the blonde guest signaled the guard who brought the ornate box directly to Uncle. The man opened it and unsheathed an exquisite dagger done in a combination of Dwarvish and Elvish style, which are not easy to blend. A fine polished blade of Durinbard steel gleamed in the lamplight. It was a Princely offering and showed these merchants had more than glasses to burn ants. Uncle passed it to the assembled hosts except the traditionally-dressed lady. As they looked, Nag Kath said, “I am a traveling merchant but also a very minor servant of those who consider the Elessar’s rule obscene. As the Angmarach reveals himself more forcefully, subjects reconsider their loyalties. Men like myself counsel them.”

The younger woman asked, “Counsel in what way, Mr. Solvanth?”

So, she was more than furniture. There was a strong resemblance to the younger man. “The old ways are forgotten, My Lady. There are those who pass lore from father to son recalling better times. I am not one-such. I carry one of the stones to help our Lord find his allies.” He added the slightest suggestion in his gaze afterwards. If he was a merchant’s spoiled son, he would be looking for dockside companionship after long travel with smelly sailors. It earned him a nod as glacial as any She-Elf could have done.

Crassness established, Nag Kath continued, “You have a fair land, best of sirs, ladies. It seems green and lush upriver.”

The older woman replied, “It is fertile.”

A touchy subject! As she did not leave room to expand, Nag Kath shifted to his purpose, “I asked of the Lord Melkor onboard. He is not known to men of the north. It is said he was mostly of Elvish times and they are now returned to the west."

His lighthearted ignorance of the highest was sure to needle the old man. The elderly are attributed with patience and experience, but as often as not, they have only the experience earned before their patience ran-out. The uncle growled, “He was the greatest of all Lords! How is it possible that the infidels do not see what is in plain sight?!”

Pretending a modicum of contrition, Nag Kath said, “The records were all destroyed or taken by the Elves. Without Loresayers to guide, men rising from the ash make their own tales and, in the end, believe them.” Part of that was to establish that he wasn’t an Elf. In the north, they were gone. Down here there might be herds of them. It didn’t seem a natural blend, but some of the old Elves were real bastards and might be exiled here with bad attitudes.

The younger man sought to reduce tensions and further his own inquiries. “I am curious, Mr. Solvanth; you made that stone glow. Is that a rare legacy of the Angmarach?”

“Not rare at all Lord …?”

“Targuin. A humble servant.”

“No, not rare. The red-collared Ghoranduls supply them. They knew I was coming here and thought to extend their hand to unmet friends of old. I am of far northern folk and have some of the old Elvish language.”

He knew that would rankle too. Sindarin was the language the Faithful. King’s-men were relegated to it when their preferred Adûnaic was dissipated in the exodus. Nag Kath tried some of that, sure to butcher the pronunciation, “Gimlun bêl nakhat-ze ‘nNê ... (A star shines on the hour of our meeting) delivered with another slight leer at the ice queen. He would save the Black Speech for whoever lived in that forest.

When the final course was served, they could not get him gone fast enough. Uncle rose and thanked him for coming almost before he finished chewing. Nag Kath nodded and bowed. The next time they called, he would see their cards.

___________------___________

While the sailor returned to the Fûl, the palace host remained seated. Tarquin offered, “I confess, I do not know what to make of this creature. He is ignorant to a fault, but I cannot help but think he could have use for father. Wise uncle Rathbairn, what say you?”

“I agree. Sister?”

The plain woman considered before saying, “He is not what he seems, perhaps less than he seems, but you say you have seen sorcery from his barbarian hand.”

The old uncle confirmed, “Aye, he made that rock glow silver, but he said it was this Angmarach merely passing through. It drained him, which he said was unusual. That servant was a great King, founder of the King’s-Men, very powerful. Even in spirit, he was Sauron’s ablest minion.”

The beauty said flatly, “If we allow that this vulgar stripling conducts Ar-Balkumagân, the question is whether the Numenorean seeks to return as King of our people or in furtherance of his former employers. Myself, I am content with neither. Resurrected leaders of this world or the next always replace their predecessors.”

Rathbairn, silent through most of the meal, was practical, “I suppose we should let this unravel. Ears in the market say they have useful goods to trade and seek like cargo to take home. What do we have that the uncouth northerners might fancy?”

The plain woman said, “You need to speak with a merchant, cousin. These men are of low station. Let them deal among themselves.”

“Correct, as always, my dear. I will ask friends in the city who can treat with them.”

Tarquin advised, “Nothing quick, mind. Give me time to return to Bozisha-Kantû and speak with father.” Older brothers can never resist goading little sisters, even ice-Princesses, “It seems the blonde stallion was sweet on you, Tsial-dra. Perhaps that furthers our interests.”

A loving sister of the north would laugh or act appalled. This one glowered. Teasing her was not as much fun as it used to be. 

“Not much, List. I am sure I created some interest and managed to mildly insult everyone around the table. A woman like our forest Prince was stunning but would frost your lips in the kissing.”

Listracht and Penandoth agreed that there were three separate lines of attack. Nag Kath had the palace and points east. The Captain had to make this look like a legitimate trading run and probably lay up where the men could relax in ways sailors like. His excuse could be the exorbitant docking fees here in the city proper unless higher lords told the Harbormaster to keep the ship close.

Listracht had Orlo. Other than not speaking the language, he was born for intrigue. If this lot had any remaining connection to the north, there might be those who spoke Rhûnic, Variag or Plainstongue, possibly disdained Westron. Southron could be interpreted. The Orams were choosing their messengers now.

The next day, Rathbairn spoke with Hu-Cirandal, master of the merchant’s exchange. Bozisha-Dar did not have guilds in the western fashion but the same monopolies form in any economy. The fat old trader sipped his constant cool tea and replied, “Yes, they have peddled things in the market, without a permit. They did pay the stall fees. Not much was sold but it went quickly.

“Their ship is built for high waves. It is worth as much as anything they carry. Consider that, friend. As to what they want, worm-farmers inland say their moths breed well this season. In a month, they may fancy cooler fabrics for wealthy backsides. I expect they have all the steel they want. Foods will spoil. Do you think they are interested in slave-women? They are in short supply, but this vessel cannot carry many and would entertain them going home.”

Rathbairn inwardly winced at the idea of Dunedain females of any caste being shared among lesser men, but he appeared to consider it. There would be appropriate women along the southern coasts that would be all the same to lusty navvys. That could wait. 

The lesser royal had things to mull. He told the merchant to ask among his associates, who all stood to benefit. Merchant Hu-Cirandal would also quietly inquire among other associates how such a ship could be taken intact after leaving with saleable cargo.

Tarquin rode at a good speed, changing horses every ten miles at constantly maintained stations. On these flawless roads, he managed ten leagues a day and stayed at the royal houses where staff was always ready to serve. Even at this familiar pace, it was a five day ride through the bread-basket of his country to make the lake of his father, Ar-Gimilzôr.

The heir preferred the inland valley to the port. It was green and alive and full of things that ended when the sweet met the salt. He crossed good bridges made in the style of the men who ruled all of Middle-earth when it was worth ruling. They stood as proud reminders of what might yet be. To the north were the great forests of fine woods, both soft for building and hard for craft. In the foothills were bred horses like his fine Ignathe. Along the plain, all manner of grains and fruit and nuts grew, sometimes twice each season. On the southern banks were the worm bushes.

As was his custom, a girl was brought to him at the last royal station. It soothed him, readied him for the scrutiny of the palace. He asked for the same lass as last time. She reminded him of someone.

___________------___________

Bozisha-Kantû rested on the lip of the great inland lake forming the headwaters of the river. At only two-thirds the population of Dar, it called to him, made him feel someday he would return for good. The realm was defended by sand, not walls or moats. Who could get here with men and arms? Skilled troops were prepared for short notice and the militias of the farmlands were trained. 

The guard at the palace gate opened before he arrived. His father tried to get Tarquin to come with bodyguards but riding home was the only time the Prince was ever really alone. After bathing and changing in his quarters, the heir went to Ar-Gimilzôr’s working office. 

Father and son gripped each others’ arms and smiled. They loved each other. King and Prince were mortal men who might only live one hundred thirty years, both long enough and short enough for love. The original Ar-Gimilzôr lived over two hundred. The strain had weakened in the blending and kin-slayings of the long march south to join their colony in the Havens of Umbar. Then the Swertings forced them further.

They sat in familiar chairs, not the womanish pillows of the Haradrim. The King said, “Back in one piece. Tell me of your sister.”

“She is well, sir. But she is sad. As much as she claims succor by the sea, it is not her refined life.”

“Your grandmother was the same way. I have no idea how your mother was ever conceived. Now, you were not due back for a month. Are there tidings?”

“More in the manner of questions, father. A ship unlike any we have seen before berthed ten days ago. It is from Gondor.”

The King leaned forward. Gondor was a famous and terrible place for the rulers of Miraz, rightly called ‘Thân zîrân’, Beloved Land, rather than its tribal Southron predecessor. Old names stick. He asked, “A warship?”

“It could certainly be used for that. This is a trader of things for housewives. No, father, it is the men who are of interest. They worship the Angmarach who is said to be gaining strength in the old Sauronic lands. He seeks a foothold there again. I would have had them whipped for heresy but one of them, a thoughtless young man, has some sorcery claimed to direct Ar-Balkumagân’s attention. Evidently, the Witch-king seeks allies and the simple trader said he found something.”

The King stroked his full-beard, “This man, what do you make of him?”

“Not much. He is a haughty and handsome fellow who freely admits he has limited strength. But a stone said to be fashioned by the Angmarach’s minions was made to glow in his hand, before my eyes and Uncle Tourgsh. It was not a trick. We examined the device and could divine no power.”

“So, it is the trader?”

“Or both. I teased sister that the rakish foreigner was interested.”

His Lordship chuckled, “Only when we want him dead. You were right to return, my loyal son. What steps are taken while you are here?”

Lord Rathbairn speaks with local merchants for a successful but slow exchange of their wares. The sailors will grow tired of waiting in port.”

The hereditary ruler of Miraz said thoughtfully, “So the question is whether we can use this sorcery to further our aims?”

“It seems little threat. They had a noxious observance of their faith that we discouraged. I wonder if this merchant has tools to help our own true Lord. Does the Angmarach come in service to Mulkhêr or to himself? The man knows nothing of his own past.”

The King followed that thread, “It seems we would need both the man and the stone, you said stone?”

“A flat little rock with runes, eastern, I thought.”

“How do we know he does not use this power to frustrate the Door of Night? That is the last entrance known and we have but a glimpse. Were I this Witch-King, would I fight an age to kneel before one safely imprisoned? He was a fell King of Numenor, said founder of the King’s-men, before he was betrayed. Do we want him summoned to reclaim his old throne?”

Prince Tarquinbir answered softly, “Tsial-dra wondered the same. That is why I come, father. This is your decision.”

Ar-Gimilzôr said thoughtfully, “It seems we have time. Let us discuss this again in council. Will you visit your wife while you are here?”

“I think not, sir. One does not like being reminded of his mistakes.”

“A man is allowed a few.” 

___________------___________

The next morning, a shambling father and his young daughter walked along the docks asking crews of the ships if they would like to buy woven charms proven to bring luck, health and romance to men of the sea.

The child was about eight and not comely. Scars disfigured her face where even a scarf could not hide. At most ships, men simply waved them away. One threw a rotten peach at her. When they reached the Fûl, she was undaunted and told them of the great good that would come of the charms her mother wove to the benefit of sailors.

That should have been a difficult sale given her obvious misfortune, but one of the crewmen took pity and gave her a groat for her treasure. She ran gleefully to father with the precious copper. Men watching from other boats were either sorry she would have a difficult life or past caring.

That night, Seaman Sendarid had a loud run of luck playing dice on the rear-castle. He lost a few throws but in all, he must have squeezed his fellows for nearly a silver. Friends exclaimed that he had never been that lucky.

The next day, no one threw fruit at her but did not part with their coppers until she reached the strange foreign ship. Sendarid and another sailor stood ready for all the good luck they could buy. Again, she thrilled at her good fortune, showing her crippled father two groats this time. Neither man won big that night, but they didn’t lose as badly as poor Bosun Ibernig. He bemoaned abandonment by gods large and small and the next day bought two charms, thinking to skew the odds.

Her name was Nieschdrul and she was obviously some sort of Southron, hardly worth the notice of anyone in Bozisha-Dar. Different sailors purchased according to the roll of the dice but on the days she came, she always sold one or two of the little reed charms to friendly foreigners who could not speak a word of her tongue. In today’s exchange she offered thanks by saying, “Eleven Du Canalth. Ten-bell.” Then she waved and offered to change the luck of sailors on other ships.

Nag Kath and Listracht slipped off after dark and split up to approach the address from different directions. The Elf climbed a handy wall to a rooftop to see if anyone was watching. They weren’t, supporting Listracht’s claim that the local guardi or Arbiters weren’t interested. They hadn’t spotted anyone watching them onboard either. The dice charades were to entertain lurkers. Games were played for real, but charm buyers would cry victory for a few rolls they didn't win. 

There were no bells here. You were supposed to know where you needed to be, and why would anyone make noise when decent people should be abed? After an hour, a Khandian owl hooted and the two sailors converged on a modest home along the fishing wharf further west. There was no secret knock. Listracht rapped his knuckles and Mr. Oram opened.

Inside were another man about forty and the first woman who had noticed the fell glyph identifying the foreign ship. They sat on pillows arranged in a circle in the single large room after Listracht peeked through the shutter. 

Oram said, “Thank you for coming. I have told my associate of your work.” No names. That was the arrangement. The woman sipped her tea. “Here is what we know; the heir rode east six days ago. It is earlier than usual so it may have to do with your arrival. Men are asking about your cargo to purchase in bulk. There really isn’t anything here you don’t have in your home except the fine fabric of moths in the lowlands to the east. It will not be ready for a month. If dyed, twice that.”

Nag Kath said, “That suits our schedule. We will need mooring away from the main docks. Sailors are not suited for long stays onboard in a port.”

Oram spoke to the man next to him about that and the fellow said a friend’s dock was available. It would be no cheaper but more private. Nag Kath translated that for Listracht. These were probably Righters. The Elf applauded their devotion but was mostly interested in the Witch-King. Hopefully women and wine might be available to the fallen.

Nag Kath held the floor, “Now, we come to search fell remainders of the Witch-King. He is dead but still holds power, like the One Ring of Sauron. Ghosts walk his graveyards. Howls and screams are heard near rivers. There are creatures that steal the souls of the living. Is there any of that here?”

The woman spoke for the first time. Both sailors wondered if she came from considerably higher station than her garb suggested. They might not even recognize her in better cloth. That was the point, they supposed. She said, “No, and we look. Though, it was not known that he was slain. Can you tell us of that?”

Between them, Nag Kath and Listracht gave the short version of the Pelennor, the Mordor campaign and Dwarf Ring, the Orlo symbols turned upside down and Orlo himself. In closing Nag Kath said, “The Witch-King is not quite dead. If there is no sign of him here, I need to know what the King is trying to do with Melkor. He was consigned to the void nearly seven thousand years ago. Of many possibilities, three stand out; one, the dark lord was not fully imprisoned. Two; this King thinks he can get him out and three, the King is making it all up and the threat alone keeps him in power.”

The woman said, “There have been … disturbances to the east where Ar-Gimilzôr holds court. I felt them.” That was news. She was not skinny enough to be a commercial healer. 

Listracht had been thinking of this for a week and asked Nag Kath to say, “Forgive my friend. He wants to know if a change of ruler is wanted. Both of our experience was that the world of Sauron was unimaginable terror and pain, a second Morgoth at his worst. Yet here, people are fair and not slaves and seem to enjoy their lives. Trying to make it purer invites disaster. Would you risk that?”

The younger man said, “If so, that is a great feat. Many have tried to take the throne here. A few succeeded, but they had men-at-arms and support in the counties. You have one ship two hundred miles from him.”

The Elf translated that for Listracht who spoke back to him in the tongue of the Balchoth. That went back and forth for a minute until the tall blonde man said, “If I gain the palace, I can slay him and his family without a sound.”

Somehow, they believed him.

Penandoth would ask of the right-liver’s friend about mooring the Fûl. Nag Kath would inveigle an invitation or summons to the inland capital. Their communication process would remain the same. 

Listracht asked the Elf to say, “Sir, if you use a touch of vellet powder in your daughter’s scars, they will stick to her face better.” 

___________------___________

The Peristonig brothers knew about the worm fabric. It was impossibly expensive, tough as leather and yet allowed the slightest breeze through. It could only be made by certain worms on certain bushes and only masters could do any of the dozen steps needed to make it glorious. If they could lay in a stock of it, they would be rich beyond the dreams of Oakenshield. What could be had in Middle-earth came from the lands below Chey where Sauron never stopped the rain. It arrived in well-guarded caravans along the southern Duath and found grateful homes in Umbar before ever reaching the west. Ubier and Udan were promoted to worm-wool negotiators and would start asking. The right-living council, a Ghurate had they known, would also make inquiries. 

Well to the east in much more comfortable surroundings, the King’s council was called by a Herald. It included the Prince, Ministers of the Purse, Army and Security and the vice Minister of the Seas since his superior was always in the western capital. Then there was Heuldarn, a gentleman who was known by the unhelpful title of Elf-Friend. A scribe took notes. Prince Tarquin was asked to summarize his report to his father. 

Incomplete knowledge divided this tight group and the larger assembly into two camps. Each was given time to speak. The older, devout view was that the tiny window created by the first Black Numenoreans into the void should somehow be used to recall the dark lord known to be seething there. As his benefactors, they would reclaim the vast lands denied them by the Faithful and all the swarthy, lower-men defiling them now. It was their due. If this man-child merchant had skills to open the pin-hole wide enough, he should be brought into service.

The other camp was that of the Princess to let sleeping dogs lie. Miraz was a nice place and they were in charge. Who knew what a lord of unlimited power and wrath would do to them if he was loosed on the world? He might turn them to orcs or slaves and they would deserve every day of it. Now we find the north is stabilized enough to have commerce with better men than the ones in-between. 

The Prince was neutral on the matter. Fiercely loyal to his father, he would comply with any command. On the other hand, he would not mind being the eventual ruler of this benign slice of Middle-earth, removed from the strife and immense anger that had bled the rest white. After saying as much as he had to, Prince Tarquin listened. 

No conclusions were intended. The King simply said, “That is all for now. In two days, at the same hour, give me your advice. 

A subtle glance to Heuldarn had the man trail those leaving. He paused at the door and returned to stand by his King who said, “I would hear your thoughts sooner.”

“I think we need a look at this sailor. It might be no more than we feed and pleasure him. Then we send him back to port or he dies.”

“And these powers my son has seen?” Ar-Gimilzôr gestured for him to sit.

“May I speak my mind, Sire? The King nodded. “For four thousand years, the men of Numenor have been squeezed and chased to this place far beyond any reason for folk to bother. We control the food and timber which gives us mastery of the gulf. We could stay here, small and content, for that much longer. 

Heuldarn rose to the moment, “Then you would be the next of the Kings who thought to reclaim your heritage but did not. Events to the north seem to have fallen our way. Bring this peddler. See if he can shake the pillars of heaven and help return the lands we once ruled.” No matter how the council fell on the matter, Ar-Gimilzôr had already decided he would be the last king content with exile in this the age of men.

Tarquin decided not to see his wife. Tanûerv was a vision as a child. She danced and sang and greeted folk of the forest in grace. He married her for love with his father’s blessing and she would become Queen of this fair land one day.

A year after the wedding, she fell into fog, a curse, the Seers said. Within a month, she seldom recognized her husband. The extraordinary physical comfort she could bestow was forgotten. They had no children. They had no life. For six years she had lived at a home above the lake with ladies who must bathe her and brush her hair and make her wear clean clothes. Sometimes they had to feed her by the bite like an infant. Poor Tanûerv flitted from room to room seeking those who were surely observing and telling others of her every thought. She begged her keepers to release her to the forest so she would be quit of them with grace restored.

The King ordered them divorced five years ago. Tarquin had not remarried. Somehow he needed to endure the tragedy. Pressure was mounting to produce heirs of his own. At some point, another marriage would join him with a broodmare of the nation’s continuance. All hope of fair Tanûerv would be lost.

___________------___________

The meeting in two day’s time went as planned. The house divided about in the middle with the Prince taking no position. The King decided that the sailors would be brought here for further assessment. As soon as the daily messenger reached the port, the ship would be watched and not allowed to leave.

By the time the man got there, the ship had already been moved to a new berth a half mile from the city wharf. The dock would not have been large enough for a Captain who insisted on orderly loading of cargo but it had other advantages. Against all known right-living tenets, several young women found their way to the apartment building just off the main road along the quay. Men on leave might visit them from time to time, even the married ones. One of their wine barrels mysteriously found its way to the same building which was rented with the dock. Nag Kath would square that with Orlo when next they met.

The haughty merchant’s heir took an apartment in the heart of the city with his long-suffering servant. If the lower-orders needed to amuse themselves while they completed their business, who was Mr. Solvanth to interfere? Women in the same trade made him offers he could refuse. The servant discretely lost his Guardi tail for such a trip but generally let them follow where he wanted to be seen. 

Nag Kath bought some of the worm-cloth garments. They were very comfortable. Yes, with enough of this, Penandoth could turn a profit. The swords might have to be dumped in darkness before they unloaded the trade goods. 

The messenger from the palace requested the merchant’s presence the following morning. This time they met in a reception room, the one with the portraits. While they waited for whoever summoned them, both men took a quick look at the subjects. They could have been painted last week or five thousand years ago, no different than the Kings holding-up the arch in Dunland. 

Both visitors turned when the Uncle came in with a pair of guards who positioned themselves by the door. Betraying no opinion of his orders, Uncle said that the King would welcome his fellow believer in the old ways and invited Mr. Solvanth and such staff as were needed to the eastern Capital with dispatch. So, this had reached the point where the old boy needn’t pretend he was in charge. The right-livers had already explained it was a comfortable week's ride, three weeks there and back if things went well. One of the soldiers said horses would be ready for them after breakfast at the palace gate. There wasn’t much to discuss. Nag Kath and Listracht had no choice and the Uncle didn’t know they actually wanted to go. Their personal possessions were already in the apartment. Listracht went back to the ship for a few things and a word with Penandoth. 

Theirs were a couple of fair horses. Other than swayback donkeys in the market, not even soldiers rode in Bozisha-Dar. Nag Kath got a gelding which was a good fit after needing help adjusting the Numenorean stirrup buckles. Listracht got a mare. He had not ridden much. A troop of six outriders went with them. They wore no plate armor and only thin-mail about the torso and sleeves. Helmets were a bit like Gondor’s with eagle wings above the nose-guards.

With no more than the Sarn't saying, “chik, chik” they were off at a canter. After two hours, Nag Kath knew Listracht would need some embarrassing sores tended. That is a difficult gait for an inexperienced rider to time correctly. The Righter would be bowlegged tomorrow.

The road was better than any but the ceremonial paths in national capitals. Accommodations on the way were nice too, but it was clear these facilities were not for everyday merchants. They had their own guards while the troopers slept in nearby barracks. As servant, Listracht had a cot in the master’s room. The man took his healing with grudging grace and Nag Kath let him have the bed.


	43. Thân zîrân

** _Chapter 43_ **

** _Thân zîrân_ **

The maps Far Harad and Coastal Haradwaith are helpful here. <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8>

Each day, the land grew greener with fields and pastures on both sides of the river. There were more horse farms. The country was at least as large as Rohan with some fair-sized towns and even cities along the road at bridged tributaries. In addition to heavy merchant traffic, a messenger in government livery rode past them daily at a good clip unless hailed by the Prince’s Lieutenant for tidings. It looked more like Ithilien by the step. The port was the westernmost point of the realm. Ferries and barges crossed the river frequently. On the seventh afternoon they turned a hilly corner to look on the actual capital of the nation. 

The city wrapped around a jewel of a deep-blue lake starting the Bozisha River making for the port. The escort never slowed and wound up a path to what could only be the palace. At a side-gate they were met by men in palace soldier’s livery and told to follow on foot. 

The interior looked nothing like the coastal buildings. They fancied themselves Numenorean. These were like renderings of Aragorn’s summer capital with precisely cut blocks and angles. The only difference was that the local stone was more tan than charcoal. The guards said no more than the troopers except not to leave a comfortable room with east-facing windows. It was early afternoon. Nag Kath sat by one of the windows and sketched the view over the lake. Yet again; another nice place. 

Were they trying to make it Orthanc? Four thousand years is long enough to forget what it is to feed children to orcs. These people had carved-out a lovely oasis surrounded by desert. As a former Uruk, Nag Kath could make a good case they didn’t want any like him. Dark Lords need a lot of expendable soldiers too. Who of the farmers they saw would volunteer?

Food was brought, this time with wine. It was mostly meat so Nag Kath nibbled on Lembas and let the always starving Listracht eat both portions. After dinner, what they took to be a senior attendant came to their quarters and opened the door without knocking. The man said they would be brought to the council room after breakfast and should prepare.

Preparing wouldn’t amount to more than getting dressed so Listracht tried to sleep and Nag Kath sat by the window watching bats. Breakfast was early and featured the same porridge served the world around. There was meat, fruit and a green that had been boiled. A new attendant entered and led them to the council.

For most men, meeting the lords of a land one intended to harm froze the blood. Nag Kath wasn’t bothered at all and the hardened Righter was ready for the task. They were tougher customers than these Black Numenoreans suspected. It was understood that Nag Kath would improvise and Listracht would nod and bow. The Prince was already in the room beside four men in somber dress with a woman wearing the fabled worm-cloth in matching colors. Did she have power? The visitors bowed to the assembly and remained standing until King Ar-Gimilzôr arrived for another bow and took his place at the head of a horseshoe table on a dais. The two men were seated at a lower table facing the King.

The sailors’ objective was simple. They needed a look at whatever these people thought could place them in touch with the exiled Ainu Melkor. Neither was particularly concerned about the governance of Miraz. It did not seem a black state nor had they contributed anything in the war. 

The King looked sixty by western measure. The Righters gathered from those in port that men of this bloodline often lived to be in their early hundreds. Nag Kath noticed a slight shake in his left hand but the man’s voice was clear and strong when he said, “Sirs, ma’am, we are gathered here because a servant of Melkor has grown in strength. These northern men are said to access it. They are here to explain this to us.”

Nag Kath translated that for Listracht. That wasn’t necessary since what the lords said had almost nothing to do with their purpose. Translations were strategy and sometimes they needed a pause to consider answers. None of the council seemed annoyed.

Nag Kath said out of turn, “Sirs, ma’am, I brought a gift for His Highness, much like the one I gave your esteemed representative in Bozisha-Dar.”

With that the door-guard produced another ornate box. The King nodded to his personal attendant who took it and gave it to his Lord. This dagger was less Dwarvish and more in the old Numenorean style. With time to prepare, they thought these gifts would be most appreciated by those long and far from their imagining. The King unsheathed it and slowly followed the lines from butt to tip. Gently sliding it in the scabbard he said, “Please thank your Lord for this thoughtful gesture.”

The Prince still had the stone and would ask the questions, “Mr. Solvanth, you said before that this is a device of the Angmarach used to seek kindred spirits, yes?”

Nag Kath corrected him slightly, “These are made by his adherents in Mordor, though, I know not how or if they are imbued with sorcery. Perhaps one in a thousand mortals in the west can further his search.” Fishing for more on the Witch-King he added, “It is said there is a master talisman still undiscovered that retains his spirit, even though he is now long dead.”

Tarquin held the stone now and wondered, “And when you used this in my presence, you said it drained you, that this had been stronger?”

“Yes, yes sir. I am not one of the adepts. Most of the time, I feel only the empty search. This time was different, possibly it found something. In keeping with Yvsuldor guidance, we of the world are not Arbiters of the results.” Nag Kath explained that to Listracht who was doing his best faithful servant impression. This was the Elf’s quest but the man was a senior right-living fighter and would see this through even if Nag Kath fell. 

“The woman spoke, “And your reason for coming was to bring your Lord’s quest to our shores?”

“No ma’am. The service of Yvsuldor is not lucrative. My father sent me here to trade goods. That I am of the quiet-ones helped find backers for the journey, but we knew nothing of your society other than that you come from the most lordly of fathers and might speak the old language. The man beside me stands-by to carry tidings to the Yvsuldor in the eastern tongues.”

Heuldarn, Elf-Friend, was concerned with here and now, “Are you prepared to demonstrate this … illusion to the council?”

“I am, sir, though the last time it took all my strength. I could not do that again and repeat it more than every other day.” It was time for another probe. He spoke briefly with his servant and continued, “I had not felt that before. It may have to do with how close I am to the being or talisman My Lord seeks.”

The Prince was hoping the charlatan would be dismissed out-of-hand but his father decreed, “We would see this claim, then decide if it should be pursued.”

Nag Kath studied their eyes until the Prince told him, “Mr. Solvanth, please demonstrate as you did for me.”

The trader’s son and his man spoke briefly back and forth, with some emotion on both parts. Then the tall blonde put his hand on his servant’s shoulder and nodded that this must be done. He took the stone from Tarquin in his right hand. Returning to his table, he held the object in front of him. It began to glow faintly silver and slowly built to considerably less than the Prince had seen until it flashed much brighter for a moment and faded. Nag Kath made sure they all felt a surge of energy. The council watched the trader’s son stagger slightly and hand the rock to his servant before holding the table’s edge with both hands. Lowering his head, he closed his eyes. Finally, he rose to his full height looking somewhat groggy.

Listracht was the picture of concern, hoping the Elf would not crack into his famous grin and give the game away. He was not a good Dukks player! The woman asked, “What manner of power came to you?”

“As … as before … muh … muh … mam ... perhaps closer yet.”

She continued, “And the surge?”

The stunned trader looked at his aide and translated the question. After a long response, he turned to her and said, “I am sorry, My Lady. I see only the color.” A dribble of spit was wiped with a sleeve.

Heuldarn, Elf-Friend, demanded, “We should go now to a place where this might be effective!”

Nag Kath was tempted to plead exhaustion but knew cooler heads would prevail. One of the Lords to the King’s left said, “Sir, the man said he needed a short time to replenish himself. Perhaps we should grant him such grace.”

The woman agreed, “Yes Minister, we have been patient. With his Lordship’s leave we shall remain so.”

Nag Kath started talking with Listracht, this time in earnest, “The thin one just showed his cards, said I should be taken somewhere special. Let us look at this mystery place so I can prepare my next summoning.” Again, the grin was only just behind his grave face. An instant before they were reminded they were in the presence of a King, the Elf offered, “Sirs, ma’am, it would help me to visit the place you have in mind before the summoning. I could do that tomorrow, providing it is not far away.”

In Dukks, he had placed a challenge wager. Thus far, Nag Kath had followed the flow all the way from Dol Amroth. If this Kingly lot wanted more from him, they could show good faith. They seemed to know that. The King nodded to Heuldarn who said, “That is wise. Tomorrow at this time you will be taken there.”

Then the King nodded to his son that the foreigners could be escorted back to their room and one of the door guards was told to do so. An attendant was instructed by the Prince and joined the unsteady visitor in the hall. Walking towards their room the soldier said, “You must remain in your room again. Food will be brought to you.”

The blonde gentleman translated that for his servant and, as rehearsed, the servant asked the attendant in Khandian, “My master would be better served outside in fresh air. Is that permitted?”

The man drew a blank. So they didn’t speak Variag here. Good. Servant Listracht had his master say in Sindarin, “He asked if I could be outside some of the day to replenish in fresh air.”

The fellow was not in a position to countermand his instructions but said he would inquire. Nag Kath continued to drag around their room in case there were peepholes, drinking tea, using the chamber-pot and generally looking meek. Within half a bell, the attendant was back saying he would take them to a garden. Two guards were with him to make sure they stayed there until returning directly back here. Listracht grabbed the satchel as Nag Kath shuffled down a floor and out open doors to a pleasant royal garden of flowers and herbs. The guards stayed by the doors and the two foreigners went to the stone rail that dropped off two dozen feet to tended walks. 

They sat in two chairs and looked over the lake. A servant brought a pitcher of cool tea, bowed and left. Listracht took a sip said, “These local dark lords know how to live! Florins to groats this lot has never seen bubbling mud at Orodruin.”

The feeble Yvsuldor had sip of his own tea and said, “You do not know what you have until it is gone?”

The Righter asked, “Umhumm. What do you make of the council?”

“These are the lads who want to turn a long-held card over, particularly the one to our left. I think they think they have some tool but know not how to employ it. My plan is no different. I am not expected to make anything of it tomorrow but I should feel something if it is there, and I got no sense that any of them had power. The right-living woman in port probably did.”

“From the same school of charm as this one.”

Nag Kath sighed in his observed distress, “The King kept his cards close. I think he wants to tickle the fates. What do you make of the Prince?”

“It would help if I could understand them, but I don’t think he has a rat in the fight. If he rode all the way here to tell da, he isn’t staking claims for himself downriver.”

The Elf said, “There is a sadness there, not anger but loss. That is not what dark lords look for in their servants. We stay close to him.”

Listracht muttered, “Aye; if only because he probably commands those pig-boats on the island. I am no naval fighter but we will want them waving goodbye. How much more power do you have compared to that little flame exhibition with the galley?”

Nag Kath considered, “Some, and we have those Syndolan rockets too.”

Listracht grumbled, “That is not a holiday in my lands.”

“It is a fire I do not have to cast if I don't leave this place. Any man can light a match and send it far. It is better for terror and confusion than real damage, but it will get people’s attention.”

“And?”

“That bringing spell is more powerful over water. I can make the right men jump overboard from a fair distance, and I am a fair hand with the bow.”

Listracht added thoughtfully, “We can just bribe them too. The Righters can help. They have gotten soft with no pursuit but they seem dedicated.”

“The little girl is the best among them.”

They sat in the sun until it began to fade behind the palace and walked to the door. A fresh set of guards fell in and took them to their room. Listracht slept, Nag Kath took his rest and watched the moon with his thoughts.

________________-------_______________

Well after breakfast, Heuldarn the Elf-Friend came with four guards. Not a word was exchanged until the company left the palace and continued north past the palace. It was a forest of small waterfalls noisily making their way to the lake. The third stream was protected by a very old, very stout gate. Admitted, they arrived near a larger waterfall to find the woman of the council and one of the three other Ministers already there. None of them nodded or smiled.

Heuldarn said in a commanding tone, “You are here at the sufferance of Ar-Gimilzôr the Great. You will see what you had best not remember. Am I clear?”

Nag Kath nodded and then looked puzzled. "Your pardon sir. Your title is unknown to us. You are a friend to the Elves?"

"My position is; Friend Who is an Elf." 

The changeling tried to look confused but this was made much clearer. That was Annatar's role, Sauron in disguise, leading the Numenoreans to their doom. He blandly spoke to his retainer, “I think this is our Uvuo.” It was Listracht’s mentor Shelturn who slipped a blade into the High Visitor’s heart in Mordor. It also meant what they remembered would not matter if they were destined for the same fate. Listracht knew the Elf could cut every throat with the men’s own knives but that was the escape plan, not the objective.

The woman asked as she would of a groom about a pack horse, “Are you sufficiently recovered, Mr. Solvanth?”

He smiled anyway, “I am stronger, ma’am, but still feeble to the great lord’s purpose.”

Heuldarn asked, “Do you see the frame against that cliff-ledge?” He pointed to two stout stone columns holding a steel oval measuring perhaps two feet on the long dimension. He put it about eighty feet away on the other side of a chasm reached by a crafted stone bridge. There were no rails or curbs but the span was still much roomier than the walks in Rivendell.

Nag Kath made a show of shielding his eyes from the sun and told Listracht where he was looking. 

The woman, who must be of the bring-Melkor-back contingent, said, “That is the portal. Go there and make what you can of it. The two men walked over the bridge to the frame followed by one of the guards. It was damp with the mist of a pleasant waterfall in the prevailing breeze. What he first took to be steel had the same gloss as his pocket-knife. This was mithril, about two inches thick, solid or plated he could not say. Rapping it with his knuckles gave no hint but it made the band vibrate like a fork smacked against the table.

There was power here, terrible power. Gandalf said Morgoth was consigned to vastness but not where it was. The Elf’s first impression was that it was deep in the heavens over the Undying Lands. She called it a portal, port-hole? … as in a side-hatch? He held his hand in front of the opening and the power increased. He walked around the back. It was just air but strangely, he did not feel the energy on this side. Nag Kath thought better of putting his arm through. He did open his quill-knife. It did not change color but it seemed to sense the malice. 

Knowing more than appeared was one of Nag Kath’s abiding talents. Inspecting the frame as if buying a used man-cart, he said conversationally to Listracht in Khandian, “It resonates, as if tuned like the big harps in Belfalas. The scratches were filed one at a time to create the right note, for summoning perhaps. I don't think this thing was meant to be held in place by these rocks. It would reduce vibrations. Odd they would not have figured that out themselves.

“They think Morgoth is waiting past this window into the great emptiness. I feel power here, weak, but unlike any in my experience. This must be destroyed.”

Listracht held his chin and observed, “Stout rocks, Nag, steel too.”

“That’s mithril, maybe for power, maybe to keep it from rusting. Either way, I’d wager a night with one of your Khandian beauties that they can’t make these anymore.”

“That is no fair, master.”

“My favorite way to play. Your addled charge found nothing untoward. We make back to the palace for a boring evening and plan a little Catanard for tomorrow. One thing for sure, this Elf-Friend dies, probably his King too. Keep an eye on the nearest sword.”

“I always do.”

Nag Kath gazed at the cliffs above them for a moment and nodded to the soldier who had stood right by them before returning across the bridge to the waiting Ministers. He took a long look over the cliff ledge above before saying to the Elf-Friend, “A curious monument. It did not speak to me.” Yawning, the indolent trader added, “Perhaps we shall see what the Angmarach instructs.”

They walked back to the palace sure the Elf-friend would push them down the cliff as soon as their usefulness was over.

________________-------_______________

The evening wasn’t as tedious as feared. The King had an entertainment scheduled with dancers, singers and musicians. An attendant told them they were invited and took them there without a guard.

After the opening, the musicians began a courtly tune. Singers came in with an epic poem in Adûnaic. It was long. Nag Kath thought it was of their travels to this idyll away from care. Some older members of the audience mouthed the words. Even here there seemed to be a schism between the Adûnaic and Sindarin types. If he got the chance, he would throw a little Quenya in the ring and see who picked it up.

The closing piece brought dancers in gentle motion. They had Listracht’s attention, and no error. When the piece was over Listracht asked, “What did you make of that?”

“They remind themselves of past glory. The musicians had to talk among themselves before the Saying Poem so that wasn’t one they play every time. Someone slipped that in for the patriots.”

List asked the air, “I wonder what the girl in green is doing after the show.”

Quite early the Righters were escorted to the site only this time the King and Prince were there with five Ministers, several nobles and half a company of pike-men. Heuldarn handed Nag Kath the bilge-stone.

The merchant asked, “How may I serve?”

“Take it over there and see what occurs.”

The Elf told Listracht to remain and crossed the bridge. Standing near the frame he pulled the slightest color test that could be seen among the viewers. The frame responded subtly. This was more the drawing of energy than the making of it, like the Pukel-Men. He could fool these people all day long but whoever built this knew their craft. It was waiting. Wandering back over the bridge as if he had done no more than check baking loaves, Nag Kath came as close as he dared to the King and bowed, “I felt something near. May I ask what My Lord hopes to achieve?”

Heuldarn said, “You may not.”

“Very well. What are your instructions?”

Why did this insouciant trader have to pose such impossible questions? How would they know what he was supposed to do? Every King since they claimed this forsaken gulf had pondered the omens, asking the same thing! With no born sorcerers of their own, this was as close as they had gotten to waking the device, except for the occasional bursts trespassers received by straying too close. 

Heuldarn looked at his liege and stared at Solvanth, “Go back and try again.”

The Elf thought; fair enough, but let us put your skinny backside on the drawing line as well. Nonchalantly, Solvanth asked, “I could, but what if I am not the vessel? Are you sure you want me as your new Lord King?”

Lord Elf-Friend was about to disdain another impossible question. How could someone so stupid create such befuddlement?! They had dragged the hoop through battle, pain and frustration for thousands of years. Not even Sauron could summon Melkor. But they kept it, waiting, hoping. Ar-Gimilzôr knew it was time. He was not dispensing justice to cheating merchants. This was the hour of Lordship after a lifetime of preparation. He pronounced as ruler of the land, “We will go there now and see what our ancestors decreed!” 

The King boldly strode across the bridge with Heuldarn and the Prince in tow. Nag Kath followed but gave Listracht the slightest hand signal to stay. The waterfall seemed louder with the blood pounding in his ears. As the men arrayed themselves around the portal, The Elf lit the stone brightly with a prepared confusion spell rather than the color-test. It flashed in the King’s face through the mithril hoop. Everyone saw it and wondered if the stone had truly found its master. Ar-Gimilzôr seemed stunned for a moment and then turned and started walking back to his waiting courtiers across the bridge. Heuldarn followed him to see the trouble and the Prince was ten steps behind, leaving Nag Kath standing-by the device. 

The Elf switched from confusion to a bringing spell and drove the Elf-Friend into the back of his King. Not knowing what to make of the surge towards his ruler, Heuldarn raised his hands to hold and steady Ar-Gimilzôr. From the gathering it looked like he grabbed the man. The pair shuffled a few steps before Nag Kath pushed them both over the ledge into the chasm. 

The next bit was untried. Though he did not learn the spell from Gandalf, Bilbo wrote all those long years ago that the wizard split a boulder to let the rising sun shine on the three trolls now frozen in stone on the East/West Road. As if raising his arm in anguish, he tried to loosen the most precarious rock above him. It didn’t budge. It took a second theatrical bringing spell with both hands as if protecting himself from a landslide to topple the boulder. He was scurrying over the bridge as it smashed the portal. 

When rock collided with metal, a blast of energy fired in the direction of the assembly. They felt something but were otherwise unaffected. Nag Kath was thrown about twenty feet and skidded to a stop in the gravel with a bloody nose. No one noticed. They were staring at the broken body of Ar-Gimilzôr forty feet below. The King of Miraz, properly named Thân zîrân, was lying face-up with his neck at an unnatural angle. The Elf-Friend landed much further down. 

The Prince was King. A lot of kings would have the incompetent sorcerer and his servant tossed down too but no one seemed to blame them for what was obviously the late King’s decision to abandon this sorcery, followed by the Elf-friend’s enraged treachery. Tarquin looked at his father, gave a vicious stare at the broken portal and turned back to his da before ordering, “Have father brought up for proper mourning and burial. Leave the other.”

He stalked towards the Palace followed by everyone but the gasping trader and his servant. After the retinue rounded the corner, Listracht helped merchant Solvanth from the dust saying, “It has been a pleasure to work with you Nag Kath. Shelturn said you pulled the same strings in Mordor but I needed to see for myself. Why didn’t you heave the lad over too?”

“He stays. I suspect he will be a good ruler, and most likely to give us horses when his da is under the bier.”

“Hmmm, I suppose so. What now?”

The Elf was a bit unstable after the blast and wondered why everyone else hardly noticed. He gathered himself to say, “Let us get breakfast.”

Always ready for a meal, Listracht agreed, “Spoken like a true leader.”

________________-------_______________

Ten minutes behind the news sweeping the city, guards let them pass without question. Men saw the two walk up. Now they were back. Being infidel foreigners, they wandered aimlessly about the disordered palace making note of who stayed where. Finally, a captain of guards told them to repair to their quarters.

Late in the evening, Nag Kath stole out on the ledge and crept into an open window next door. From there he found Tarquin’s suite. The new King had not yet assumed his father’s rooms. The man woke an hour before dawn. From a chair on the far side of the chamber he heard the Elf-Lord voice, “Sorry about your da.”

“Solvanth?”

“Among other names. That was a door he was not to open.”

The man sat up in his bed and lit a candle with one of the fire-sticks that were all the rage in port. “You planned this all along.”

From the darkness, “No, I followed the stream. There was power there, terrible power. Your people have forgotten just how terrible. I have not.”

Tarquin asked without fear, “Are you here to finish this job?”

“Aye, but not how you think. I believe you would be a fair king of a fair land. Everything I claimed is exactly false. Western countries after the war are much like yours. You should speak to them, trade with them, find good people scraped-off along the way here. I will help you do that, if you can trust me just a little.”

Tarquin asked “What are you?”

“I am the last of my kind. Not a very capable merchant, I will grant you, but an honest servant of honest lords. I will return to my room before the light. Settle your father with honor and send for me. We have much to discuss, King Tarquin.”

“And then what?”

He was gone.

________________-------_______________

Numenoreans give their rulers a grand farewell. It used to be more like two hundred years between them but now merely seventy. King Tarquin made it clear that the two guests had access to anywhere they wanted and both attended Ar-Gimilzôr’s rites, half in Adûnaic, half Sindarin. He was interred in a cemetery outside the city with twenty one former kings. His bier had already been carved and stored. Priests droned incantations of their confused understandings. Tarquin was crowned the next day.

It was nearly a week before a senior attendant came to collect the visiting merchants. Like Aragorn, the new King preferred a private office for business when he did not have to publicly judge from on high. Nag Kath and Listracht bowed deeply and were shown to seats. Tea was brought. Tarquin looked at his reflection in the mug for a moment and said, “It is done. I cannot say I wanted this. My father was dear to me. But I would have you know the council was divided on whether to pursue the reckoning or leave things as they are. You have decided that for us, wisely, I think.”

The Elf translated that for Listracht. The Khandian asked Nag Kath to say something to the new King which came out as; “Sir, we did not come looking for Melkor. Fell and powerful as he was, we really did seek remnants of Sauron’s darkest servant. The things we claimed to embrace we seek to destroy. My friend Listracht has been a soldier against such evil in a line that goes back nearly two thousand years, quietly keeping the dark ones from unleashing unspeakable torment on people who deserve better.”

Nag Kath nodded to the Righter that it was said and added on his own, “Now, that portal was a nasty piece of work. I have experience with such sorcery. It could easily poison mortals who came too close. People would become confused and bitter or angry for no seeming reason. Listracht and I will remain to help them know peace, if they can be found.”

The King leaned back in his tall chair, face frozen in anguish. Yes, he had taken her to the most sacred of his father’s places, guards knowing not to interfere with the heir’s amusement. After their passion, the fair lass put her hand through the frame and took it out giggling, her forest spirit pure and immune to the wrath of men.

Now she crept around her prison stalking those who stole her every thought.

One tear was all he allowed. The King of Thân zîrân stood and said, “Sirs, I have one more errand for you in your search for peace. Please come with me.”

They trooped out the door. A chamberlain was standing with his next appointment but a quick shake of the head told the man it had to wait. Guards fell in as they made their way to the northern palace gate and walked fully a mile around the breathtaking blue jewel.

They were admitted immediately as a stout, middle-aged woman presented herself with a bow. Tarquin said gently, “These gentlemen are here to attend her Highness. Where is she?”

“In the summer-room Your Highness. I will take you. The home was of several levels separated by half staircases. Doors to all but a few rooms and pantries were removed. What should have been a lovely garden was barred all around and across the top. 

The matron brought them to a pleasant room where a fair woman in her twenties sat in a large rocking chair with her feet underneath her. She looked over her shoulder in neither fear nor curiosity. Then she resumed staring out the grated window.

Nag Kath seemed to glow as he walked towards her. He did not frighten her the way all the physicians and healers had before. The Elf took her hand and she did not resist. At other times she could be animated and restless. All will was broken. 

Without need of the ‘fast’, he gently put his right hand against the side of her face and his slid his left up to her wrist. Then he jerked them away sharply and backed away several feet. Silver light hit her in the chest as she looked up at him before screaming in excruciating pain. A fine mist of pure black swirled around her for a moment and vanished. He caught her before she hit the floor.

Princess in his arms, he asked the matron, “Where is My Lady’s chamber.” They were all led there. Placing her on the bed he rose and said, “I have only done that once before. It may be days before we see the result. With your permission, sir, I will stay here until she wakes.”

Tarquin nodded to the matron and put his hand on the Elf’s shoulder before leaving with his men for pressing duties below. Nag Kath was sitting on the side of the bed holding the woman’s pale wrist. He was tired. He inaccurately assumed this was like the Lostorin poisonings. Slapped away as if a fly, his second effort was the spell Gandalf used on him and he used on the orc to drive darkness from flesh. 

That was a pure black aura, no green for lesser demons. So that was the color of Morgoth! Was one of his vile weapons driving people mad?! Was simply killing them not enough? More likely she was too insignificant to notice.

The Elf stood and said in Sindarin to the waiting matron, “She will sleep for some time. If and when she rises, she will be hungry and confused. I am Nag Kath and this is Listracht. While we sit vigil, can you attend food and beds? We will need someone fleet of foot to tell the King if she stirs.”

The woman said, “We were about to have lunch in the next room. I hope that will serve.”

That would serve Listracht fine. They followed the woman into the small dining area. The Khandian ate. Nag Kath slept in a chair. It was dark when he woke. Listracht was sleeping next to him and one of the chambermaids was on a stool by the Princess. The Elf stretched and sauntered over to feel Tanûerv's pulse. She would not take as long as the orc. Sure the chambermaid would not leave until ordered; he sat across the room and watched as well.

After breakfast, Listracht was padding around the mansion in his stocking feet. The matron found him new socks and, hopefully, burned his. Nag Kath pulled from his rest and felt the blood in the young woman’s neck. She turned away and made a small moan. He asked for the matron who appeared within the minute, “Ma’am, I think the Princess is waking. If the Prin … King’s love sustained her before her illness, it would be best if he was here to welcome her.”

One of the guards was dispatched at a dead run. It was still an hour before Tarquin arrived with a mounted half-troop. Without ceremony, he approached the bed where Nag Kath was sitting with the matron and chambermaid. The Elf looked up and said, “Sir, I think you should be where I am” and relinquished his seat.

The King took her hand and waited patiently. A quarter-bell later, she blinked twice and turned to him saying in a panic, “Dearest, where did you go?! I have been looking so long!”

“I am here now, Tanûerv. You have found me.”

That was a bit too sentimental for the Righter so he and the physician eased back to the dining area and left the lovebirds to mutter soft words long enough that cook produced an array of cold meats, cheese, and fruit for the ever-famished soldier. Nag Kath still ate delicately. The spell was much easier than the first of its kind but still pulled from deep reserves. 

The King finally convinced his bride that she was well and introduced Dr. Solvanth who had restored her after her illness. She hardly saw him. Listracht went back to the palace with the retinue while the good doctor took another nap in the chair.

________________-------_______________

It was another few days before the travelers were called to the King’s office. The man showed the strain. It might not be long before other white hairs joined the shock at his widow’s peak. He managed a smile and said, “I thank you for your touch, sirs, and apologize for my inattention. Tell me, what happens now?”

The Elf answered, “I think, sir, that I should stay to explain the larger world awaiting you while Mr. Listracht returns to the port so our crew does not fret needlessly. They are honest sailors and not involved in this conspiracy.”

King Tarquin agreed, “Granted. I will assign riders with the daily messenger. They leave at dawn, Mr. Listracht. I cannot thank you enough. Mr. Solvanth, I look forward to our conversations. Please attend me tomorrow after your fellow is safely on his way.”

They spoke two or three hours almost every day for two months. Early on, Nag Kath did most of the talking because he had been almost everywhere and virtually no news seeped into the gulf. The Elf explained what Miraz had barely missed and the horrors of Mordor, hoping there were no more portals built along the King’s-men’s route. He did say he must take the metal frame with him. Maybe Golord could melt it into something pretty. Mithril is tough but the falling rock dented it out of shape. Hopefully that upset the resonance.

King Tarquin was most amazed by what the west had become. Despite the centuries of isolation, they were quite similar. Since he was the world’s foremost amateur diplomat, Nag Kath suggested the King send an ambassador back to the northern lands to fairly represent their country. At least one whole session was spent on who else lived inside the gulf. There were Haradrim along the northern shore. Nag Kath had met some of them. A different sort of Southron, the Harad-khir lived along the south. They were the slightly orc-faced men who believed only in a single Vala piloting the sun, stars and moon. Absurd on the face of it, but they kept to themselves. The Elf spent a little time on the west's version of the Valar. He was admittedly a poor student of those beings so he kept topics general. At other times the Elf spoke with staff, experts, artists and an array of truly interesting Numenoreans.

The King did not mention that the messenger in Listracht’s party carried instructions not to interfere with the foreigner’s ship and escort them to the edge of their waters at the second pinch point when they left. 

One fascinating conversation with one of the King’s counselors was that the lands due east had their own huge gulf or sea. There was some trade since the fertile part of Miraz extended another hundred leagues in that direction and so did the growing fields of those people towards them. Churgash, they called themselves. Chey, perhaps? Nag Kath collected a variety of their portable goods and spoke to traders who plied the dense forests of that land where were found huge, dangerous house-cats, some the size of warags, sporting an assortment of spots and stripes. Some of those and many other animals were kept here in a sanctuary for the public to see, including clever, hairy little creatures who swung by their tails in the trees looking down cautiously on viewers. The changeling would be careful sharing his sketches with the Dwarves lest they think them unflattering comparisons. 

The Princess was physically recovered but only made slow, daily progress towards remembering. Clarity spells seemed to help as she allowed him to touch her. She was a sweet, fair thing who had not aged much in her possession. He saw her every other day at her home. The King visited often as well. One morning she seemed particularly pleased. Good! This place needed heirs!

The Elf would have been glad to spend years here but stayed only long enough for the worm-wool season. He took long rides into the countryside sketching the hills and buildings. On one of his rides inland, Nag Kath got a bag of Coloma fruit. They were orange in color with a tough hide. Inside the fruit divided into smile-shaped pieces that were both sweet and sour. They would not keep, but he saved a handful of the seeds. 

Not quite three months after leaving the port for the capital, Nag Kath rode with Ambassador Taj-Velindir, who seemed thirty-something, his man and half a dozen troopers along the same stations back to the ship. The diplomats spoke quite a bit, especially about the sea and the Swan Breeze. With only one Ambassador and an assistant, capitals of the west would have to share them. A fully-laden pack horse carried knick-knacks from there and the curious eastern realm. 

Taj-Velindir stayed at the palace while Nag Kath made sense of the jumble his sailors created in their port of exile. Penandoth was still strict but that would only go so far. The first order of business was Kath Baths and showing their females the door. To the outrage of local merchants, a large supply of the worm-wool was prepared especially for them in exchange for whatever they had on board, including the swords. Nag Kath picked out some nice pieces of jewelry for Tanûerv and sent earrings to the Ice Princess in the local mansion. There was no reason to go up there again except to collect Taj-Velindir so the ship was made ready as soon as the fabric was loaded along with raiding the markets of things the crew thought they could sell at a profit. Since the cargo was light and small, Crewman Soldient made a third private cabin for the Ambassador. Other than small boats around the capital lake, neither of them had ever sailed before. Second mate rolled his eyes. The prisoner Voulshuh decided he liked it here just fine and would live with one of the entertaining women. 

They had been in quiet contact with the right-livers about the changing of the guard. They must still be vigilant. Nothing had been accomplished with the Witch-King except learning his name. It was good to foil the bigger fish, who may not have known any of this in his desolation, making Nag Kath all the gladder he hadn't reached through the portal when it was intact.

Without her scars, the little girl was quite pretty in addition to the luck she brought. 

_____________--------_____________

They pushed off the dock on December eighteenth. The days had kept getting longer and warmer their whole stay. 

There was a concern they did not know:

The Prince called off his navy but no one mentioned that to the merchant Hu-Cirandal. He had plans for the impressive cargo and the ship itself. Neither of them would be saleable in these waters but friends of friends along the northern coasts had friends of their own. When he learned that these men were under the new King’s protection, it was too late to send word to the corsairs. They could take their chances when the escorts dropped off.

One of the galleys was seconded to stay close. Winds were mostly against them. They would swing wide to each direction and cross the rowed galley in the middle. It took eight days to reach the first pinch point leaving the Bay of Tulwang. The galley stayed with them until they were well clear into more open water and then waved goodbye.

Ambassador Taj-Velindir got his sea legs in a few days but Mr. Hurandûth was green as a turtle, even in the lightly slapping waves of the inland waterway. Penandoth turned fifteen degrees to port at the point and made for the tighter straits where they had trouble the last time. 

They had trouble again. Captain kept the ship nearer the southern fingers of those lands but three huraughs and the same galley with a burn striped across the middle were waiting for them. The choice was to wait, fight or outrun them back to Miraz. It would be near a full moon tonight, good enough visibility to see their tan sails. Corsairs had the advantage of the wind. So far, they were waiting. The Swan Breeze had the advantage of speed, but that was lost if they got too near the coastline. Their next tack was north and it was time. That brought them closer to the galley. 

She was an older style with an underwater prow spike made to gut a ship at ramming speed. They really had to catch a broadside for that to work. It was more for fleet battles where not all ships could get out of the way. They also had ballista and fire-arrows. The huraughs were another story. They were coastal freight boats fast enough to be converted for piracy. Fully crewed, they might have twenty men aboard, more than needed to sail and shoot a modest compliment of ballista or arrows. 

Penandoth held course north-northwest until he got closer to the islands they remembered off the tip with the idea that the pursuers would have to spread out maintaining their curtain.

He got what he wanted. The plan was to take the middle ship head-on knowing they had the speed and armaments to punch through and run. Bowmen were ready with the shields mounted on the starboard side for when they made the sharp turn to the southwest. It would take them close to the galley. They could hear the drummer calling the beat. It increased. They could not reach the Swan but they could keep her from turning due south. 

The corsairs thought themselves well out of range when a man on the fo'c'sle caught an arrow in the gut. Two of five more arrows hit one man in the chest and another in the thigh. Before long, more archers started shooting at the oar holes. Not many got in but those hurt every time. With one side pulling harder than the other, the galley started veering to the south. 

The Captain of the middle huraugh couldn’t tell what the galley was doing. What came next was unfair. Nag Kath had mounts made for the Syndolan rockets so they could shoot slightly up and across the water. One of Gandalf’s silver sparklers raced across the chop and over the heads of the Haradrim. The next was one of the red Nazgûl rockets that smacked into the side. It did no real damage but put the crew into a blind panic. At their angle, either they turned hard south and licked their wounds or held course and hoped the galley would arrive in time to pinch them in. Capt'n had the Swan Breeze archers turned their fire towards the huraugh. Those and ballista bolts took a couple men from the force. The Harad Captain decided he did not want to get any closer to this vessel and called the helmsman to make due south at once.

The Swan had taken a direct hit from a fire-ballista that singed the rear sail but that was the extent of the damage. They had a spare. Lhorhun lost a thumb and forefinger caught in the capstan after a sharp tack. From here it was another five days in the westernmost bay with the strange-legged fish until making the turn into the Belegaer.

They returned the same way they came but had to fight the wind and their own winter most of the way. Nag Kath thought it interesting how they could get where they wanted but only faced the right direction for an instant between going mostly sideways.

Ambassador Taj-Velindir became a fair sailor. His man Hurandûth never did. The crew wondered if he would return. Nag Kath and Listracht spent considerable time with both of them. Dol Amroth seemed the best place to light for a while since it was the last place besides the Woodland Realm where anyone spoke Sindarin. They would eventually have to see the King in Minas Tirith. He spoke Sindarin and so did the Queen. On board they made as much progress in the common tongue as they could. 

On the way it took three months to reach the port of Bozisha-Dar. Against the wind it took five and a half to return, but on August second of the year 90 of the Fourth Age, the ship with reinstalled Swan Breeze nameplates made the commercial harbor in Dol Amroth just before the lunch-bell.

It was no secret. Hundreds of people came to look from their homes and work. Crewmen waved, spotted loved ones and held their kisses a while longer. The Ivandreds were too far away from the wharves to hear the commotion but Nag Kath would see them soon enough. 

They berthed in the Commercial Harbor. With a small and light cargo, the warehouse of Wheyrand and Fleck was chosen for about a third of the crates. The rest would stay onboard for the Captain to take up to Pelargir, the Rammas dock and Osgiliath. The Peristonig brothers were adamant that their own people would pay dearly for those fabrics, certainly more than the wealthy but dowdy Dunedain. Whispering in the right ears along the route would create demand and might grease skids for the brothers' entrée into higher levels of their society.

Men were given a full Florin in nippers and silvers, double their contract rate. Seaman Lhorhun got an extra nipper for his thumb. Bosun Ibernig got three Florin. Second and First Mates got four and five respectively. Athmandal understood he would receive his share more privately. In the meantime, he took the Ambassador and aide to the Inn of Dol Amroth, the nicest place in town. There they could get a suite of rooms to serve as temporary headquarters with all the conveniences of home. Nag Kath would drop by tomorrow after arranging for them to meet the right people.

The Elf had an ethical dilemma; Captain Penandoth had been promised ten Florin or half the profit on the cargo, whichever was greater. The hoop of mithril was beyond price but that had to stay quiet for every possible reason. He had to take it where it could be melted and put any temptation to bed. The seed of an idea grew on the way here and he would hold to that purpose saying, “Captain, you have shown the very highest intelligence, courage and nobility in your charge. Our cargo should be very profitable indeed. I have a proposal for you.”

Penandoth was silent knowing good things come to those who listen. The Elf continued, “I would like you to take the worm-wool to the inland ports on the Swan Breeze. That done, the ship is yours, free and clear.”

Captain smiled, “I will only try to talk you out of that once.”

“No good.”

“Very well, if you insist.”

He was free. He was his own man. The ship was in perfect condition with no more than a singed sail in the hold for two engagements. This was beyond his wildest dreams two years ago when all he looked forward to was a minor Captaincy and his wraith of a wife. 

Nag Kath said more softly, “Let us speak in the next couple days, giving me time to get the contract in order.”

“Sounds fair.” He rose and shouted at the stevedores to have a care with those crates.

Listracht was been sitting on a pier piling patiently watching. Like Dal, but in many ways more so, they had much to discuss. Walking to his house Nag Kath said, “Well, my friend, what is your share of our booty?”

In jest the man grinned, “Oh, ten Florin at least!”

Not hearing the man’s humor Nag Kath said, “That seems reasonable.”

They let themselves in after getting baked fish and some meat for Listracht along with a gallon of cool tea. Listracht could not wait to get this off his chest, “Nag, I was only joking. I am here in service.”

“Oh, I know, but just as a senior sailor, you get a cut. If you feel guilty, help those you meet. In the meanwhile we have a great deal more service ahead.”

The Righter asked, “You need to take that band north?”

“Without doubt. It must be destroyed. It won’t work now but that does not mean it is past repair. Only the Dwarves can do that. I need to be sure of their intentions. King Elessar will help, the Queen as well. Stay here tonight. I need to get up the hill and see the children.”

________________-------_______________

Hugs and kisses all around. They saw the commotion at the dock through elderly vision. Nag Kath flopped on the couch. Cal, Eniecia and dear Legorn got most of the story with the servants trying not to breathe just inside the kitchen. This might be his most fantastic yarn yet. And like the famed mariner so long ago, he brought back the proof. 

The Elf asked, “Cal, I’ve got the Ambassador and his man in the Dol Amroth. How do emissaries from lost worlds present their credentials?”

“Well, to me for the next three weeks. That is convenient. Bring them round at the eleven-bell tomorrow and we will make lunch of it. Without putting too fine a point on things, does he have the means to hold the position?”

“Like he had two rich uncles. Their native tongue is an understandable version of Sindarin but they got fair common-speech on the trip here. They will need to make the White City before too long.” Nag Kath had a sip and said softly, “So do I.”

Eniecia announced, “It is such a fair day. Let us have our next pot of tea in the garden.”

They did. The Elf told them about the mithril oval. His work was still a year from complete. 

The business side concluded, Eniecia said, “While you have been discovering new worlds, we have not been sitting on our hands. It seems we will be going north ourselves. Prince Eldarion is marrying a maiden of Arnor in two months time. One would think that is nothing to us but Lord Elboron has invited us, and our entire family, to visit for the celebration.”

Nag Kath sipped, “The ember lit?”

She beamed, “So it would seem. Not that it is the grandparents place to comment, but I understand the young people have exchanged views on the lordliest of lore.”

She became more serious, “Nag, Shur is not doing well, says he can’t get his wind.” Eniecia held back a tear, “Those dratted big Northmen only last so long, like da. She brightened, “Mina is to wed in two weeks time. I thought you ought to know.”

When the Elf said nothing, Eniecia added detail with a twinkle in her eye, “She was noticed at the theater last year and a dashing officer of the guard swept her off her feet. We renewed our box this year and they joined us for one of the performances. It is a good match. I hope that doesn’t dash your hopes.”

Nag Kath said, “I would have knocked on her door but it is better that she marries someone who can share his whole life with her.” He wasn’t sure he meant it. Was he finally becoming an Elf now that they had all left?

The Elf was home after porridge. Listracht was snoring on his cot, aware that someone came but was not a threat. He pushed up on his arms and said, “Hope all is well.”

“Mostly. It seems we are going to Minas Tirith within the month, in state too, so we need to get you matching socks.”

Listracht offered helpfully, “Perhaps of the worm-wool spools.”

“There is a thought. I hope the Peristonig brothers think of a better name if this is the fashion for man-cart society, something of their tongue. I go to the notary now and then to get the Ambassador. Grenda will have a cook/cleaner come for the time we are here but probably no one today.”

Nag Kath went to his money box, still protected by a strong confusion ward, and got ten Florin in assorted coins. Dumping them in front of the astonished Righter he said, “You earned this, and we might not be done. Take your ease. We tie loose ends in a fortnight.”

Notary Sereandorn was drafting a contract but when the recently celebrated mariner dropped by, he could finish later. It only took fifteen minutes for his scribe to prepare a standard transfer of a Belfalas-built ship. Money changed hands and the Elf walked to the wharf. Penandoth stayed in an inn that night but was back just before his employer arrived. 

They stood on the forecastle and looked at one of the big transports leaving with the tide. Nag Kath said, “Here you are. Take good care of her. I will follow in three weeks. It seems the Prince of the Reunited Kingdom is to wed. I have business there and then further north.”

Penandoth looked at the simple paper of title. The notary would file a duplicate at the hall of records in the event of later disputes. The plan was to drop a third of the worm-wool in Pelargir and let the Peristonigs peddle it in small quantities from a warehouse. The rest went upriver to friends of Tumlen’s family, save a small crate which Nag Kath kept for gifts and future bribes. 

They shook hands, certain they would see each other many times in their long, successful lives. There was sadness. They had been crammed onto a tiny vessel for better than a year and were friends. Each had taken the measure of the other. Both were true. That doesn’t always happen in this world.

From there he collected the emissaries of Miraz, now to be known as Thân zîrân. They trooped up the hill in plenty of time to be welcomed by Minister Caladrion Ivandred. Cal took a few minutes to heap-on the Lordship. Tea and sweet-cakes were presented and the gentlemen were shown into his office as if they were the only thing he had to do that day. 

It helped that Cal was an obvious Dunedain and spoke their language. Nag Kath’s impression, confirmed later by Cal, was that they were here to learn more than to preach. Taj-Velindir was in his late thirties, older than he looked but young by their count, and unmarried. Cultural recognition and trade were foremost in his and Hurandûth’s minds. Their brief was open-ended. Caladrion recommended an estate man to find suitable property for their embassy. 

Initial diplomacy took an hour then they joined Nag Kath loafing in the reception area and went to lunch in one of several well-appointed dining rooms encircling a hub kitchen. As arranged, Suvein and Minister Lohair of the Purse dropped by to welcome esteemed colleagues of Thân zîrân. Dol Amroth was the courtliest place in Middle-earth and they could lay-on the charm with a paddle. When Cal thought they were sufficient relaxed he said, “I will be sure you receive invitations to the marriage of Prince Eldarion Telcontar in Minas Tirith in October. A flotilla will leave here in three weeks. With your permission, I can arrange for your transportation with the Lords of this realm.”

It was hard to discern the Ambassador’s response. Nag Kath learned on the ship he was a grandson of Ar-Gimilzôr’s uncle, so on the edge of royalty but nowhere near the throne. He should know how to keep a Dukks face. But here was an invitation to the Elessar’s only son’s wedding, in the White City where Aragorn of the Dunedain dealt Sauron’s forces their most crushing defeat. 

The man smiled and said he could not think of a better way to meet his Lord’s brother King. The Elf suspected Taj-Velindir was chosen from the ‘let sleeping dogs lie’ camp of Miraz politics. The Ambassador chose well. He would represent his unknown country to the mightiest of men, Hobbits and a few Dwarves. Nag Kath wanted to speak with one Dwarf in particular so his timing was good too.

When he got home that afternoon, Listracht and Dal were eating the revolting mutton and vegetables on sticks sold from corner stands in the working wharves. Settling with Dal was a mostly private conversation but Listracht could be a fly on the wall. Nag Kath asked the young man his plans after giving him five Florin. That was more than his position on the ship earned but he had done yeoman work before and a few of the quiet things that made the trip successful. 

Athmandal put the little purse in his pocket and buttoned it carefully before saying, “I am not sure, Nag Kath. I’ll go north with the Swan Breeze and they can drop me below Pelargir on the way back so I can see my ma and da. I sent a letter yesterday. They can’t read and don’t know I can write, so I hope someone will read it to them. I’ll help Captain with the heurzis.”

Listracht and Nag Kath simultaneously said, “What?”

“Aye, that’s what Udan called the worm-wool. Can’t be having the lordly backsides of Gondor wearing worm-dougsh.”

Nag Kath said, “Stay in touch, young man. I will take a big ship that way in three weeks for the royal wedding. You take good care of Captain for me.”

“Aye, sir, and thank you, sir.”


	44. Residue

** _Chapter 44_ **

** _Residue_ **

The next three weeks saw a whirlwind of dinners with excited family, a nearly complete explanation of the trip to the scholars and arranging passage to Pelargir. Miss Glynnys was the woman found to feed Listracht in the meantime. She knew his tastes. Though never mentioned, it is possible some of his ten Florin found its way to women skilled in relieving tension. A purist might wonder about the right-living warrior, but their creed was that you didn’t take things from people. Renting was a gray-area.

Prince Althros was not making the trip. Lord and now Regent Imrothil would deputize along with his wife Yeldiseer and their children. His younger brother Kolland, his wife and their younger son Dorthans went too. Quite a few palace folk were on that ship which had escorts front and starboard. Caladrion’s family and other dignitaries were split between the Marine escorts. They had all been this way before and hoped to see the troll head.

Nag Kath and Listracht took a smaller ship sooner than the others to spend a few days in Pelargir. Nemren was included and disliked sailing as much going as coming. The sea was calmer but the horse didn’t trust it. They would have to load him on a ferry in two days when the family arrived. List was interested in the troll-hole. It was a park now since no one in their right mind would buy it, but the Elf sensed no residual of its former residents. He visited Phylless and Helien. Listracht decided he could eat nothing but nuppers to the end of his days, with a good ale, naturally. 

Ubier and Udan made their mark. It would not do but that the gentry of both westerners and Southrons must have the heurzis in all its rainbow colors! Traditionalists and halfers railed in the streets at brazen women revealing hints of their middle-garments. A new dark age they cried! Southrons had their own dress standards and paid bright coin for the fabric.

Ferries had been booked months in advance by Nag Kath’s group so all he and the Righter had to do was get the horse on deck and stow their packs. Talienne was more comfortable. Her older sister was on the verge of being engaged to a suitable fellow who just happened to be on the Princely barge. That was quiet, except, of course, it wasn’t. Perhaps there would be a tasteful announcement. Menalgir was getting to know a girl back home but it wasn’t as developed as Ranice's understanding.

The Elf reveled in it all. He enjoyed the pairing of young people, old ones too. It didn’t matter. This was the age of men and men need women. Mina learned he was in town and sent a hasty wedding invitation. He returned his regrets and a gift of the best earrings from the trip. Some of the Ivandreds went and said she was a beautiful bride.

The diplomats of Thân zîrân were on the ferry with Listracht, Nag Kath and some of his family. It was the first time he had seen them since introducing Caladrion. They were making strides in the common-speech although the accent sounded a bit Dwarvish, not ideal for meeting women. It was good they reunited since it fell to Nag Kath to introduce them to King Elessar. That meeting would be his second with the King.

As soon as they made the Rammas dock, the family was distributed at Nag Kath’s home and Shurran’s. Shur did seem a bit ragged but hugged and cried when he saw his grand-da looking like always. It was his heart. He also knew Nag could do nothing for human hearts. It wasn’t time yet but he knew what would get him. Penni was his rock with a devoted family.

They had two weeks before the nuptials and were busy all the while. After getting reasonably settled, the Elf walked up to the side gate at the seventh and said he was here to speak with Mr. Grown. It would not have mattered who he said. They were expecting him and his valise was not inspected. He was shown to the family apartments. The King, Queen and groom-elect Eldarion were seated in their living room. Nag Kath bowed and sat. Aragorn said, “Interesting letter, Nag Kath.”

“Indeed, Sire. And to all, please accept my congratulations on the blessed union and to your daughters.” He gave them a condensed version of his journey. Other than a few questions, he held the floor for a bell explaining the extraordinary nation returned to the world. An introduction to the Ambassadors was arranged two days hence. 

Arwen asked, “Did you bring it with you?”

“Yes ma’am.” Nag Kath opened his large folio case and unwrapped stout sackcloth from the bright, dented oval to keep it from resonating. “For as thick as it is, it only weighs about ten pounds. The device was held between two rock pillars, stationed over this chasm.” He took the drawing he made before leaving out of the same folio and passed it to them. “They claimed this was a door to the dark one’s gaol for one with the power to summon him. I was able to make it seethe with a few trick spells but wanted no part of waking him or whatever else might be exiled. There was malevolent power. 

“I got a better sense of it healing a young woman who put her hand through it years before and was reduced to a mind of nightmares. It took the same spell Gandalf used on me. And this is important; the essence was pure black, not the black and green of orc or the beast pool.

She continued, “And yet you can hold it now.”

“Yes ma’am. The falling rock bent it out of shape enough to ruin the effect. I believe these scratch marks here along the edge were to tune it to a note, the way musicians will stone their cymbals for a certain note.”

Eldarion asked, “And these old Numenoreans did that long ago?”

“My inquires continue, sir. It has none of their markings or anyone else’s. I stayed with the new King for two months, speaking almost every day. He was glad to be quit of the thing. They are a people much devoted to lore and there was no mention of its origins. It is damaged but not destroyed. If my friend Golord in Dale is correct, only the Fundin Forge of Erebor can melt it now that Mordor is cooling. Unbound it still rings a pitch. I would rather dark lords didn't learn a new tune. With your Highness’ permission, I will speak to Gimli if he is here.”

Aragorn, who had let his wife and son ask most of the questions, said, “He is already here and yes, he is the one to consult.” The King asked, “May I see it?”

Nag Kath handed him the oval. Aragorn chuckled, “Can you imagine the uproar this will create among Durin’s folk?”

That got the royals an obscene grin, “Every time, sir. They nearly broke out in a rash over the little lump from the troll cave. It begs the question; how are relations under the mountain? I was forbidden Erebor by Stonehelm.”

Eldarion saw a ray of hope, “Stonehelm has joined his ancestors. Frôr reigns now. They are still not as close as they were with the Glittering Caves or the Blue Mountains, even Iron Hills Dwarves who trade and enjoy ale with your kin in the Buhrs.

Aragorn added, “They have not reclaimed Moria, making this trove of mithril all the more political. 

Knowing they would have more time to talk at leisure the King said, “We will meet in two days with the representatives of …”

“Thân zîrân, Sire. It ties the tongue.”

Gimli was staying with his Dwarves in quarters on the sixth. He only brought eight of his own soldiers and three ministers on ponies joining the heavily guarded retinue of the future Princess and a dozen Hobbits on even smaller ponies. Nag Kath stopped on his way down and was met by a rather large Dwarf at the door demanding to know his reason for interrupting.

“I am Nag Kath and come to welcome Lord Gimli to Minas Tirith.”

“Lord Gimli has been here six days and already welcomed by the King.”

Why do they do this?! “Please tell your Lord that I come to ask his counsel on old troubles, very old troubles. I will wait outside.”

Nag Kath walked over to the little garden along the front of the embassy row and sat on a bench with good sun against the coming autumn. There was no telling how long the longbeard would take so he let his mind wander to myriad events unfolding at once.

He was distracted enough that he did not see a woman in gray leading a small child towards him along the garden path until they were no more than thirty feet away. He waved at the child. She waved back and looked up at her governess. The woman nodded and the girl picked a flower at her feet and brought it to him with the loveliest smile. He accepted it graciously saying, “Oh, what is that behind your ear?”

She looked askance. His hand reached behind her head and brought back a groat. He told her, “You mustn’t leave these in your ears, young lady” and handed it to her. The lass had never seen a groat before and did not know they were kept in her ears. She checked her other ear and then ran back to her nanny with the new prize. The woman smiled at him and took her back to the seventh gate.

Not much later, the longbeard walked to the bench, “Please come with me, Lord Kath.”

He was fairly sure he had been in this home before, perhaps the Dwarvish ambassador. Nag Kath was walked down a corridor to a large room where the Lord of the Glittering Caves was sitting with an aide. Gimli rose and welcomed his guest effusively, gripping the Elf’s forearms in their style. Elves generally don’t like being touched but the Dwarf knew this one didn’t mind. “Sit down, young fellow. Please, sit!”

Nag Kath took a chair around a low table and introduced himself to the younger Elf. Gimli mused, “How long has it been, Nag Kath?”

“Ten years at least, my friend.”

“And you say this concerns old troubles?”

Nag Kath gave a quick glance at the aide and spoke evenly, “The oldest, sir.”

Lord Gimli said, “Buhrer, please see to our guests this evening”

The fellow nodded in understanding and bowed before leaving. When the door clicked, Nag Kath unbuckled his folio and slid it across the table unopened. Gimli pulled the cover back knowing this would be of moment and exhaled, “Whoah” as if it took his breath away.

He slowly grasped the piece expecting it to be much heavier, looked around the edges and put it down exactly as it had lain. Wind recovered, “I thought it was a myth, a terrible old story to frighten little ones when they didn’t eat their porridge. You have outdone yourself, Master Elf. Where did you get this?”

“In the land of Thân zîrân a thousand leagues below the Anduin, the last of the Black Numenoreans. I visited them and persuaded their leaders to abandon the worship of Morgoth. This was to summon him.”

“Pursuaded?”

“After a fashion. There was an abrupt change in management.”

Gimli grinned while he cleaned old weed from his pipe and reloaded it. After the perfect puff he said, “You tell me your story and I’ll tell you mine.”

The Elf gave him the shortest possible version of essential events, particularly the positioning and damage to this artifact. The Dwarf smoked silently throughout. When Nag Kath was done Gimli said, “Fair is fair. This was rumored to be crafted by Sauron with the aid of the Dark Dwarves. Numenor was destroyed, Sauron was reduced to spirit and the King’s-Men were slowly driven from their holdings in the north. We thought this sunk beneath the wrath of Numenor’s bitter end.”

A final puff, “Now, leave it to you, you walk in with this fell object like you bought it in the market. Is this where the rock hit it?”

“I think so. I was trying to look frightened at the time.”

“What do you need from me, Nag Kath.”

“My friend Master Golord once said only the Fundin Forge could melt this into something that can’t summon dark lords from the void. I can’t go there anymore. Mordor’s fiery pits are just bubbling mud now. I would see this destroyed but I need your counsel.”

Gimli considered loading another pipe but put it on the table and asked, “Young man, do you have any idea what this is worth?”

“A lot, but no, and I would not take a nipper of the gold Smaug lay on. In truth, Master Dwarf, I am more concerned that it cannot be restored.” Nag Kath spent some time showing Gimli the little file marks used to vibrate the correct pitch. It seemed irreparable since no one knew the original resonance, but it would be less resonant melted into jewelry.

Gimli looked at his pipe before saying, “I will be here for the wedding and some afterwards. Let us speak again after I get a few discrete opinions. This will be the largest gathering of its kind since, well, since we dined in Éomer’s halls.”

Nag Kath chuckled, “My timing is better than usual, Master Dwarf. Oh, I made friends of the Dunedain nation in the south. They sent Ambassadors up on my ship and are come to the nuptials. I will be sure to introduce you.”

“You are full of surprises, Master Elf.”

Introducing the Ambassadors to King Elessar Telcontar and Queen Arwen went well. If there was a time when hard feelings would flare; that was it. They would stay through the winter meeting other representatives of the great northern map but all agreed Dol Amroth was the best headquarters since this would be a seafaring relationship. The understanding with King Tarquin was the possibility of more northern traders coming down for fabric and other things in exchange for known popular items among his people. 

Listracht took rooms on the first near the largest group of Rhûnen for tidings of his original land. He spent time with the Khandians too and could pass for one of them from almost any district. He was to stay close until after the wedding and probably return to the east. List also bought a good horse and visited Osgiliath where right-livers had something of a community. Nag Kath still intended to go east again. If List wasn’t too old and feeble, perhaps he might tag-along. 

The final tally wasn’t in but it seemed the worm-wool heurzis would bring about seventy Florin. Not counting the mithril, after his exorbitant bonuses and general lack of business sense, the Elf lost ten. The Peristonigs were made-men, having never once been threatened by Umbari. It would not be long before merchants spoke with the Ambassadors about trade ships. Captain’s and mate’s logs were worth their weight in mithril too.

The Ivandreds and Librons did not see a lot of Uncle Nag until four days before the wedding when Prince Elboron’s party crossed the Anduin and rode in state to the Steward’s quarters on the seventh. Talienne had matured quite a bit in the time since Lord Barahir’s visit. Her older, practical sister and close cousins steadied her outlook. The families had a large banquet in their palace quarters using one of the meeting rooms. 

During refreshments before the meal, Uncle Nag took the youngsters to the magistry room with the portrait of King Turembar and Queen Nepthat. Talienne wasn’t as close as the image in his mind but close enough for 'ouhhs' and 'aahhs' from those present. Bara looked longer than anyone. The Elf touched the side of his nose with his finger to say more was coming later.

The marriage went fine except for a mass of people who thought they could get onto the top level from the side gate and could not. No one was killed, but folk sustained an assortment of bumps and bruises, some severe. Nag Kath missed the actual Saying to heal the more serious injuries. 

The reception was more interesting. After changing, Nag Kath returned for two of several gatherings starting with the diplomatic. By then, the emissaries of Thân zîrân had met the Ambassadors of Rohan, Dale, the Dwarf realms and Hobbits. Listracht came, clean and presentable, and enjoyed himself thoroughly. Unofficially they spoke with Mr. Yond (shortened to something pronounceable) from Khand. He wasn't expecting to meet anyone who knew his lands. 

At the main gathering, Nag Kath had a chance to speak briefly with the bride and groom. Aranthal was the daughter of the Protector of Evendrim, a Lord Governor of the province with Annúminas as the seat. She was twenty-eight and had attractive features that did not really go together. There was great humor hiding behind her wedding smile and considerable intelligence too. It might matter that this was a joining of the two great former kingdoms but they met and fell in love the old-fashioned way, helped by the fact that he was often in the northern kingdom.

Prince Elboron was left unsurrounded for a moment so Nag Kath walked over and said hello to he and Angalica. The man announced, “A fair couple. I wish them great joy.”

“Aye, I would wager that from Arnor, she can ride as well as most troopers.”

The Prince agreed, “She had better. They will be between capitals often. Now, it seems my son corresponds with your Talienne.”

“Something of a bookworm too. I confess I have filled her head with the most outlandish stories, some of them true.”

“So I heard. I met the Ambassadors. As I understand it, you sailed a ship to the edge of nowhere, found a country of Black Numenoreans and made peace with them?”

“That’s about the sum of it. It reminds me a great deal of your Ithilien. If I may be so bold, have them out to your capital for a week of diplomacy. They are both good riders too.”

Angalica said, “That is a splendid idea, dear. Leave that with me. And yes, she is your …?”

“Great, great granddaughter. Go back a few more greats and her grand-da slew Smaug, kin to your house through Tillith of Rohan. I have four of them in Dol Amroth all about the same age and two others are courting as well. I must say I enjoy that.”

Angalica said, “You be sure to come too. Barahir enjoys your tales as much as anyone.”

Nag Kath nodded as she led her husband off to see the recently spotted Prince Haleth of Rohan. Barahir walked over with a goblet of Dorwinion and said, “I am fortunate in my parents, Nag. Are they matchmaking?”

“Not yet. If you need an excuse, you never did see my archives, perhaps a smaller dinner?”

“So you are the matchmaker. Yes, I would be honored. Mother and father must leave tomorrow. I can stay a while longer.”

The Elf grinned, “Good. After the dust settles, we will have a meal and I’ll travel east with you. I need to check things in Osgiliath. There is romance afoot and I do not want to rain on them.”

“Just let me know. Oh, have you met Princess Millicend?” He hadn’t. She was a plump lass with a remarkable smile and sense of fun. Had he known or cared, a young man from the Purse was interested and met no obstacles from her parents. He was talking with the Purse man from Rohan so Nag Kath did not meet him but she was pleasant and glad of his safe return from interesting lands.

Nag Kath walked home earlier than the rest of the guests. He knew he would see the people he needed to soon enough. The spirit of matrimony was in the air because the next day Lieutenant Zurowen asked Field and Grenda for the hand of Raniece. It was no surprise and they agreed warmly. He was a fine young man, even if a little leery of Uncle Nag. They would keep this in the families until the royal wedding was over. The days after such unions were political as folk who seldom saw each other wrestled with things better done in person. Since it was poor form to argue after a wedding, it made for better diplomacy. 

Nag Kath spent his time with Shurran and Penni, often including the older Ivandreds since they were staying there too. The Elf was able to pull considerable congestion from the Shur’s lungs and put him on a regimen of horrible tasting teas and herbs to keep them clear. With Penni’s firm hand, he would take his medicine. All of Shurran’s children and grands were fine, although Shur was concerned that one marriage was not rosy. Penni didn’t like him airing that but the big Northman said his mind. Shur looked a good deal like the old Thain in Austar. 

Older than Eniecia; Shurran’s family started later so his younger grandchildren were still small enough to enjoy the towering Uncle Nag pulling groats out of their ears. The older boy Reyaldar liked archery. All thought that good. It kept the spirit of Bard alive. Nag Kath never saw any of them that he did not imagine the shot from the tower. Shur kept a framed sketch of the attack angle coming from the south of Lake Town, an uninspired landscape to anyone else.

Nag Kath invited Lord Barahir and the Field Ivandreds to dinner that Saturday. Food was catered and the other relatives staying there remembered things they had to do that night. Raniece asked to be excused for very excusable reasons making it just the five of them. Neither of the young people said much and the older ones tried not to dominate the conversation so the meal stuttered around short bursts of speaking with awkward pauses. 

The pace improved with the anticipated look through Uncle Nag’s archives. He sat the youngsters to either side of him on the couch with Grenda and Field across in comfortable chairs. Putting the folio on the low table he flipped through things he had not seen himself in a few years. It always started with early pictures of here followed by Orthanc, sketches of Trum Dreng with the irreplaceable Talereth and working to Dale. None of these Conaths had ever been there and they were all fascinated with their distant homeland. The picture of Shurran and old Field on the porch was touching.

That led to the aqueduct, Flor, Barahir’s grand-da at the dedication and Nag Kath’s statue. He laughed every time he saw it. There were Khand, Mordor, Pelargir, Phylless, Orlo, Hobbits, the Carstors wedding, Bard II. It took a while. Finally came pictures of the newly discovered kingdom below the horizon. Barahir agreed it looked a good deal like Annúminas. Elvish and Dwarvish halls got the most gasps. Minas Tirith was of like scale but the massive Mallorn trees of Lorien were still extraordinary. 

Grenda was nodding so the older Ivandred’s walked up to their room after saying goodnight. The Elf went to the kitchen to let the cook go home and got another pot of tea against the early autumn. After pouring, he took a mug outside to Barahir’s guard and left the young people on the couch, purposely not using his Elf hearing. They talked for another half bell until the young man said he needed to be off. Nag Kath gave him a couple books with blood oaths to give them back someday. Talienne sat on the couch for another half hour looking at the folio, especially her grannas Eniece and Mrs. Borenne. She did not share her conversation, but she smiled.

The Dol Amroth contingent prepared to leave three days later. Nag Kath expected long rides the other direction so he saw a lot of them with occasional trips to the first to check on Listracht. After waving goodbye at the Rammas Gate, the Elf asked to see Lord Gimli. There was no foolishness at the door. He still had to wait, but he waited inside.

The Dwarf Lord came out to the hall himself and they shook hands. Gimli showed him to a small room with a good fire going after the first hard-frost of the season. They sat down with another longbeard. If the fellow was there now, he was trustworthy. It was not too early in the day for a Rohan Red.

The Lord of the Glittering Caves raised his tankard in toast to the honored fallen and took a long pull. Then he said, “Nag Kath, this is Tornbor, son of your friend Tombor. He is ambassador here. I have taken the liberty of telling him your concern.”

Tornbor boomed, “It is a pleasure, Lord Kath. Your service to our people is renowned.”

“The pleasure is mine, sir. And just Nag Kath, please.”

The Dwarf, not a youngster by any means, said gravely, “Gimli described the object you acquired, a large band of what seems pure or near pure mithril.”

“Aye, sir, tuned like a fork to hum at a fell pitch. It was bent in a rock-slide and lost its tone, but still something I would rather the world did not have, or even know exists. Gimli thought it was legend. I say; let it remain so. My friend Golord in Dale consulted on other mithril work long years ago and said one of the Erebor forges is the only one known able to make something useful of it.”

“Golord is friend to me, Nag Kath. That is where I got some of my favorite tales of your exploits. Do you still have the little knife?”

The Elf dug in his pocket and handed it to Tornbor. He did not open it but spent a few moments looking at the simple, elegant design. Giving it back he said, “I think the work can be done. King Frör will not object to its destruction but will want to retain the metal. It is hard to imagine a fair exchange, it has been so long since such material has been seen in that quantity.”

Nag Kath held his chin before saying, “Sirs, I do not need anything comparable. If I am assured that this can never be used by adherents of Melkor, whatever you think is fair is fine by me. I did stipulate that I was not interested in old gold, but other than that, I do not care.”

Tornbor and Gimli spoke in their tongue, one of the few Nag Kath did not know. It was only a few sentences by each until Gimli said, “I will vouch for its destruction. Will you take the object there yourself?”

“I think I should, if I am permitted Under the Mountain. I have other business in Dale.”

Tornbor nodded, “I will see to it personally. When will you leave?”

“Soon. I can travel with you to the north.”

The younger Dwarf laughed and said, “I am the Ambassador here, but my old friend Gimli might take you as far as his caves if you can tolerate his stories.”

Gimli nodded gravely, “He can tolerate them. We leave Friday.”

Nag Kath sent a note to Lord Barahir that their ride would have to wait but he was welcome to take the curious Righter Listracht for much better versions of his own placid stories. He gave Shur another treatment for his wind and ordered him to be here when he returned. 

A skeleton troop of the Arnorans was also walking their horses alongside the trotting ponies just as they had done coming here. Gimli was the oldest of them and still capable of a full day’s ride. Traveling with Dwarves and Hobbits takes time. That was fine since they are such sociable folk with the best campfire yarns and songs. Arnorans are fine poets when coaxed into reciting. In exchange they wanted to hear Nag Kath’s tales of impossible lands. Western men seldom visited the east. The Elf often wondered at Aragorn’s rangers protecting the wilds. Now that the peace was won, men turned their attention to business and farming and raising families. Eastern and western traders generally brought goods to growing market towns on the borders and did business there; efficient, but with little cultural exchange.

Gimli and Nag Kath took a few hours here and there to discuss the Fellowship. Legolas was in the northern Elven Halls at last word. The Dwarf Lord said the son was more popular than his father among the Silvans. Gimli had never married, neither had the Elf. Nag Kath took the chance of asking if Legolas was there to seek a bride.

Gimli chuckled and said, “I do not rule it out, but he did not say as much. I think he lost a love some time back and does not think she can be replaced.” Softly, and with a touch of melancholy, the Dwarf added, “I thought he would be here.”

Nag Kath asked just as seriously, “My Lord, what keeps him in Middle-earth?”

“This stays here. His great adventure was with the four breeds of the west. Being away from your own kind makes it hard to go back. Those swan boats only sail one way.” The great Dwarf brightened, “On the subject of the fair ones, you have had several wives.”

“I have, sir, the last for fifty wonderful years. Friends tell me to go to the wood Elves and ply my suit, but can you imagine me singing Syndolan songs drinking your red beer?” He laughed, “I would be decried the simple cousin and relegated to washing chamber pots!”

Gimli howled before composing himself and agreeing, “Aye, I made a great friend in Legolas, but his folk do not understand that either. It quickened in the most terrible of times and has endured. Just as you seek a forge hot enough to destroy that fell device, we had to find the same. Let us hope you found the last need for one.”

King Elfwine of Rohan was at his country estates and his son was still in Minas Tirith but the steward of Meduseld had a fine dinner of all the things Dwarves and Hobbits love before they groaned their way off to Helm’s Deep. Nag Kath spent those last two nights with Master Feldram Bracegirdle and his son Merry of the Shire. He was a relative of Samwise Gamgee who was said sailed to the Undying Lands by virtue of being a ringbearer, if only for a few hours. Sam’s wife died and kindly Elves thought he might find succor in a new place. Even Master Bracegirdle was not absolutely sure of that. Samwise left the Red Book in a daughter’s care. Nag Kath said he spoke of it to Barahir and that the man might want to read it in his pursuit of telling folk the great new stories.

Both Bracegirdles said they would let her know should such a man seek entrance into their lands. 

Nag Kath said goodbye at the road to Helm’s Deep and turned north towards Fangorn. The forest seemed larger than before. The road around it had been moved a quarter-mile further east as trees grew over the original. That seemed queer. Men would usually rather cut the trees and be heated by the wood than grade a new trail. 

On familiar ground, the rest of the trip was ordinary. He did not stop at Lorien and only waited a day near Rhosgobel. Now late fall, merchant traffic from the east did not interfere with travelers making their last runs to Dale. He camped with a party of Dwarves and told them of meeting their kin in Minas Tirith, not quite mentioning he was going to Erebor.

_____________------_____________

Dale beckoned, just as it had ninety years ago. It wasn’t much different. Built from the stones of the hill after Smaug, Dale was a sturdy place indeed. The Lonely Mountain top was lost in clouds today. Nag Kath nudged Nemren to the Kathen office.

He walked inside to greet a young woman at the desk who was the only one not at lunch. His name did not ring any bells. Not sure who ran the place these days, he asked and was told it was Gerimandar Juskind but he was only in two days a week and this wasn’t one of them. She didn’t particularly want to give the tall young stranger Juskind’s address so he left a note and took his horse to the King’s Arrow.

The Arrow was a tradition in Dale. Things were repaired and restored to look the same. He got a nice room with a view of Erebor and had lunch. Waiting out a shower, Nag Kath wrote to King Barandor as a Lord of Dale. He did not expect to hear back but that was a common courtesy if ‘upstairs’ was interested.

The Elf had been back about every ten years until Phylless was elderly. It had been almost twenty this time. Perhaps some of the great-grandchildren remembered him. There were lots of them and they wouldn’t be hard to find. When the drizzle stopped, Nag Kath wandered down to Burry’s house. The woman who answered said she was a descendant but she wasn’t about to let him in the door. He left her one of a half dozen cards he wrote at the inn.

His next stop was the former home of Lorens and Lotold Brightens. His knock was answered by a young Hobbit who was much more courteous than Burry’s heir. Lorald Castthorn inherited from his uncle who died eight years ago after getting the place when Lorens died seven years before that. As usual, Nag Kath hopped over the fence rather than crouch through the house and the Hobbit brought mugs of tea from inside. Lorald had heard stories of the parties. Somewhere in the clutter was a sheet the Elf had written with Syndolan lyrics for those new to mannish singing. Nag Kath told him how well his forebearers danced.

No one from Kathen was in touch the next day so the Elf strolled where he was fairly sure he would be remembered. A shortbeard answered the door and gawked at the tall man who said; “Good day, I am Nag Kath here to see Master Golord.”

“Mr. Golord does not receive unannounced salesmen.”

Nag Kath pulled the pen-knife from his trouser pocket -- not a fearsome threat if he meant violence. He handed it to the young Dwarf saying, “If you would show him this, he may reconsider.”

Half a bell later, the blink of an eye in Dwarvish time, Golord himself came to the door and roared, “Good to see you, it has been too long.”

“Far too long. You seem well.”

“And doing well, though my family does the heavy lifting these days.”

Now 231, he was showing his age but still hale and hardy. Golord handed back the knife and showed his guest to a sitting room rather than the studio. Nag Kath gave him the short version of events in the south. 

Golord asked, “How is your family here in Dale, Nag Kath?”

“I can’t say. I hardly know any of them and will spend a few days tracking them down. I hope not to be a novelty.”

“Ha! Before I make you ask, Frór is now King Under The Mountain. Relations between Erebor and Dale are less frosty than they were twenty years ago, but not robust. Between us, Mr. Kath, You were right to destroy that ring. I fear sitting on that much gold is unhealthy. ”

The Elf grinned, “Especially after it was sat on by Smaug like a hen on her eggs. I fear that is why I am here.” He gave the master craftsman the letter from Tornbor. The Dwarf master cracked the seal and read it twice, very carefully.

Nag Kath added, “I have another for the gates.”

Golord was tempted to say something about the Elf’s amazing ability to find what Dwarf miners could not but this was of more moment. “He said gravely, “How long are you here, young man?”

“As long as it takes. I will see what of my family is left and get a few things. I do not know the contents of your letter. What is your counsel, old friend?”

“Tomorrow I will send one of my grandchildren to King Frör with this. When I hear back, I will tell you. Are you at your old home?”

The King’s Arrow. It has brought me good fortune.”

With no reply from the Kathen office, the next day Nag Kath walked up to Brenen’s old house. He was received and admitted to the foyer he knew so well while the servant told the mistress. Mrs. Juskind was one of Bug’s children and remembered the Elf. She looked in her late fifties if the Elf knew his Northwomen. She nervously invited him to sit as tea was served. Her husband was poorly which might explain not hearing back. Perhaps they would meet again.

When he got back to his room, a young man was waiting for him. There was no mistaking his bloodlines. “Wallach Grandenar, glad to meet you sir!”

“And you, Mr. Grandenar. I am Nag Kath.”

“We have a picture of you. I must say, you are bearing up quite well.”

It wasn’t too early for ale so they went into the restaurant and had one. 

“I am sorry it took so long for someone from the family to visit, Lord Kath.”

The Elf shook his head and said, “No trouble, and we need to lose the ‘lord’.” He asked about the business.

“Well, one of Brenen’s line and one of Bard’s are directors. Some of us work there. Some get rents and some don’t.”

“I was just up at a Mr. Juskind’s home. The place looks the same.”

Wallach considered that and said, “He married into Brenen’s folk. We get along fine but there are so many, we don’t really know each other very well.”

“Then tell me of Bard’s lot.”

Wallach smiled, “My grandparents on my mother’s side were Bart and Graciel, I’m sure you remember them.”

“Oh yes.” Yes, he did.

“Forgive me, Lord ... Uncle Nag, we heard you died.”

“No, just busy. I’m immortal.”

Wallach said, “People say the silliest things. “Well, we must have a get-together. I’ll attend to that and be in touch.”

Uncle Nag smiled and said, “I would enjoy that. You can reach me here. Oh, do you know what happened to my things?”

The young man looked a bit less cheerful, “When we were told you died, your property was divided among the heirs.”

Nag Kath considered that a moment and said, “That is to be expected. It was the Mason’s, some shops and somewhere else.”

“Indeed, a couple lots outside the wall that the Dwarves bought.”

The Elf had sent letters every few years so they knew he wasn’t dead. Someone in the family pulled a fast one. It was a lot of money but he had more than he needed in the south and decided not to make a fuss. Whatever he got from Durin’s Folk would more than compensate. Nag Kath smiled, “Serves me right for being away so long. I am really more interested in my personal effects. Do you know if they survived?”

“Some did, sir. My aunt has a few boxes in her basement. We can go after we finish our ale.”

Aunt Bethen lived in Bart’s home. She remembered Nag Kath well. Hot tea for the guest was ordered. Bart and Grace were good parents to Bethen and her sister who was unwell. Walking with a cane she showed him a picture of Graciel he drew when she was looking out a window during their time together. It was next to one of Bart done later.

Evidently the Bard clan had Nag Kath’s pictures in many of their homes. Bren’s folk might have lost the trail with him dying young, but Bard made sure the family knew who had buttered their bread. The Elf smiled remembering the Maedos’ tradition of having the patriarch memorialized each generation. He was fairly sure the one hanging was the only picture he had ever drawn of himself. Wallach had to get back to his engraving business and said he would be in touch. Meanwhile, Aunt Bethen summoned an elderly retainer saying, “Wilfred, please take Lord Kath down to the basement. We have some of his possessions.”

Poor Wilfred tried to hold the candle steady without getting wax on his hand as he crept down the stairs. Both Khandian rugs were rolled side-by-side among several crates. The tops were on but not nailed shut so he took the first one off and saw mostly clothes and a few household items. The little grubs that eat wool aren’t found this far north. With a good cleaning, someone could wear them. 

The next box was the one he came for. It had a large folio of older pictures and Lord Altheras’ sword. It was sure to need polishing but had been sealed in grease before storage, good thinking; that! The third box was more clothes, candlestick holders, some of Eniece’s little boxes and a pair of her earrings made by Bren’s son Gerrulth in a silver case. He kept those and several boxes.

To Wilfred’s relief, the Elf carried the folio and sword himself. Setting his treasures by the door, Nag Kath thanked the servant and said to Aunt Bethen, “Thank you, ma’am. I will only keep these. You are welcome to divide the rest or give them to the needy, as you see fit. Those carpets were very fine in their time. You might find a floor for them yourself.”

“Oh Lord Kath, that would be lovely. My friend at the Flower Society serves with the Queen’s Charity. I shall ask her about the clothes.” The old woman winked and added, “She has a couple strapping sons who can carry them too.”

He walked into the King’s Arrow just as group was being seated for a bride’s party before her nuptials. Standing off to the side was a lovely woman in a pale blue dress. Trying not to stare, his mind raced back until a gentleman took her by the hand to their chairs. 

The sword could stand professional attention. It hadn’t been swung in anger since fighting through Eriador, but even with grease, rust was forming. Tallow had yellowed the scabbard. 

The folio was fascinating. He hadn’t seen these since Shurran sat next to him. There was another angle of the Wild Huntsman and some sketches of Lord Thranduil’s Halls. A discarded portrait of Ardatha and Reyald – he would keep that for southern Conaths. On second thought, he would have the front desk send it to Buhr Austar. Not far down he found the sketches of the Elf Slipper flower he used to discover his guardi tracker. Half of these were of Dale itself, some architectural, some just gardens and fountains. They would make good gifts for the family if Wallach wanted to pass them around.

At the bottom was a formal portrait of Queen Delatha. It was one of the best pieces he had ever done. He could not remember why he still had it. He resolved to take it as far up the palace as he could get.

Wallach was as good as his word. The next day Nag Kath received a note that the Chandlers’ hall had been reserved three nights hence. The heirs of Brenen and Bard would be invited. It was short notice but what else would they do on a Wednesday night?

The next morning he took a tube with the Queen’s portrait to the palace gate and said he was Lord Kath with a gift for the King and Queen. This time he had his hair back so his ears were showing. He might be one of the reclusive Elves of the Woodland Realm so a Corporal escorted him to the main door and asked for the assistant Chamberlain.

The big Northman saw him with the greeting; “Good day, sir. How can I help you?”

“My name is Nag Kath, formerly of this city. Many years ago I drew a picture of the King’s great grandmother. It was recently discovered and I wanted to give it to their Highnesses as a token of respect.”

The man asked, “May I see it please?”

He wanted to make sure that tube didn’t have a sword inside. Nag Kath unrolled the large sheet and the man was lost in her serenity. The Chamberlain reluctantly took his eyes from the drawing and asked softly, “Was it you who drew her and King Bard together?”

“Yes, at the same time.”

Chamberlain Intressen usually gave reasons people could go no further but this was different. He asked the guest to sit and took the portrait down the corridor. Five minutes later, he asked Nag Kath to follow.

King Barandor was forty eight and looked quite like Shurran had at that age. After receiving his bow, the man walked over and said, “This is a treasure sir. I was told you drew the original as well.”

“I did, Sire. There was quite a tale behind it.”

His Lordship smiled and said, “I have heard some of that. Are you in Dale long, Lord Kath?”

“Some time, Sire. I have business with the Dwarves.”

Touching his beard in kingly fashion, Barandor said, “I would very much like you to return and tell my sister and me your recollections.” Intressen was discretely listening near the door. The King motioned him over and the retainer said, “Wednesday afternoon is free after the Thain of Riding, My Lord.”

Barandor looked to the artist and asked, “How is the three-bell?”

“That would be splendid, Sire. I am meeting some of my family that evening and can remember old stories for them too.”

“Family, Lord Kath?”

“I was married to a woman of Esgaroth long ago.”

The King muttered to himself, “Kath … Kath of the Celduin?”

“Ah, Sire, I cannot outrun my past. That is all tied to your noble granna too.”

Barandor smiled, “Then we may need to fortify at the telling.”

Nag Kath would enjoy that. The King and Princess might like hearing of their grandparents’ wedding too. 

His last official stop was business and he had waited until now because it might inform his decisions. The Royal Bank of Dale never changed. Oiled wood in the north lasts forever and the racks of little filing drawers lining the second story could have been plucked from King Brand’s memory.

The Elf left his hair Elvish and asked to speak to a manager. He was shown to a table away from the main floor. Mr. Tellush, a tall, lank man of less than full Northman heritage, stood to shake hands. The name Nag Kath did not ring bells here either but the clerk was professional and patient.

“Mr. Tellush, I was a resident of the city long ago. I had accounts here in my name, my business name and, hopefully, an account that was entailed to a charity many years hence if I never returned. I was hoping you could see what of those remain.”

“Certainly, Mr. Kath. Would you sign this card so we can look in our records?”

The Elf wrote his chop and a signature since he wasn’t sure which they would use. Assistant Manager Tellush took it upstairs to those fabled files and had one of the clerks rummage about. In only ten minutes he was back down at the desk. He was uncomfortable. “Mr. Kath. Our records show that your personal account and your business account were distributed to heirs some five years ago when you were declared dead.”

The man almost winced, waiting for the explosion. What he got was, “I thought as much. Thank you for looking.”

Off the hook for the bank having correctly given their depositor’s money to his heirs, the manager said, “Sir, were, excuse me, are you the Kath of Kathen? One of my nieces traces back to that family.”

“Yes, my adopted son Brenen was last two letters, now long gone.” He added ‘adopted’ so the man wouldn’t think his niece was Elf-kind. I am hoping that some of the heirs will come to a gathering Mr. Grandinar is organizing.”

Tellush said, “Then, sir, there is this trust to the Right Lung.” 

He handed the card to the Elf who corrected, “That’s Right-Living.”

The man wrote that beside the smudged original in pencil and said, “If you will excuse me again, I will get your balance.” 

This time he went to the main floor clerks who delved where only the lordly are allowed. It took longer but he returned saying, “You have fifty-six Florin and twelve on deposit, sir.”

“Excellent. I will likely move it to your sister bank in Gondor by draft when I return there. Thank you for taking such good care of my family, Mr. Tellush.”

He walked back to the inn surprised there was anything at all. 

Wednesday at three arrived to find the Elf waiting in the hall outside the sunny room where the Queen would have sat for her portrait if she wasn’t so sick. It was drawn from memory. A different attendant showed him where the King and Queen were sitting with Princess Dorlanee and one of her daughters. Nag Kath bowed and was seated at the low table.

Usually one waits for the royals to make the first statement but Nag Kath opened the little tube and removed several of the drawings he saved from Aunt Bethen’s basement. Rolling them out on the table; the top sheet was King Bard and Rosscranith at this very table discussing matters of state. Below it was Burry barking orders at militia archers drawing for the straw-men. The last was one of many showing the dragon’s attack angle towards the Esgaroth tower.

Nag Kath said, “I thought you might have a place for these, Sire, My Lady.”

The Princess was very interested. Younger than her brother, she had two daughters, both nearing marriageable age. She asked, “Who is this, Lord Kath?”

“Davit Rosscranith, ma’am, long a counselor to both Kings Bard and Bain.”

The King said, “I know the name well. It is good to put a face to it.”

Nag Kath hadn’t realized just how long it would take to unravel everything that came of Lord Carstor’s portrait. It led to Bain, Eniece, the Easterlings, Kathen, sorcery and feeding orcs in the wastelands. Towards the end, the Princess asked, “what of this picture, Lord Kath? It seems quite ordinary.”

“That, My Lady, is from the tower in Lake Town showing Smaug's approach when your esteemed forebearer shot him from the sky. I took my grandson Shurran Conath up there to see where his great, great grand-da saved the world.”

It was quarter of the six-bell before he left so he walked straight to the family party and told most of the same stories again. Very few of Brenen’s line came. They were personal friends of young Wallach Grandenar and had a good time. Nag Kath was able to answer many questions about the early days of what was now a Dalish dynasty. None of the senior Kathen folk of either side showed. 

All that remained was hearing from Erebor. It was another three days before one of the longbeards of the great city came to ask Nag Kath to return with him the next morning. The Elf agreed and would meet him at the gate on the eight-bell. 

For the first time since he showed Gimli, Nag Kath held the oval. It was kept in Nemren’s oat bag thinking that would be the last thing taken other than the horse itself. He thought; how many of you are still out there? Will this world never be rid of you?

The longbeard was Brerenfor and he was a soldier. He also had a pony so this would not be a tedious trip. They arrived shortly after the twelve-bell and were passed through every door, accumulating more and higher soldiers at each. It takes a while to get through a Dwarf hall. Nag Kath knew the way. Shortly before the throne room, the entourage veered down a corridor, emerging in the rooms of Lord Tombor. Master and advisor to Stonehelm and now Frör; he was the very spirit of duty. The Elf bowed and waited. 

Tombor said, “Greetings, young man, though man you are not. It is good to see you again. You bring us something?”

“Something I would like unmade, My Lord.”

“May I see it?”

Nag Kath approached with the grain sack and removed the oval. He had painted rust-colored swatches randomly around the edges to make it look like scrap steel if anyone happened on it by chance. The Elf handed it to the seated Lord. In one powerful hand the Dwarf examined it closely and said, “It seems my every hearing of you involves some lost artifact. You have outdone yourself this time.”

The Elf said nothing. Tombor rose to no great height to say, “Come, we must see the King.”

They tramped up two flights of stairs but turned before the throne room into where Nag Kath first met Frör with King Thorin after the Dwarf Ring was destroyed. King Frör was sitting where his father had been nearing sixty years ago. The ruler of the Dwarf realm accepted the Elf’s bow and motioned Tombor to bring the fell band. Frör held it wordlessly and put it on the table to gaze on it for quite a while before looking up and saying, “It has been some time since you were here, and you have put yourself in high trust of our good faith.”

“I saw no risk, My Lord. Durin’s Folk have always treated me with utmost honesty.”

The King continued, “Be that as it may, I understand your conditions are that we must melt this from its current, dangerous form. We may keep the metal and you leave compensation to us. Is that correct?”

“It is, sir.”

“Those were promises made you by those who speak for me in other lands and they will be honored. The forge has been heating two days and is ready now. Are you prepared to surrender this?”

“I am, sir.”

The King was still for several moments. Then he grasped the frame and said, “Come this way.” 

Other than Bilbo and Smaug, Nag Kath was sure he was the only non-Dwarf to ever see the innards of the foundry. The Fundin forge was not the largest and it sat near the edge of the furnace cavern. They walked along a wide ledge a story above it. The heat was nothing like he had ever felt from a fierce red glow around a center crucible. King Frör handed the artifact to one of two Dwarves in heavy leather suits covering their entire bodies. The workman trudged their way almost over the pot and clipped the band to a thin steel line strung diagonally over the furnace. The King nodded and Dwarf connected a smaller cable. He deliberately lowered it towards the crucible until it was over the mouth and gave it enough slack to slip into the cup.

It took very little time to first glow through a series of extraordinary colors and then capitulate to the heat, covering the bottom of the crucible.

Frör smiled saying, “Very well. Let us return to my office.”

Since they left, a small, sturdy box of oak and brass had been placed by the raised chair of Frör’s conference table. He, Nag Kath, Tombor and two aides sat. A third aide took the box and placed it before the Elf. Nag Kath nodded at the King and opened it. It was two in three parts full of white jewels, raw and cut in a variety of sizes. Interspersed were some of the blue Traybor stones, said to be prized by Elves long gone.

The Elf looked at the mighty Lord and gasped, “You do me too much honor, King Under the Mountain. I cannot accept this.”

Frör admitted, “Some is payment. Some is for having made this foul thing to the risk of everything we hold dear. You suffered for far less, a lesson to us all.”

“I will take no more than one of my hands can hold, to remind myself that is more than I will ever need.”

The King looked at one of his aides and commanded, “Bring him one of the silver boxes.” 

They must have been close because within a minute, it was presented next to the larger chest. Nag Kath reached his hand in without trying to take as much as possible knowing the tighter he squeezed, the more would fall from his grip. His large hand closed around the diamonds and he took it out. Dangling with it was a necklace of the same stones. He dropped them in the silver box and said, “We are done, except to praise the lordship of the Dwarf realm. Thank you and all your loyal people for helping me.”

The King rose and everyone around the table did too. As Nag Kath bowed, Frör said, “Tonight we will have a grand dinner. Let us hope it is not so long before you visit us again.” With that, the Lord gave a bow of his own. Both Tombor and the Elf bowed lower and made for the entrance.

When they were out of earshot, Tombor sighed, “There were Elves who could not have done that.”

“I know very little about Elves, my friend.”

For the first time since she died, Nag Kath visited Eniece’s grave. They were of here. It was almost all he knew for eighteen years. He had been to Phyllis’s grave several times. This day, he did not think he would ever return so it was time to truly say goodbye to the woman who believed in him. 

It was a such nice day he sat in the grass around the untended mound and told her of his life as if she was sitting next to him. Eniece would have liked Phyll. She would be proud of her grandchildren and the generations who succeeded them. None would likely visit her here, but she must have already met some beyond the circle. There would be no missing Ardatha and Reyald, the old Thain and Haldista too. Her mother and father; so loving, so true.

At times he would cry, recover and forge on with his account. There was so much to say, and he had to say it all. It took until sundown before he climbed on Nemren and looked over his shoulder to see Dale vanish in twilight. 

The next stop was down the Anduin to Lorien for a last look at the mirror. As pretty as the forest was, this was still no place for tourists. The Silvan Elves made it plain that visitors were unwelcome. Had men tried to force their way? He could not imagine that going well.

As he turned on the trail to Caras Galadorn, an arrow shook in the bole of a tree. Nag Kath stopped and waited for two ohtars to ask his business. One said in Westron, “This place is for Elves. You will go back the way you came.”

He replied in Sindarin, “I am the Elf Nag Kath and seek counsel with Gilfrandos.”

“You are not familiar to us.”

“It is fifty years since my last visit.”

“We will escort you. Please dismount.”

They walked along the familiar path. Elvish trails never seem to need trimming. The forest opened onto the Mallorns just as they had, with plenty of green grass for Nemren. One ohtar stayed with him while the other went up a different tree this time and returned a few minutes later saying, “Gilfrandos welcomes you back. Please make yourself comfortable until he descends.”

That was about an hour but there are worse things one can do than gaze on the magnificence of an Elvish Kingdom. Folk seemed more interested than last time. Some bade him hello and wondered about the rest of the world. 

Gilfrandos walked down and they sat on a knoll as Nag Kath shared tidings of the dark servant’s portal. Nag Kath asked to see the mirror again and was told to help himself. 

As before, he scrubbed the mirror with a soft cloth and river silt to bring up the sheen. Then he wiped it clean and added water to about half full. This time, the mirror responded without being touched. Very slowly, the surface showed him images of the sea, of being on the sea in a ship, no a fair-sized boat, maybe both. It was not a coast he knew, and he now knew quite a few. There was no sense of foreboding. 

The scene shifted to a huge field, a battlefield, larger than any in his experience. There were no soldiers or dead but he was sure it was a battlefield. There was malice, either far past or yet to come. The edges of the image fell in on themselves and a fair face began to emerge. She might have been lovely but the mirror went clear. 

Nag Kath stepped away wondering again if he could pry the mirror loose and put it on his horse. Logass had said no.

Leaving Lorien he saw men planting and tilling in the fields to the south of the forest. Twenty miles further, Fangorn seemed closer than it had been before. It was growing both north and east. He avoided it for safety early in his life and later because it was never near where he was going. This time he thought to have a look.

Fangorn was one of the forests whose trees seemed to lean over your neck. Gimli promised Legolas he would come back with the Elf to learn its wonders and, in return, Legolas would savor the Glittering Caves. Nag Kath preferred the caves. On the other hand, these woods had stories to tell. He took the path in from the north with the idea that if it became too close, he would leave.

Nemren was alert but not nervous. There were new sounds and smells in here. Nag Kath knew the horse would react differently than him. The road continued wide with some fair streams flowing from the Misty Mountains into the Anduin plain. They tested clean but there was something else there too. They drank with no effect.

At the end of their second day they reached a large clearing with paths leading in three new directions, a meeting place? There were no stumps or deadfall. Trees simply did not grow here. It was a good place to stop so Nag Kath made a fireless camp and nibbled on Lembas while Nemren grazed on the first grass he had seen in two days. 

That night he heard noises, usual forest sounds but more intense. Nag Kath was attuned to the sounds and signals of animals. These were not those, so he drifted into waking rest after high-night. In the pale moonlight he thought the entrance to the western path seemed smaller.

He was being watched.

It was the tree just at the edge of the clearing. Dawn light did not show the lichens of the trees around it. Was this one of the Ents? It did not look like those he saw from Orthanc but they came in many versions. If it was, Elvish was better than mannish so Nag Kath brushed his hair behind his ears and approached slowly. Stopping when his own shade hit the trunk, Nag Kath said in Sindarin, “Good morning, sir. Are you one of Treebeard’s folk?”

With no response, he slowly moved closer until he was about ten feet away and stopped again to repeat his question. After a minute of nothing, Nag Kath turned to pack Nemren. He sensed danger and saw a claw-like branch swinging at him from the corner of his eye. Using the ‘fast’ he scampered twenty feet away. A man, possibly even an Elf, would have been struck with great force. The creature left the branch in the lowered position, like the curious animals in pools along the coast pretending to be plants until a fish swims too close. The foul-tempered tree could not get him but he needed to get the horse out of here. 

Ents have faces and legs. They spoke any number of languages. This must be the sort of tree that settled up with his pod brothers at Helm’s Deep. Radagast said they were uncontrolled and angry. Well, if the brute wanted to protect his forest, he was welcome to it. They rode out the path leading east to the Anduin Road.

There was one more errand, an act of completion. 

“Lord Kath, King Elfwine will see you now.”

The Elf rose and followed the steward to a pleasant room of the Meduseld now fitted with glass windows. It had almost the same view of the picture he drew sitting on the landing of the steps. Nag Kath bowed to the King who was now in his eighties. Even with the Dunedain of his mother’s line, he was an old man.

The King asked, “How long has it been, Nag Kath?”

“Thirty years, or near enough, My Lord.”

The King was on his throne after having just meted justice out to bickering landowners in the Eastfold and walked deliberately to the more comfortable chairs of the antechamber. The man thought for a moment and said, “I was sorry not to make the wedding. I remember you coming to mine.”

“Thank you, Your Highness. Please accept my belated condolences on the loss of Queen Tilleth.”

“Thank you for your letter, Lord Kath. She said you encouraged her. Is there something I can do for you?”

“More something I can do for your realm, My Lord. Many years ago, I was given a sword by a Marshal of these lands when I had none. It is a fine weapon and needs to be carried by a worthy man. I was hoping you might bestow it on someone who serves the Mark.”

Elfwine whispered to his aide who walked down the corridor and was back shortly with a comely man in his forties. The King said, “Lord Kath, this is Crown Prince Haleth. Perhaps he can help your sword find a home.” The King coughed a little and nodded that the interview was over. The Prince bowed to his father before leaving with the Elf through the main doors.

“Kath of the Wargs?”

Nag Kath smiled, “Your grandfather must have been telling stories.”

“One of his favorites. I saw you at Prince Eldarion’s reception and was sorry to have missed the chance to meet you.”

The sword had been left with one of the door guards along with his own as a usual precaution. They were returned and the two knights walked over to sit on a bench along the edge of the large porch. Nag Kath started, “My Lord, this belonged to Lord Altheras ninety years ago. He gave it to me when I had no weapon to slay your grand-da’s favorite warg on our way here." The Elf admired it once more and added, “I was hoping you could give it to one of your own.” Nag Kath drew the steel and offered it to the Prince. The strong man hefted it easily and looked at the fittings and motto on the guard. 

After a while, Haleth said regally, “I know a Rohirrim who deserves favor. If you are sure it is time to part ways, I would be honored to present it to him.”

“Then I know it will be in good hands. Thank you for taking the time to see me, My Lord.”

It being so close to dinner, the Prince insisted that Nag Kath eat with his family. The Elf suspected they wanted to hear a first hand account of the warg-slaying. He would oblige.


	45. Generations

** **

** _Chapter 45_ **

** _Generations_ **

Mestriel tried to beat her employer to the door hoping if he heard her, he would stay on the couch. He rose anyway because that could only be Nag Kath’s knock. Shurran arrived ten feet behind her in time to hear, “I’m looking for a big Northman. Looks like I got the right place.” 

Cook and Penni were shopping. Shur gave him a Northman grab and they wandered back to the couch with tea to follow. Shur’s breathing would need attention again. He hadn’t been drinking his tea. Nobody drank the tea if they could pour it in a plant. The man’s physician would attend to that presently. Shur leaned forward and asked, “Is it done?”

“Aye, Shurran, melted like butter. So hot they had to run it to the cauldron on a wire. Never seen anything like it. Hope that puts paid to the dark lord. How are Penni and the children?”

“Good, you’ll see her shortly. Are you back for a while?”

He was. The east could wait. Without being too much in the way, Nag Kath wanted to be here for Shur who wouldn’t last too many more years. Eniecia was still very fit and seemed to have inherited the rare Dunedain strain.

“I think so, maybe back to Dol Amroth to see your sis.”

The big Northman grinned, “Might not be necessary. I would not be surprised if they are back with a granddaughter in tow.”

“That took?”

“Not that anyone tells me but, well, let’s just say I wouldn’t be surprised. Raniece is getting hitched next summer. She is a fair lass too. That whole family is. They didn’t get it from me.” Shur was excited and coughed a bit with his laugh. “Now, what of Dale?”

“The same. It seems the Brenen family doesn’t remember me but the Bard side does.”

Shur contemplated, “I’d have thought the other way round.”

“I’m too long gone. I was declared dead and they split up my property. Someone conveniently lost my occasional letters. There was money in the bank, though. 

Shur grinned, “So you are the statue in the family square?”

“More like the king on the nipper, but I found my things. One of Bart and Grace’s daughters had them in her basement. I left the sword with the Prince in Rohan, got my pictures and Eniece’s mementos, some earrings by your friend Gurralth. I'd like Penni to get those.

The grandson had a long pull of tea and said, “I hope the Dwarves treated you well.”

“Embarrassingly so. I’ll show you when we have dinner in a day or two.”

Penni arrived just then. Cook took a large basket back to the kitchen after what could charitably be called a curtsy to the living family founder and Penni gave him a kiss on the cheek. She sat down and said, “I think a storm is coming. Hope his Lordship can fire his sparklers.”

Had it been so long that Nag Kath didn’t even remember Syndolan Day? 

Penni asked, “Can you stay to dinner Nag? It won’t be any bother getting fish. There were some tollars at the market just now.”

“No, love. I have to attend some things. After that I am all yours.”

She did some counting in her head, “Well, let me think, tomorrow, no, two days time is grand. How is that for you?”

“That’s fine Pen. You take care of my little grandson and I’ll see you then.”

He walked home. It was cold. No one was cooking. When he got there, he kept walking to the Lord of the Pelennor for a meal and took a room upstairs. Shur’s cough bothered him. His color was wan. Penni put a brave face on things but she felt it too. Nag Kath thought it curious, unfair and wholly human that in mixing the strains of men, one didn’t always average the results. One might think that if a man’s father lived to sixty and his mother to eighty, their children would live seventy. That happened more often than not, but sometimes, especially with Dunedains stirred in the pot, one child might live to be eighty and another fifty. Northmen and the men of Rhûn didn’t live very long if fighting didn’t kill them young. They had to get things done by then.

Now, what to do with all of those diamonds? It was a fabulous sum of wealth except they couldn’t be used to buy things. It did not matter. He did not want Smaug gold. The sickness was only said to affect Dwarves, who were otherwise immune to most magic. Someone would buy them over time and he could finance a few projects in the east, maybe build a few bridges in places not grand enough for the lords of the west.

The necklace was curious. That was Elvish. What was it doing with a box of Dwarf loot? Nag Kath wondered if King Thranduil patted his pockets after an evening of harp music and came up wanting. He still had the mithril circlet downstairs grouted under the stove along with fifty Florin ... the old troll Florin, not the new Aragorn Florin. The Elf only ever spent ancient money. Before it got dark and stormy, he had a lad at the inn run a message written in Sindarin up to the seventh. They would want to hear about Erebor too. 

Nag Kath heard nothing from the palace the next day. The King and likely Eldarion would be here for Syndolan Eve, two days hence. If something was wrong, the Elf would have written so. 

_____________--------_____________

“I was glad I went, My Lords and Lady. The arrangement was that they would destroy the artifact but keep the mithril. I was given jewels in exchange. They will be hard to realize but I did not want the gold that caused so much upset.”

Queen Arwen looked her husband and son before asking rather more quickly than usual, “What manner of jewels, brave knight?”

“Mostly white, but with a few of the blue Traybor stones. About half of them were cut and polished and the rest raw.”

She persisted, “How were they presented, sir?”

“I was offered a large box of Dwarvish craft but said I would only take as many as I could hold in one hand. It was still quite a few. I brought some.”

Nag Kath took several of the stones from his vest pocket and placed them before the Queen. She took one of the smaller ones and examined it very carefully. Eldarion inspected the Traybor stone and handed it to his mother. She looked at that closely too. The Elf waited patiently with the King.

Finally, the Queen brought her hands into her lap and was silent for a short while before asking, “Did the Dwarves say where these were found?”

“They did not say and I did not ask, looking a gift horse in the teeth. My Lady, you seem much taken. Please, keep them. I am sure a fine jeweler can craft something so the blue stone matches your eyes.”

She smiled at him, perhaps for the first time and said, “Usually my husband forbids accepting precious gifts. I will implore him to make an exception. Thank you for your generosity.”

The knight then said, “In that case …” he took a jewel he hadn’t reached from the same pocket and gave it to Prince Eldarion saying, “Something for your Lady Wife, My Lord.” Looking to King Elessar, “I am sorry Sire. You will have to make due.”

His liege smiled as well, “I get full value at all times, sir.” The King only wore his Ring of Barahir and occasionally the name-sake Elessar Elfstone broach for special occasions.

Nag Kath ventured a suggestion, “I respectfully offer this may be a good time to bring the west closer to the Dwarves. I am not a merchant to know the values of this versus that, but their offer was gracious. Perhaps they are slowly moving past the grasping of Stonehelm.”

Eldarion asked, “Did you broach this with King Barandor?”

“I did not sir. We met when I found a picture of his great grandmother in my things and took it to him, but that was before Erebor. I thought to keep that business quiet.”

Aragorn said, “This gives us much to consider. What are your plans, Nag Kath?”

“Unless I am not as quick as I think, two of my great, great granddaughters are likely brides in Dol Amroth this summer. I will go between here and there for a time. One fine day I will go east again.”

To close the interview, Eldarion cheered, “Then I am sure we will see you often.”

The following day, Nag Kath took his draft from the Royal Bank of Dale to the Royal Bank of Gondor to close affairs in the north. There was a melancholy finality to that. Then he walked up to the fifth for a talk with Mr. Herristar of Demanth and Herristar Jewelers. They had never met before but knew of each other. After introductions and tea, he took two quarter-inch finished diamonds from his pocket and placed them before the Master saying, “My niece will marry next year and I thought these would make nice earrings”

The man pulled a very fine and powerful fire-glass from under the counter and examined both stones. Placing them on a soft cloth, he refitted his own spectacles and said, “These are exceptional, and expertly finished, old Dwarvish, I should think. They could be fitted to one of our designs or your own.”

“I have no notion of what she would like so something like the pair you have on display would suit.” He wasn’t here for jewelry.

“The gold pair is half a Florin using your diamonds, Mr. Kath. Do you mind my asking how you came by these?”

Nag Kath said, “In settlement of a debt. I fear I could not place a value on them.”

Mr. Herristar was hooked, “I should think about three Florin each. I don’t suppose you have any more of these? Our clientele insists on the best. We usually receive stones from the mine and prepare them ourselves.”

“So there is high demand for these?”

“I would say consistent rather than high. Only so many people can afford this quality.”

This was the man he wanted to talk with. Nag Kath leaned back in his chair and placed a large, uncut stone from a different pocket on the pad. The jeweler looked his client over very closely before doing the same to the gem with the fire-glass. For fully two minutes the man examined the diamond, looking for flaws or fractures as much as the rough surface would allow.

He put the glass and gem back on his pad and asked softly, “Have you shown these to other jewelers, Mr. Kath?”

“No, I was hoping for an exclusive arrangement, perhaps in Dol Amroth as well, slow, steady and discreet.”

Herristar slipped his spectacles into his apron, “I think we can help.”

_____________--------_____________

Three Florin for the little ones! He had something under four hundred stones, many the size of his thumbnail. Herristar was right; they could not be liquidated in a hurry. That was fine. He was in less of a hurry than anyone in Middle-earth. Now, what about the Queen? It was almost as if she recognized these. Might they be one of the frictions between Elves and Dwarves, that Frör thought this atoned for past difficulty? If they thought him a representative of Elf-kind, perhaps that past was finally fading too. 

And what about that necklace? It had massive stones in mithril mounts. The price would be unimaginable. That wasn’t just a bauble for a beloved. That was a symbol of state, perhaps an Elvish commission that got sticky at settlement.

The day cleared with few mud puddles on the high road so he saddled Nemren and made the delayed trip to Osgiliath. Tumlath had taken over when Tumlen died and now grandson Tumfred was keeping the Gespath family business humming along. A plump, friendly lass sat at the office desk. She looked up and beamed, “Well hello, Nag Kath. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?! You just missed Fred but he shouldn’t be long. I’ve got a pot of Telandren just now steeped.”

“You are a love, Unieve. That would taste fine.”

She got them both a mug and asked, “Are you staying at the Great River?”

“I will. Let me take rooms and settle the horse after this splendid tea. Just tell Fred I’ll be right back, nothing urgent, mind.”

“Very good, sir.”

Fred fit the mold of the Gespath men, short and widening. Except for being too tall, they would make excellent Hobbits with their curly hair and blue eyes. Business was good. Tastes were running to the west side of the river these days and they were adapting, though the council of Alders dithered like scholars. Ithilien was more practical. Few here remembered days before the water so it was taken for granted. Seventy years or a thousand was all the same to young folk making their way in the world.

“Good to see you, Nag. One of these days I have to visit Dol Amroth.”

“You should, Fred. Spend time in Pelargir too. It is much like here. You might get a few ideas.”

Nag Kath talked about the wedding and Harad and Dale. Fred gave him all the local gossip. On the west side they now want men to get new buildings approved if they were in the old city, so they don’t look too new, mind! That was the work Shur used to do before he retired. Halfers!

The Elf explained the Dale family had him declared dead and divided up the estate. Fred was appalled. Nag Kath’s interests here were all in his right-living trust for some reason and they could stay that way. Excluding the diamonds, this was his largest repository of wealth.

They had a Hobbit-sized lunch. Fred explained on a more difficult note that father Tumlath was having trouble with his memory. He still came in and looked busy but they kept decisions off his desk. The Elf wished them all well. Before returning to his room, he stopped by a few exclusive jewelry stores and visited the healing district for fresher herbs than Minas Tirith had, since they got them here. None of the women seemed very skinny. And bloody Shur was doing to drink his tea this time!

The evening was quiet. Snowflakes were falling but not sticking. Nag Kath stayed in and watched them land. He wrote letters to Prince Elboron and Barahir saying he was back. Messengers ran between the capital and largest city daily, weather permitting. A bit like Rohan now; the ruler’s country home was apart from the commercial center. That started when city water was unreliable and never changed.

Tonight was dinner at Shurran and Penni’s so the Elf was off with good light and home in a few hours. Fresh supplies of herbs were guaranteed to sour the face of even hardened soldiers. Penni smiled demurely knowing they would be more carefully guarded this time. 

“I mean it, Shur. The healing only goes so far.”

“Every day?”

“Twice, every day.”

The big Northman knew he was in a cleft stick. Penni changed the subject only slightly, “Nag, to ensure my husband adheres to his regimen, we would like you to stay with us rather than all alone in your drafty old house. Please say yes.”

Shurran grinned, if only to get out of discussing his medicine.

Folk usually bring in older relatives needing care or younger relatives who can provide it. Nag Kath was neither, but it seemed a good idea. He no longer had a cadre of females trying to make matches, unless their children took up the cause. Cook and housekeeper were both known and better humored than some he recalled. The Elf thought he would be here quite a bit anyway so; why not? “That would be lovely. Thank you for asking. Oh, before I forget, these were made by Shurran's cousin Gurralth. They belonged to my first wife.” Penni had a necklace that was a near match and she beamed in thanks.

There wasn’t much to move. Most things stayed where they were. Nag Kath commandeered two bedrooms on the upper floor since Shurran no longer climbed stairs. A wet but not very cold winter kept them inside quite a bit. The Elf spent time in the archives, avoiding halfers, and generally learning what he could about Melkor. He was thought long gone, even in the oldest writings of Gondor as it formed from the Numenorean migration. All well and good for the archives, but there was something behind that oval. Slamming the door didn't get rid of him.

Shur and Penni’s son Reyalder handled property on this side of the Pelennor. That wasn’t much work. He had a full-time man and the man’s part-time daughter dealing with renters. All of the repair work was contracted with people they knew for years. They also sent rents to Eniecia from her parents’ estates.

_____________--------_____________

Just to get out of the house, Nag Kath would wander down to the office on days he knew his great grandson would likely be there. The talked about all manner of thing, including the lengths his father would go to avoid his medicine. Reyaldar’s wife Heuris came from solid mercantile stock and watched their 12-year old son Fieldar and nine-year old daughter Delandreth. Fieldar took archery seriously. All agreed that was a worthy thing for a multiple-great grandson of the man who slew the dragon. Uncle Nag bought him a real bow five years before and he was ready for another.

Shur’s two daughters were also married, one more successfully than the other. Bettes met Simlieo Panzier, a nice man about ten years older who made man-cart wheels and married for love. They were still in love after ten years with eight-year old daughter Lorandris who liked to hide her face with her hands then look through her fingers. Son Urandict was three.

Shur's younger daughter was Féuril. Her husband thought he was marrying into instant wealth and found otherwise. Féuril was not pretty or clever and after seven years of her man, seldom cheerful. The couple would make amends just often enough that Shurran didn’t thrash him, but the big Northman still seethed because the fellow skirted militia training. Uncle Nag recommended bribery. Féuril wasn’t having that. He might do it anyway. The couple had no children.

Nag Kath often saw children of old friends like in the Tallazh family and occasionally Tal and Eccs’s granddaughter. Like her mother, she drew pictures for children’s books and also wrote the stories earning a fair living doing what she wanted. He stayed in touch with any number of friends.

_____________--------_____________

An early spring had Nag Kath out with his sketch pad capturing the sights of the White City. Often times he went back to original ideas like every-day folk at the fountain or merchants hawking wares in the yarn market. One gallery wanted to know if he wanted to show on their walls. He was about to say no but changed his mind and asked that his share be given to the White City Charity.

In April they got word that not only was Raniece to marry her sweetheart, Menalgir would wed his girl as well in a double-ceremony set for August. A trip to Dol Amroth was in order. Shur could not go. His traveling days were over. It bothered the big Northman. He would sit on the porch in his stocking feet sipping tea and watch the city below. Uncle Nag was often with him discussing important matters of the day. 

With little to keep him here, Nag Kath thought for this journey he would ride cross-country and see the sights on the windward of the White Mountains. It was still largely unpopulated with occasional farms and towns along the myriad rivers streaming into the Bay. The route was probably on the order of a hundred leagues, some with roads, some with paths. The idea was to keep to the foothills below cliffs that fingered into the valley. When he reached the Ringlo there was a town worthy of a name and a good road was said to make for the river mouth north of the White Harbor. It should take three weeks. He allowed two months.

With his art supplies, Lembas, rain slicker and weapons, Nag Kath walked Nemren out the gate towards Lossarnach. The King’s farm road was only a league from the Rammas Gate and made another ten miles northwest to the foothills. The main road continued towards Pelargir in close to a straight line. Where it crossed the Erui River was the fair-sized market-town of Minas Anchon. If you had goods from downstream and did not want to freight them on the river, this was your road and this was your town. It had one of the first bridges the King commissioned after taking lordship. 

The fine road kept going. Nag Kath turned west and took the path towards the Celos River. Wagons had been known to try this trail but it was not for the feint of heart. It was fine for a horse and they made good time. There were occasional farms and farmers glad of a couple coppers to let them stay under a shed out of the rain. On the third day after the turn they found another village where the Celos met the Randuin becoming the Sirith of drinking-water fame. It had a King’s bridge too, though somewhat the worse for tree trunks hitting the base as they sped downstream in heavy spring flows. This side of the mountains got more snow and in June, it was still melting.

Two days later they made another Market town on the near side of the Serni headwaters. It was the confluence of four fair streams and much easier to cross separately than joined. Just across was a wood of good ship timbers that made their way down to Lebennin for sea transport to builders on the Anduin. 

_____________--------_____________

Minas Brachal was having their summer festival, and Nag Kath loved those. The town wasn’t as large as Trum Dreng but had some of the same atmosphere by celebrating flowers and the highest sun of the year, the opposite of Syndolan. Lebennin ale was fair and a few inns had room. And as in Trum Dreng, evening was when the young people made acquaintance.

He was almost alone to start dinner but about the time he finished, quite a few folk in their teens, twenties and maybe a little older trooped in to familiar tables. Pitchers were already poured and served on arrival. He had a large table and was asked by a man with two ladies if they could take the far end. 

They were expecting more people who hadn’t arrived. All three watched the tall blonde man in travel clothes sketching on a small pad. He explained he was taking the scenic route to Belfalas where he had family. None of them had ever been to Belfalas, though Thomfore had been down the river to Linhir which was a sizeable town, city to them. That was where the Serni and Gilrain formed that delta, and oh my, wasn’t that a sight to see!

Nag Kath held his chin and wondered, “I thought of going that way but am I right that by staying just north of the harbor I avoid that ridge of mountains by the bay?”

The man’s girl, who seemed to think herself the celebrated beauty of Minas Brachal, declared with hauteur, “So it is said.”

The fellow was more helpful, “There is a small river feeding from the west with a fair trail alongside. That gets you through the eastern ridge. There are others through the western range and are said well-marked.”

The celebrated beauty put away two mugs in quick succession, which only made her more talkative on subjects she didn’t know. Her man wasn’t keeping up with the ale. The slightly older woman was not through her first mug and kept her own counsel.

Their friends still hadn’t come. If they had stopped at another tavern, these three weren’t in a hurry to find them. Another pitcher arrived. Nag Kath put down the coins for it. The quiet woman was nearest to him and looked at his pad. It was just a doodle of the street with a fellow selling pies in a heat-cart like the dear man in Tharbad. She asked if she could see. The Elf started to slide it to her when she slid closer to him. 

Evidently there were no artists in Brachal and she shifted her gaze out the door and back to the sheet several times wondering how someone could catch the image with so few strokes. Meanwhile the celebrated beauty kept punishing the pale until she began to feel unappreciated. She gave her man a ration that had people around the tavern looking. He was trying to keep the damage under control, perhaps hoping for a taste of that beauty later, but he would have to tie her in a sack for a few hours first. Finally, she rose in a huff and sashayed out the door followed with him in her wake.

The quiet woman watched but did not leave. Then she looked at the meat vendor again. While she studied, the Elf felt a gentle hand sliding across his thigh. Leniegh was not a celebrated beauty but quite attractive and at the age Nag Kath liked them. He put extra coppers on the table in case the volatile couple hadn’t paid for their first round and climbed the stairs to his room.

It had been a very long time, for him at any rate. She took the initiative, which he liked, and in exchange was pleased with what she discovered. In only a one-width bed, they were snuggled close. Leniegh cooed, “Are you gone tomorrow?”

“Or the next day. What is the occasion?”

“The Celebration of Arien who is longest in the sky this day. We look forward to harvest and cast our cares away.”

He said, “There is one much like it in Minas Tirith a month from now. I remember enjoying that. What happened to your friends?”

“He is my employer’s son. Only met her twice. I hope he keeps it that way.”

“Ale does not serve all equally or well.”

Leniegh was curious, “Now, what about you? You have nice cloth but you travel the hard road.”

“I have never been here. It gives me something to draw. I must say; the trip has started promising.”

“You probably say that to all who admire your drawings.”

He grinned, “Every one.”

Neither were hungry so they did more of the same well into the night. Later, she curled next to him in bed. He leaned against the wall since there was no chair in the room and let pleasant thoughts drift into waking rest. Before dawn, she looked up at him with his eyes seemingly closed and quietly dressed. In the poor light she wandered towards his bags then turned and groped for the door. Opening it without a sound, she was gone.

The next morning, Nag Kath had porridge and the first of the raspberries on this side of the mountain. His bags were already at his feet at the same table as the afternoon before. When he stood and started to take them outside, the innkeeper said, “Sir, there is a small matter of the bill.”

The Elf paid cash when he got here. “Eh?”

The fellow chuckled, “You didn’t think Leniegh’s special affections came with the room did you?”

Ah, yes. She arrived at the same time as the quarrelsome couple but not with them. She never once spoke to them. It was only after they left that he got her attention. And then there was the predawn exit. She wandered towards his bag thinking him asleep but turned and left unsteadily. In inns he always left a strong confusion ward on his satchel. If she had lifted it, the innkeeper would take his share and claim he had no idea who the trollop was. This squeeze was to rescue something from the failed theft.

Nag Kath walked over to the counter and said, “What’s the damage?”

“Five groats.”

He laid a fiver on the plank and went outside to saddle Nemren. That was not his preferred way of loving, but learning after the event made it worthwhile. She seemed pleasured. If she was acting, she was good.

_____________--------_____________

From here it was a three day ride to Bar Gilraen on the river of the same name. There were peaks ending on either side of what turned out to be a road through the foothills. From a distance it seemed there would be climbing. Though not the size of Brethil; this town probably had a thousand people who were not celebrating at all. He ate alone and was glad of it.

The next few days were up a grade. They crossed another tributary leading into the Gilrain from the east and made southwest along the river for three more days passing a sizeable lake with a forest on the far bank. When the lake narrowed with rock banks, Nag Kath and Nemren took a ferry across fully a mile of lake, landing just above the Nan Requain River. The horse did not care for water travel of any sort. 

Another day’s ride took them to a very pretty smaller lake between more intimidating mountains and the day past that they passed into Belfalas county of Rosuldrië. This was where the famous pale wine was grown. It was almost Shire-like between these mountains and the range further west. Rolling hills with good streams from either side often grew two crops a year. The trail snaked around the peaks where there were low passes but not in a straight line so it was another week before tired horse and Elf trotted across the causeway to fair Dol Amroth.

Captain Ivandred opened the door. “Well, couldn’t keep you away! They shook hands and the Elf hauled his bags inside. Legorn turned and called to anyone who cared, “Nag’s home.”

It was nearly the dinner hour so after sponging off the grime, he joined them at table. Eniecia was excited, two of her four grandchildren marrying suitably. Their parents seemed to be taking it more in stride. That was still better than a month away but there seemed so many things to do!

Cal reminded his elegant wife gently, “My darling, you don’t have to do anything except get there and not faint.”

“Oh, I know, but a woman needs a hobby. Nag, we have tickets to ‘If It Can, It Will’ to open the season next week.” To assure his cooperation she added, “It is a comedy.”

“I will count the days, dearest granddaughter.”

Eniecia pulled varying points of interest in her logical way until getting to, “I am not sure who will be joining us. We just have the six seats but the children are so busy.”

Cal neatly avoided the trap by quickly adding, “I don’t recall, my dear.”

Old Legorn declared, “Well, I am coming! That’s one of the few where the low voice isn’t a swindler.”

Did Nag Kath really want a date? The pleasant commercial encounter in Brachal reminded him of the advantages of mortal men. His waking rest wasn’t so restful. He would consider that when he needed to. The family was more interested in Dale. That was bittersweet. There may be reasons to return someday but not to visit anyone living there. He told them he got several thousand Florin worth of diamonds in exchange for the Mithril. The jeweler in Minas Tirith sold two a month so that was not going to winnow his stake any time soon. 

Eniecia was speechless. She believed him but she had also never seen him do anything magical, ever. In plain view on his voyage he roasted a ship with sorcerous fire but never with family. On her breath she whispered, “Several thousand …”

“Aye, probably a lot more if the big ones are much more than the little ones.”

He dipped into a pocket and said, “These are called Traybor stones, prized among Elves. Since they are gone, this is for you.” He handed it to his granddaughter who seemed to reflect the sparkle in her eyes. “I had earrings made for Raniece and Menalgir’s intended. What’s her name?”

Cal said, “Dehlpynhalita.” When no one rescued him he added, “Halita, a grandmother.”

Nag Kath waded in, “Now, with all this matrimony in the air, has anyone heard from Lord Barahir?”

His granddaughter observed caustically, “No Simbelmynë growing on you, Orc Six.”

The Elf finished chewing and was about to ask again when the old Captain said, “We understanding they are exchanging letters about Elf lore.” When no one did better than that, the topic died. 

After dinner, they were sitting in the main room. Eniecia asked gently, “You do not seem yourself, dear grandfather.”

“I am thinking about your brother. He will not take his medicine and his wind is poor. I will be between here and there but do not intend to be long from him, probably in Minas Tirith for some years. He seems at ease yet I am not. That is selfish of me. Dale got me to thinking. It is hard to be forgotten in your life.”

Legorn comforted, “You always have me.”

No one could keep a straight face after that.

_____________--------_____________

Nag Kath didn’t really understand just how important these two weddings were. Although not princely, they were only a level or two below in several ways. All were prominent families. They had a lot of friends. There were ranking Marines invited. Nag Kath even counted for something with his extraordinary recent exploits. 

Nag Kath took his leisure by strolling the jewelry district. This was more like Dale where the items were made in mostly one area, even if sold in shops all over. No one was in a position to purchase more than one or two of the small stones. If he was to reduce the pile, he had to trade them for either land or gold with a very high lord.

Wednesday was dinner at the Field Ivandreds. Both girls were there but not Raniece’s intended who was on duty until the week before their nuptials. Field and Grenda were generally at ease which helped their daughters’ high emotions. Rainece mostly talked about her friends helping her sew her dress and how wonderful everyone was. They would take an apartment near the War Harbor for now but a grandfather on his side was going to help with a home at some point. The Elf expected the Ivandred seniors would pass the hat too.

Talienne spoke mostly about her studies. Usually that would get rid of all but the most curious but this was of moment to young hearts. After the meal, the Elf saw room to mildly influence. He thought he remembered most of the epic poem of Luthien and Beren as told by Norgarn’s son in the Grey Havens. Keepers don’t read, they recite. Phrasing, timing and changing pitch or volume were as much a part of the saga as the words. 

When there was a lull in the conversation, he spoke as a Lorist in the Ghurates. The condensed version still took a half-bell but it came pure, even in the common-tongue, as if distilled by the drop from memories of two ages past. The house was still. Cook was frozen in the doorway. 

Finally Grenda brok the stillness, “We have not heard that story told in such a way Nag Kath.”

This end of the family had really only seen good old Uncle Nag in social settings, not causing wars, being asked the same silly questions. Tonight he shared another aspect. In his Elf Lord voice he said, “I have heard the Elf-keepers sing that story twice, once after Eniece died and again seventy years later when Phylless died. In some ways; that is my song to endure. The keepers protect it all, the words, the emotion, the pain, because they hold it for those who may yet hear it again before the ending of the world.

“They also keep it for a people who have difficulty expressing those feelings because they cannot bear the heartache so many long years. It gives them courage. It tells them that their choices are pure. It brings them. The tale is all that and more.”

He turned to Talienne, “You will find those as you open yourself. Feel the music. Sing your care and strength and love.”

Nag Kath didn’t dare smile or suggest that her next letter upriver be more than the dusty bones of bygone kings. They weren’t all kings. On the way back to Cal and Eniecia’s he was sure he had done the right thing. Barahir, or any other lucky lad, needed to deserve all the passion of her tender heart.

_____________--------_____________

Whoever wrote ‘If It Can, It Will’ must have written a dozen just like it. Seasons always start with a comedy that is not too long and easy to follow. Having a popular song buried somewhere never hurts. This time they had Callistra’s son Menalgir Libron with his fiancé Halita and her mother.

Most people wanted to meet the celebrated Nag Kath but not all, among them; Mrs. Erberion. He was his usual polite self but it cut no ice with the taciturn doyen; former chair of the Seaman’s Benefit Society. Her husband did not care for theater so they found an extra ticket for Legorn and the company was set. 

If the opera was trying, the Lion’s Beard was torment. It was a place where men and women were seen together with alcohol present after a ribald tale of common townsfolk barely able to control their bestial lusts. And if the polite young man who brought black foreign devils to their blessed soil was not bad enough, there was that grinning old reprobate recalling more of the odious performances. It was too much to be borne!

She was mercifully taken home after the first pitcher of wine was down the gullet and the Ivandreds were in silent accord that their grandson’s apartment could not be far enough from his mother-in-law. The girl was quite lovely and seemed to have already learned to ignore her. 

Nag Kath amused himself while the families prepared. Dol Amroth weddings are already lengthy affairs. Two of them at once would cut the time overall but made for a long afternoon. 

He visited the Ambassador of Thân zîrân after they replied to his note. Taj-Velindir took a spacious home in the Castle District and added staff for both domestic needs and embassy duties. For the most part, they were rich lads on holiday. Nag Kath had guessed before they docked that their primary job was to learn about the politics and trade of these northern nations and convince some of them to send goods south, hopefully sailing back with one of them. Their home ships were built for light chop in the gulf but not the huge rollers coming in from the northern sea. Much of their study was in wrighting ocean vessels. Cal did not know if any northern nations thought to send reciprocal emissaries.

Nag Kath did get some unexpected employment. A leak in the storage shed ruined the backdrops for the tragedy “Let It Not Happen Here’. Like the Flower Society in Dale, one person knew another and he was asked to paint new linen frames the day before the presentation. The watercolor originals were soaked beyond recognition so the director told him what he needed and the Elf did his best. 

As one of the crew, he sat backstage watching folk fuss with costumes and face-paint. Reviews for both the Catanard and his scenery were mixed, but those who liked them had a frenzied bidding war after the show, bringing something under a nipper for the Prince’s Charity.

_____________--------_____________

The wedding finally arrived. Rain threatened but did not materialize. As an Elf, Nag Kath could stand still a long time but many in the congregation were shifting from one foot to the other trying to keep the blood flowing in their legs. Only the families in front sat.

It was done. All repaired to the Hall of Mariners, the biggest place in Dol Amroth not occupied by the Prince. Nag Kath presented the earrings to both brides and had already sketched portraits from memory, needing only Halita’s image to complete the four.

Weddings encourage romance. Talienne had a flock of young men hoping for a word. She was as polite as possible in deflecting their undying love and took refuge standing by the forbidding Uncle Nag. He mused, “I think your sister and cousin have made fine matches. You can see it in their eyes.”

“I think so too. Halita will also be mistress of her own home.”

“So I gathered.”

“Grandmother said you gave jewels to her mother at her wedding.”

The Elf stroked his chin, “Yes, like stones but much different sources. She gave them to her sister-in-law. I gave your great, great grandmother a blood red stone that I think Eniecia has now. She had very dark red hair. Women of the Thainholds, seldom wear jewelry out of modesty.”

Talienne grinned, “Not here.”

“I noticed. In the hard places of the world, you show your strength first. In the refined places, you show your position ... same thing in the end.”

A couple saw Talienne and walked over to say hello before realizing she was talking with her notorious uncle. It was Earmina and her new fellow. Nag Kath bowed and said, “Hello Mina. Stunning as always.”

“Hello, Nag Kath. May I present my husband, Boromath?”

They shook hands. It was not awkward. All agreed the brides were lovely, the ceremony was long and the wine was good. After a decent interval, the newlyweds excused themselves leaving Nag Kath and Talienne where they were. She asked, “Do you wish you had made that match, dearest uncle?”

He raised his eyebrow. That was a more womanly comment than he had heard leave her maidenly lips thus far. He watched them walk away and answered, “In a way, but I will be unsettled for a time. If you want the best for someone, sometimes you must let them fly.”

She said more philosophically, “That is not how the heroes of your story saw things.”

Nag Kath looked back at her and smiled, “Quite true. But they resolved they were the only possible mates for each other against dangers that make these Catanards look like a flower society.”

Talienne answered, “You were still the making of her reemergence. The way she looked on your arm brought acclaim she would not have gotten as a failed-man’s widow. What now?”

“You know, I was wrong about you. All the time I keep thinking of you like Eniecia, but inside you have the steel of Ardatha, daughter of the King. Kings and Thains run deep in your blood.”

She said, “Thank you. That doesn’t answer my question.”

I will be in the west for a while but then probably back to Khand. When I am done with that, maybe then I will love again.”

She murmured, “Yes, true love is worth waiting for.”

_____________--------_____________

He stayed the summer without falling in love. That gave him time to meet his scholars several times and regale them again with adventures in the land beyond the horizon and he could finally mention the mithril band. The scholars bent the ears of the Ambassadors any chance they got in exchange for news of the last two thousand years. Daughters of Dol Amroth thought the Numenoreans, as they could not escape being called, quite dashing. Nag Kath wondered if they would ever see home.

It wasn’t until he was ready to leave in October that the Swan Breeze pulled into the commercial harbor with a load of chandlery parts and steel, something Belfalas could not make. Nag Kath hurried to the port to find that Penandoth had sold the ship to Master Yeurgelli barely two months after they returned from Thân zîrân. He met an experienced woman of the Enta Sirith in Pelargir who was glad of his company year-round and decided his days on the sea were over. Nag Kath resolved to seek him and Athmandal on his way home, poor tidings for Nemren. He left his love and would miss them all. He would also write often to let Eniecia know her brother’s condition. Shur was a good correspondent but not forthcoming. Penni never wrote.

The day after they sailed, Nag Kath realized he left Orlo’s coin in his room at Cal and Eniecia’s. He would be back. 

Nemren enjoyed easy rollers better than breakers but was never quite at ease. With a prevailing breeze behind them, they made the Pelargir New Port dock two days early. Nag Kath took his same room and strolled the city. He visited Helien and Phylless, in cemeteries on either side of the delta. He also asked about Captain Penandoth near the troll head. Barnacles and mussels were starting to grow over the features but it was still called Troll Point. 

Penandoth and his little Marthie had a rather nice house for the district a couple rows up from the waterline. The Elf knocked and a mostly Khandian woman opened the door so he asked in that language if the Captain was taking callers.

She replied in the most ordinary of Westron, “You must be Nag Kath! Come in, follow me.” In a stronger voice, “Ronalt, you have a guest.”

It was early. He wandered out of the kitchen with the same sort of shirt and yawn Nag Kath had seen hundreds of times. His eyes focused and the man came over for a hearty handshake saying, “Bless me. I hope you aren’t here to go round the world again!”

“Wrong direction. Good to see you Ronalt.”

“Good to be seen! You must have heard I retired. Nag, this is Marthie. Marthie, Nag Kath. Lord Kath, I suppose.”

They sat and talked for a long time. Marthie was not excluded at all and stayed after bringing tea. He got an offer too good to pass for the ship after word was out it could handle strong seas at its small size. Someday he might get into some sort of business but he was in no hurry. He would be in even less hurry when Nag Kath handed him a large diamond as the last payment of their voyage. Like the Elf, he could probably keep it, but you never know. 

Before leaving, Nag Kath asked of Athmandal. “He is around here too, but most of the time he stays near his parents on the Telengaur mouth. Got himself a heavy lighter to bring fruit from Ithilien upriver. No girl yet, least, not that he’s said. If they don’t know where he is at the Good Luck Tavern, he’s somewhere in-between.”

Dal had just left Pelargir so Nag Kath hired a flat-hauler to take him across to the same river he cleansed before most here were born. The young man was not hard to find. It would not do until he was introduced to a large group of folk and family with a fine dinner to follow. His share of the voyage made Dal a big man in this little place. He shared the bounty without lording it over the citizens. 

The Elf stayed two days until enough fruit was purchased from upriver to make the trip and then returned to Pelargir with the crew. Nag Kath knew something of the currents in this stretch of water. They hadn’t changed. Dal heard about that several times and said a prayer every time he sailed that direction. They had a fine dinner in port too. When they parted, Dal discovered a diamond in his hand, something for the woman he would find someday.

_____________--------_____________

Nag Kath decided to take the road back to the City of the King. He had seen the first third of it coming and would add the lower part to the map he kept with different colored lines for various trips. 

As with the north, the road was in excellent condition and sporting a fair number of wagons. Towns and farms were growing along the way so if you sold things between the big cities, this was cheaper than sailing or rowing upstream. The trip was about forty leagues on a nearly straight road. Nag Kath stayed at inns conveniently spaced for riders for the first two nights and reached Minas Anchon the afternoon of the third. Nemren was favoring his left rear leg so his master applied some healing and balm with the idea of giving the horse another day to rest. This was a pleasant little town. No women invited themselves to watch him draw.

Early after their day of leisure, Nag Kath headed towards the capital. Reaching the fork to the King’s stud he turned up that way ten paces to inspect Nemren’s hoof away from an oncoming wagon. The horse seemed fine so he took one of Dal’s apples from the bag and was about to remount when a half-troop trotted his way from the north and asked his business.

“He’s been favoring that leg since Pelargir so I look to see if he has taken sufficient rest. How are you today, Corporal?”

“Well enough, sir. We just wanted to see if you were van to the company coming.”

“No, I make for the White City after a visit to Dol Amroth. It seems your guests approach now.”

A half-company of riders under the Steward’s pennant pulled up as the Captain’s van raised his fist. The local half-troop was at starched attention in their saddles when a voice from the company cried, “Lord Kath! You came all this way to see us!”

He led Nemren over a few feet to look before saying, “Nay Lord Elboron! I thought to sell a little fruit from Pelargir along the roadside.”

The Prince, Steward of Gondor, rode through his halted escort and smiled, “Bless me. You meet the most curious people. Are you coming to the King’s celebration? Last one of the year, I expect.”

“A surprise, sir. I am just back from Belfalas. Two of the youngsters in my brood were married in one fell-swoop.”

The Lord said more gravely, “Belfalas, eh?” He considered for a moment. “That is a Lossarnach nag or I’m a fool. Climb on and let us see if he remembers the way.”

For a place so close to Minas Tirith, Nag Kath had not been here in the near century of his life. The King and royal family repaired here at different times of the year, usually in alternating years when many went to Annúminas. Other nobles used it as well. The path to the farm started rising. The flats became foothills with a gentle roll and copses to either side, not eerie trees lining the Kingly road either. It was still another hour along the pleasant brook until they saw a much larger forest behind the sprawling horse farm. Different paddocks had colts and fillies running with their mothers. Older youngsters were being led around the circle for their first halter training. Stallions were well away. Other fields were not being used, likely groomed for advanced cavalry training.

The half-company rode into a circular drive, stopping at a stone mansion with the look of the highest-quality country inn. Elboron and his impromptu guest dismounted. One of the Lord’s aides would see to the master’s train. Nag Kath took his satchel leaving all else to the servants. They walked up the steps to open doors and bows.

A majordomo with a military bearing approached and said, “Welcome back, Lord Prince.”

“Afternoon, Willeigh. This is Lord Kath who is here as my guest. Can you find something for him?”

“I will see to that myself, sir. Wine at six, dinner at seven.”

Willeigh led the Elf up one flight of stairs to a row of rooms along a long balcony. Opening the door to the third he entered with Nag Kath behind and said, “I hope you enjoy your stay. Should I see to a man for your evening wear?”

“Tell truth, Mr. Willeigh, I am long on the road and you are seeing my best. I don’t suppose you have something in my size?”

The majordomo looked him up and down saying, “That should pose no difficulty, Lord Kath. Let me see what I can do. In the meanwhile, there are always cold foods in the annex just behind the main dining room for those on irregular schedules. Just ask anyone in livery for whatever you need.”

A curt bow and he was gone. Nag Kath flopped on the bed in his road-weary travel clothes. A moment later, an attendant hauled his heavy bag up. The man behind him had the bow, quiver and sword. Taking the manager’s suggestion he walked back down the stairs, not really sure where the dining room was, much less the annex behind it. Asking a maid got him a guided walk one corridor over. He had his fill.

No one said who else would be here except probably Aragorn himself. If the Steward was here, it was likely Eldarion was holding the fort upriver while preparing for his first wedding anniversary. Barahir? He would be with his da if he was coming. Arwen? She seemed to tolerate the false-Elf better these days. Perhaps the King’s daughters, though the little one would probably come by coach, not a problem on these tended roads.

Good as his word, a handman knocked half an hour after vittles with an armful of clothes. The fellow bowed and said, “I think we have something that will serve. You are about the same size as our Lord King.” He laid out not only better dress for dining but togs for swanning about the grounds during the day. 

_____________--------_____________

At the six-bell, Lord Kath went downstairs to join a crowd of about fifty people, most of whom had been here several days. Nag Kath knew a few. Grandthor, assistant of the Purse walked over with his wife Pelentira to shake hands . She looked a bit out of her element between trying not to stare, trip or eat anything that would get on that new dress. The men spoke for a while, giving her opportunities to contribute that went wanting. These functions seem to have internal bell when it is time to find new partners so they would talk again and moved along.

Mr. Foggs was cleaning his spectacles and didn’t recognize the Elf until they were back on. “Good evening, Mr. Kath. I know you like these horses.”

“I do sir. They have served me well.” Foggs was somehow associated with Kathen as a supplier or builder. He didn’t link Kath with the first part of that name. “Is Mrs. Foggs with us tonight?”

“Nah, couldn’t get her on a horse if the Easterlings were coming. Some of the women travel in carriages but she hardly takes man-carts.” The old boy grinned, “The missus will find something to do. Now, what brings you out here?”

“Pure chance, sir. I was riding home from Pelargir and pressed into service by Prince Elboron.”

Foggs chortled, “That is a fair summons with good company. Well, you had better meet your peers. I will see you at the meal.”

Other than the Steward, Nag Kath had exhausted his contacts. Waiters expertly weaved through the reception hall replacing goblets or mugs or carrying trays of finger-foods. The Elf had pale wine and nursed it the whole hour. Not long before the meal, he recognized Princess Millicend and what must be her fiancée; a man of the Purse. He approached and bowed before saying, “Excuse me, Your Ladyship. I am Nag Kath. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

Millicend tended on the stout side, a very human girl with freckles and a smile that warmed. She said, “Why yes, Lord Kath. May I present Gervaith Balthralas.” They shook hands. She wasn't appalled he was here, which boded well for the rest of her family.

Just before the hour, a herald announced the King. All bowed and Aragorn strode in to the room to say, “Hello and welcome to guests newly arrived. Please, let us take our meal.” He saw the tall Elf across the room and smiled.

With that, everyone trooped to the long-table. There were place-cards. Most folk returned to where they sat the previous night. Elboron was to the King’s left. The chair to his right was vacant. At another table, Nag Kath was between the long-retired Colonel Westfelling and the female half of the Ingrolls. He said hello to all as they sat.

Westfelling was a sharp old cove. After loaves were served he said, “Fine work with those Numenoreans, young man. Wish I’d have been with you.”

The Elf smiled, “My father-in-law said the same and he is only one hundred and seven.”

“I’ll tell you this for nothing; my daughter and granddaughters are clad in your heurzis. Fine undergarments they make.”

At the mention of ladies’ underwear, Mrs. Ingrolls looked like she smelled troll-breath. Her husband didn’t catch the Colonel’s remark and glanced at his wife knowing her delicate feathers had been ruffled once again. 

Unchastened, old Westfelling asked, “Long trip?”

“Just over a year with the return half again longer than the going. We saw heavy weather several times but the ship met the challenge.”

The Colonel tore off a piece of loaf with good teeth and said, “Sailed to Dol Amroth a few times.”

“I am just from there and was returning to the White City when I crossed Lord Elboron’s path. It wouldn’t do until I was brought in tow. A niece and nephew of mine were married this summer.” He called them nieces for the same reason he was Uncle Nag. People tripped over the number of ‘greats’ when he tried to be accurate.

“Good for them! I hope the young ladies were garbed in heurzis!”

Mrs. Ingrolls, who might be thirty-two, and wouldn't be hard to look at but for the lack of a smile, had listened to every word and was sure the old nuisance was the sort soldier that must be tolerated for service largely forgotten. Her husband had not trained as militia because of a slightly clubbed-foot and it had not interfered in his career at all, thank you very much!

_____________--------_____________

Nag Kath had heard a little about Lossarnach over the years. This was a plum invitation when lesser nobles were hosting and worth blood when any of the royals were here. Third-hand, the story was that it actually entailed to Aragorn’s daughters since everything else in the world passed to the heir. Millicend would probably spend some of her likely honeymoon at leisure here since it was only a jaunt from the seat of power. The little girl was home with her mother.

Lady Genistral across the table caught some of the conversation about Thân zîrân and asked of the courtly people there. They gave Nag Kath fully five minutes to describe their palace and ruler and preserved customs of the ancients. He did not quite get to pushing the King off a cliff. The battles on sea interested the Colonel who tried to imagine cavalry having to make the same maneuvers. Before he remembered it would violate his guideline to not be ancient himself, Nag Kath said, “Captain took her the way Rohirrim stretch the line until the enemy exposes their flank and then turn at speed.”

The old boy nodded and considered that carefully. Even Mr. Ingrolls seemed to enjoy the conversation that was giving his bride a splitting headache. She asked to retire rather than attend the evening gathering and he dutifully trooped after her, no doubt for an earful.

They adjourned to the same reception room where musicians played soft music. Wine and ale were still available but Nag Kath had a large mug of cold tea. It wasn’t long before people in front of him started bowing so the Elf turned and did the same as his liege approached. They shook hands and Aragorn said, “Welcome back, sir.”

He couldn’t say thanks for inviting him so he used, “It is lovely. I am sure I will enjoy myself.”

“Good. I need to speak to a few people but let us talk on the morrow.” With bows he was off to be quickly replaced by bows for Prince Elboron. The man said, “You clean-up well. Telling the story of southern lands?”

“Mine seem to be the dullest versions.”

“What of Belfalas?”

Oh, so this has gotten as far as da. Nag Kath would do his level best. “Two of Eniecia and Caladrion’s grandchildren were wed in August. It was a grand affair with bright futures in store. Three of the four are within two years of each other.”

“I have not been there in an age. My cousins came to visit when our Prince Eldarion was wed so now it is my turn.”

Nag Kath took a small chance, “But you send your heir among any number of his peers.”

“Aye, Alphros is ninety three, there abouts. Imrothil is the same age as me. You know the Prince is not doing well, though he has been that way quite some time.” 

“I only met him once sir, at the wedding of Elfwine. 

Elboron got to business, “Now, you have an extra lass of that land who writes Barahir fairy-tales. He is much taken with her, especially after her last letter.” Nag Kath hoped that was the same sort of nudge he gave Eniecia when she made her feelings known to Cal and won her man. The Prince continued, “I did not speak to her when the heir married. Is she a serious young woman?”

The Elf became lordlier and replied, “She is a vision. Bara would never regret a moment of her company. Do you recall the painting in the magistry-room two doors from your chambers on the seventh?”

“Certainly.”

“She is the Queen, reborn every few generations to live on in the best of marriages. You have but to gaze on that face for your answer.”

Prince Elboron considered that carefully and said, “I will take the long way home and look afresh when I leave here.” A concern; “She is not actually related to you?”

“By marriage only, sir.”

“I am here a week. Take your leisure and we will speak again.”

_____________--------_____________

Taking leisure was the order of the day in Lossarnach. As usual, the Elf was up before the nobility and sauntered around the grounds nearing the first frost of the year. This was not the breeding season so the stallions were behaving themselves. Mares to be bred in spring were with others just separated from their foals, and generally glad to be shot of them.

He walked into a palatial tack shed to see five grooms sitting in the straw playing Dukks. They froze like deer when the tall, stately Lord stood there watching. There was no time to hide the cards and pretend they were discussing harnesses. He smiled and put his finger alongside his nose before walking past a pair of silos letting onto pastureland. Nag Kath put a piece of long-grass between his teeth and sat on the top rail looking out over the grass. A few horses were out. Nobles don’t carry oats so they ignored him. 

There were no scheduled guest activities in Lossarnach. Other than the evening meal and socializing before and after, you did what you wanted. Businessmen who had lobbied for invitations met with those like them in this sanctuary. Women of the fifth did the same. There was genuine state business done here too since with as many as half of the standing Ministry or their seconds ensconced, often with representatives of the kingdom states and foreign lands. The place had lots of nooks and crannies that could fit any-sized discussion. It was the sixth-level with a horse-farm around it.

After the sun was full, Nag Kath walked back to the guest palace for a bowl of porridge and tea with some of the fruits coming up the Anduin. A young woman who sat at the King's table the night before didn’t seem associated with any man. He stole glances at her like everyone else. She was sitting in a wicker chair next to a small wooden table embroidering in one of the little rings that let craftswomen get at both sides. Nag Kath introduced himself and found she was Mrs. Peligrue, friend to Princess Milli. Excusing himself for interrupting, he broke his fast and went upstairs to take stock.

Prince Elboron had talked with him for five minutes, which seemed to go well. He could leave anytime except the King said they would have words today too. With no deals to do or shoulders to rub, Nag Kath explored. Walking around the other side of the guest area brought him to a ring of barracks where the escorts played their own Dukks. Past that was what must be the royal quarters. It was a long wing connected to the large rooms of his building and definitely not for casual tourists. Further on, pastureland stretched until the grass reached the forest. 

He nearly escaped. Walking back to the main hall at mid-morning, a group of the younger bucks saw him and one cried, “You, sir. We are off for an archery contest and need an eighth.”

In non-militia archery, teams were usually four men head-to-head or equally-sized teams in an elimination format. It really wasn’t fair that he would shoot with them; either aiming as well as he could or missing on purpose. He never heard the last of that in Dale. But these fellows were insistent; including the recently drafted Mr. Ingrolls who would sooner join them for a quilting-circle than listen to the good Mrs. Ingrolls rail against worm-wool panties.

The Elf said he would get his bow and join them.

He made eight so these would be two teams of four. He joined Lieutenant Scaldir of the Seventh Foot, Mr. Denefister in the roof-slate trade and Mr. Vernonbrad of no stated occupation. Ingrolls was pressed into service by the other team that was also short a man. Half took bows kept in the tack room by the card-playing grooms but his soldier and two of the lads opposite them had their own.

This tournament was set a month ago so it would not be fair for the substitute archers to join the wager, unless they did so willingly. Ingrolls was not an archer and walked with a slight limp. One bright spark on the other team announced in a patrician voice, “Here ye, we are gathered to settle issues of manhood in the realm of Gondor!” His fellows chuckled.

He looked over at the tall archer and said, “I apologize for dragging you against your will. It seems you have shot before. These fellows on the woeful Team Ithilan who caused you this embarrassment have a wager of one Gold Florin among them, sadly instigated by the absent Mr. Tucketh who cancelled his trip inexcusably late. The remaining three are responsible for his portion unless you are willing to accept it for your own.”

The Elf calculated, “So, a nipper to me?”

“Precisely, sir. May I ask your name?”

“I am Nag Kath.”

There were murmurs. He was recently famous again, including spitting pirates at long range, thought that was kept very dark because of the mithril band.

“And do you accept that wager for honor and glory, sir?”

“I do, but I have a condition.”

The murmuring stopped. “I will shoot, but my tally will count no better than the best of my group. I am an experienced archer and would not spoil your game.” His own lads didn’t seem concerned. They had fair opinions of themselves and no idea if he was any good when calling him to fill their team.

Hearing no dissent, the clarion archer declared, “Then Team Quelthan accepts and it is settled. Gentlemen, prepare yourselves.”

_____________--------_____________

Ages ranged from late twenties for the Lieutenant to perhaps forty for one of the men who brought his own bow. Nag Kath was ninety three. His smooth face looked about thirty but in the land of bearded men, most thought him younger.

Team Quelthan was the first to shoot at the round targets Sarn't Dedlan disparaged with the Dale trainees. It was about four feet across, pegged to straw bales the regulation forty paces away and sported a red center spot counting for five points, a black middle ring worth three and a yellow outer ring netting one. 

The first archer was the older fellow with his own bow, their expert, perhaps? All three of his arrows hit the target with one in each color for a tally of nine. His friends gave him lusty cheers. In Buhr Austar that would have earned a pint of red too. Next was Mr. Ingrolls. He was a bit sorry he accepted the offer to join, but how could this be worse than the dragon in linen underwear? He must have shot at some time in life and put one of his three arrows in the middle band for a score of three. The next fellow hit the middle band twice for six as did the team spokesman, bringing Team Quelthan to twenty-four.

Had his own Team Ithilan been playing for real money, and known they had Kath of the Celduin, they would have had the Elf shoot indifferently in the first flight and spit the center on the third. This was probably a trivial sum for this lot with more serious side bets on the quiet. 

After the handman pulled the arrows, their first man was Vernonbrad. His first shot missed by eight feet. The handman standing off to the side watched the arrow to collect it later. The next missed by less and the third almost hit the target. He smiled wanly and said he was just getting warm. Next was Nag Kath who put three in the center. That got him some stares but he had already taken himself out of the betting so he wasn’t a sharp.

Third was Denefister who sank three arrows in the outer band for three points, bringing their total to eighteen. The soldier needed six to tie and seven to win the first flight for Team Ithilan. The man missed his first arrow, hit center with the next and barely held the edge on the third to get his six and draw the flight. That was if Nag Kath’s counted full. Limited to his best teammate’s score, they limped-in at fifteen. It seemed his handicap only applied to the last flight.

Now this is where professional sharps earn their money. If there was one, it was the Lieutenant since he did the absolute minimum to stay tied with time to encourage manlier stakes when competitors might be punishing the spirits about now. Since no one pressed the bet, this seemed a friendly match.

Other guests walked out to watch, this being more interesting than sewing. They included Princess Millicend’s friend but not the formidable Mrs. Ingrolls ready to cheer her lord to victory! This time Team Ithilan shot first. Vernonbrad put an arrow in the middle band, almost in the red but the other two were well wide. Nag Kath thought the man’s bow was warped. They weren’t fighting Lings at the gate so he kept that to himself. The changeling put three more in the red. Denefister hit the outer edge twice and the Soldier put two in the middle band and one outside, a team tally of twenty-six. 

The drama was rising. A dozen other guests, some female, made way to the safety line. Before the handman cleared the target, the King of the Reunited Kingdom joined them with his daughter and her man. 

Team Quelthan flexed their muscles and scored thirty with poor Mr. Ingrolls hitting the center red to royal acclaim! They had taken the second flight! With a win or draw on the third, they would claim the title. Where people paid for their own liquor that was the second half of the wager, not including bragging-rights.

For team Ithilan; Vernonbrad hit the middle ring once for three. Nag Kath put his arrows the same place as his last ones. Denefister got hot with three arrows in the middle band so their true score was twenty seven but their handicap score was twenty one. None of the onlookers knew about the wager. It seemed if the Lieutenant could score but five points they would win. With the handicapped bet, he needed ten to bring Nag Kath’s floating score up from the nine he got matching Denefister’s nine. 

The first arrow hit the middle, three points. His second was barely in the red. If the third hit the middle ring or better, Team Ithilan brought home the wager. He hit the outer band. Team Ithilan won the event but Team Quelthan won the bet. For the bystanders, it didn’t matter and the archers didn’t seem to care either. Nag Kath handed his nipper to spokesman Mr. Cannups with a clap on the shoulder before receiving their due from admirers.

The big winner was Ingrolls. He put a hero’s arrow through the heart of the enemy in front of his Lord King. It made him wonder if he was better than everyone told him growing up. It also made him wonder if he really needed to marry above his station with the associated drawbacks. The next time Mrs. Ingrolls opened her mouth, he had opinions to share.

Unlike with many kings and lords from time immemorial, people knew not to follow Aragorn like ducklings. Nag Kath was unstringing his bow waiting for the handman to return the arrows when the King walked over and mused as he had long ago, “Did you fleece them?”

“I played a dead-hand so the other team faced no worse than our next best score.” He grinned, “Cost me a nipper.”

“You should shoot against Legolas! What news of Dol Amroth?” This was as private as they might get with the rest of the party heading back and royal guards well away.

“Two of the four children are married. The Ambassadors are living well. Oh, the bridge over the Celos needs the foundations bolstered, a gentle trip.”

The King said, “Come, let us have luncheon.”

As they walked back Nag Kath asked, “Sire, the Queen was much taken with the jewels. Is there more to that?”

“It was not of her folk, but the northern Elves had dealings with the Dwarves that did not go well. It might be of more moment to Legolas. I have not seen him since.”

Nag Kath thought a moment and offered, “It is all the same to me if you mention this or not. Frör cannot think this a secret.”

Aragorn stated with a hint or sorrow, “Frör has run out of Elves to keep secrets from.”

_____________--------_____________

Nag Kath joined Prince Elboron for tea that afternoon in one of the private areas dotting the complex. They did not say anything for a while. The man’s Principality and the happiness of his only son were intertwined. He would do as the Elf said and see the picture of Queen Nepthat with fresh eyes, but he had already made up his mind. His son asked his permission to ask the hand of the maiden of Dol Amroth and he would bless it. Men of their line had good heads for the women by their sides. 

This morning the unassuming Elf looked like a young man to the archers, but he looked the same as when Elboron still had groats in his ears. This was Kath of the Water who made plague-ridden Osgiliath the greatest city on earth the day he stood in the river and raised his hand to heaven. If he said the girl was a Princess, by the stars, she was! When he finally spoke, the Steward declared, “It is fortunate that our paths crossed, Nag Kath. That must have been meant. I believe such things. What comes next for you?”

“My grandson Shurran is poorly. I will return to the White City and stay there or close by for a time. Then I will seek the last of my old clues in far distant lands. Are the Elves all gone?”

“Yes. I sent a company there this summer. It is the fairest land in Middle-earth but the buildings are empty. The Elves asked a grace period. When it ends I will allow men to go there and live in the splendor our friends created. It makes me sad.” The Prince sat up straight, “But other things make me merry. I embrace them.”

_____________--------_____________

The Winter of 91/92 came early. In mid-November the first storm dropped nearly a two feet of snow on the seventh, half that on the first. It did not melt before the next storm coated it with ice. In Dale that would have been barely worse than average but here, people didn’t always lay-in firewood stocks with the same diligence. In mid-December the Anduin iced-over for a few days. Wolves were forced from the mountains into the river valleys. Ferries and barges stayed where they were. Messengers between Minas Tirith and Osgiliath cut through the crusted snow on the road for vital communications but there was no merchant traffic at all. 

By Syndolan the switchbacks were cleared, bakeries were baking and taverns with large stoves were popular again. There was no meat to be had unless you owned the chicken. Nag Kath usually kept a basket of his dubious Lembas at all times for travel. He would be the first to tell you there is nothing more pitiful than an old Northman having to eat Elf-bread for three days, unless it is one with an equally snowbound Elf making him wash it down with noisome tea. Shurran reveled in his misery and no one was going to take that from him.

They got another heavy snow in late January but to brighten the mood, it was announced that the Princess Millicend would marry Gervaith Balthralas, a gentleman of Minas Tirith on July 22nd. That was plenty of time to prepare locally and those in faraway lands may have gotten hints well before. 

By March snow gave way to the usual rain and the in first week of April, crocus flowers threw down the gauntlet to declare themselves for renewal. Ferries fighting the heavy spring melt delivered letters from everyone in Dol Amroth announcing the wedding of Talienne Ivandred to Lord Barahir of Ithilien. It would be on August 9th in Minas Tirith with a second ceremony in Emyn Arnen three days later.

Neither marriage would have the impact or international weight of Eldarion’s union, but they mattered. Millicend’s sons would be in line to the throne of the Reunited Kingdom. Barahir was heir to a hereditary Principality and the Stewardship of the Gondor. 

The impact in the Conath households of Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth was profound. Penni knitted in the last cold month furiously, her way of relieving tension. Shur even drank his tea. Herristar was crafting a ring of renown for Talienne and secured the commission for Millicend’s in the bargain. The Elf gave him the stones for both and a dozen more on account including one of the Traybors. All the little Conath and Panzier children were excited because they had small parts in the wedding. They were fitted for fine clothes with a little room to grow. 

Events did not fall so well for Shurran’s girl Fëuril. Her husband was not included in the largess surrounding either union. She trudged to her parent’s home with a black eye. The big Northman was ready to charge down to the third and tear the lout’s arms off, only he would have no wind when he got there and need a man-cart back up. 

Fëuril went from being hysterical to dead quiet. Something in one of Uncle Nag’s teas was so soothing that she passed-out on the couch. The Elf carried her to her old room and came down to his fuming grandson and careworn Penni.

Shur grumbled to the room, “Bloody Billich! Dja’see that shiner?”

Nag Kath put his stocking feet on the low table saying, “Caught her flush. I’ll go down and pay him to be somewhere else.”

If Penni clenched her fingers any harder they would break. Shurran cursing usually got him a glower but she did not hold him to account, so great was her anger. Worse than that, what Nag Kath proposed violated the sanctity of honored union, with his powers of persuasion, maybe fast. But Billich was a dougsh of the first water. There, she admitted it! She also knew her beloved husband was beside himself for not being able to protect his baby girl. A moment before the former second heir to the crown of Dale opened his mouth, she said, “Yes, let us have done with this.”

Shur had never thought of Nag Kath as an assassin. But the Elf wasn’t to be crossed by any man alive either. Shurran’s grandfather looked at him and demanded, “How much?”

“Not a groat over ten.”

Nag Kath walked out the door without looking back.

Less than a bell later, he was home. Hot tea was brought primarily so cook could hear what happened next. Nag Kath looked up at her and said evenly, “Thank you, dear woman.” She bowed and walked back to the kitchen.

Shur finally said, “Well?”

“I’ll have the papers drawn first thing. Will Fëuril sign of her own free-will? I won’t make her.”

Penni took charge, “Yes.”

Both males looked at her and knew that subject was closed. Nag Kath finished, I’ll go down to their house after the papers are drawn and he makes himself scarce. There are consequences for even being seen again.”

Penni was still incensed, “If he gives you any trouble, turn him into a toad!”

They looked at her again, cook and Mrs. Heurning from the kitchen door did too. The Elf mused, “Never tried that one. I think I made my point.”

He had. Penni took her nice hand mirror to Fëuril’s room that night so she could look at her eye in the morning. When Nag Kath returned from the notary, mother went upstairs again. Neither woman ever divulged the conversation, but Fëuril signed the papers of separation with a flourish. Lord Kath walked to the city magistry after porridge and dropped a man-cart full of names to get that through the clerks in record time.

The lout would be out the house in two days. Shur asked Nag what he owed and got a dirty look in answer. Fëuril moved in with her sister rather than be alone in their house and played I-see-you with her shy little niece. Penni still wished the sorcerer had turned Billich into a toad. 

_____________--------_____________

Heavy runoff that year caused a variety of illness in the growing communities above Osgiliath on the western bank. They always had good water but there hadn’t been people living in those lowlands for hundreds of years. One strain took the very old and very young. Nag Kath had a large tent hastily erected with beds for healing and stayed there three weeks to not come home after his daily service. The disease strangled bridge traffic since Minas Tirith didn’t want folk from either side of the river coming in. And since the disruption was on the Anórien side, neither did the citizens of Osgiliath. 

As is the nature of these poxes, it went from severe to gone in a few days. Folk of the northwestern settlement were almost used to their healer taking indelicately exposed baths in the upstream creek. Crisis over, Nag Kath slept for three straight days and then rode to the east side of the river. Tumlath hadn’t been sick with that particular aliment but something had gotten him. He retired to a life of care in his home with several attendants and a herd of grandchildren always on call to relieve his poor wife.

From there the changeling made Emyn Arnen and was received as a hero for his cares. The Prince and Princess were pleased. Angalica didn’t seem the least bit worried the way many mothers would. They had fine people, her luck had been exceptionally good over the years and her son had become the man she wanted ever so much. Elboron was actually preparing to visit Minas Tirith both as father and Steward in a few days. Perhaps Nag Kath could stay and return home with him? 

Nag Kath certainly could. The Prince said in a quiet moment, “I did as you said and went by the seventh after Lossarnach. A beauty, yes, but it was her serenity that struck me. If she is to be my daughter, I will count my blessings.

The Elf said softly, “When you are there again or I come back here, I will bring you portraits of the women in that line. Even better, I will copy them for Talienne. Then all you need is a picture of scowling old King Brand staring at you with dinner!”

Barahir had been south on his father’s behalf and returned to a large hug. A clean-shaven man, the fashion among heirs these days, he showed his own Dunedain heritage by seeming still in his twenties. The dinner conversation was mostly on matters of state and the coming announcement that the wonders of Emyn Vierald would be available to settlers, opening the forbidden Elf fief. Woodlands were still preserved but the farmland would not go fallow long, and they had clean water to take goods to the Great River. Nag Kath wondered if it was important enough for the Elf-keepers to watch.

After the meal, Barahir took Nag Kath aside. The Lorist was not as relaxed as his mother. Watching that-which-is and that-which-was is sometimes a conflict for those working both ends. The heir said, “I must choose for a time and I choose to serve my father without hesitation. He is hale and wise. I will continue to learn from him. In spare time, and there will be some, I can attend thoughts of history.”

“I think that wise, My Lord, and you may have help with the bookish side. Let me make a small recommendation …”

“You don’t make small recommendations.”

“Fair enough, before you open Emyn Vierald, take your bride there and stay in the home third from the end, two back from the near bridge. Live simply. Eat the pure foods of the land. Breathe the air as if for the first time. Do that whenever you need to have only one thing in mind, to bring you back to purpose. I’ll sketch a little map so you will know it.” He was sending them to the home where the Elf couple had joined so passionately for three weeks on end. It made a shambles of his own concentration but the newlyweds didn’t need to concentrate.

They saw each other often over the next two days. Typically father and son did not travel together since when Elboron was away from Ithilien, he was Steward and Barahir deputized as Prince. This was routine King’s business but they might do a little planning for both weddings. 

The evening before they left, Nag Kath spoke to Barahir, “Sir, I can’t give your bride a wedding ring but you can.” He handed him one of the large, perfect diamonds that Mr. Herristar mounted in silvered gold with tiny diamonds around it like stars about the moon. 

Barahir was no stranger to opulence but this was on an order of magnitude more than his experience. The heir shook his head and said, “This is … are you sure? I can’t imagine the cost.”

“Neither can I. I gave her sister and cousin earrings and that will be my gift, which means I’ll have to send those girls rings too. The youngest lass might marry sooner now.” He smiled. “I’m off with your da at light and will see you for Milli’s nuptials.”

Almost as if an after thought, “Folk of Dol Amroth will be here for that.” He winked and was gone.

_____________--------_____________

The template for weddings had been set with Eldarion but because of the crush at the smaller gates, the Lord Mayor decided that heralds with voices pure and strong would be positioned in the city to read from known stages of the ceremony after hearing a horn from the seventh. Men applied for the honor and sixteen were selected to proclaim prepared auguries as the ceremony progressed. If folk could not be there, they were still involved.

Almost the entire population of Minas Tirith and a goodly number of Rohirrim attended King Aragorn’s coronation but there were so many more people now. Osgiliath was even larger and a next-door neighbor. They could hear the horn and had a few criers of their own, one near Nag Kath’s Dunlending statue. Rohan bolstered their embassy including Prince Haldir. Dol Amroth would be well represented since most of their contingent was here for the second event too. Gimli did not travel as well as he did but sent his second-in-command with a letter and gifts from King Frör, who got out more than his da. All thought that good.

Millicend was very happy, but then, she was always happy. Her mother accepted that mannish peoples smile and grin. Her daughters were not allowed to frown like fishwives, though. There was such a thing as taking it too far. Milli never needed reminding but it was said the little girl had a stare to curdle milk.

Dignitaries started arriving in mid-July. Dwarves were first with the Arnor Lords and Mr. Proudfoot from the Shire and his family, who would become the new Ambassador, replacing dear old Mr. Denfeather. The Rohirrim rode in four days later. Next came Lord Imrothil of Dol Amroth with his older son Dalrothel. Same day but different ferry; the Ambassadors of Thân zîrân with the Governor of Lebennin’s contingent disembarked at the Rammas Gate and made their progress into the city.

The Conath and Libron families deployed the same way they had the last time in the large homes of Shurran and Nag Kath, the latter needing a good cleaning and staffing first. Lieutenants Menalgir Libron and Borond Zurowen with their stylish brides cut fine figures of Dol Amroth poise. A new generation was taking its place. And little Derissa Libron wasn’t so little anymore. Now sixteen, she was tall like her cousins and favored Raniece. Favoring either of those girls made her a future prize in the Dol Amroth field, especially since she would be cousin to the heir of Ithilien.

Eniecia was lovely but tired. This might be her last trip here. Cal aged slower but he would not come without her. The grandchildren could and would visit them. Shur seemed to know that too but it did not stop his excitement of the month. He had four grandkids of his own, and a potential daughter-bride now that poor Fëuril was single. The last might take longer than the other four unless she stopped moping. 

With nothing better to do with his rocks, Nag Kath gave very nice rings to his married nieces and a set of earrings to Derissa so she would not feel neglected. Bettes, Fëuril and Heuris got the same on Shurran’s side to even the scale. Herristar was doing well with just the Elf’s commissions. It might also slip-out where these gorgeous women had come by such elegant accessories if making Princess Millicend’s ring hadn’t.

_____________--------_____________

First came the royal wedding. It went fine with a fair sky and a breeze not strong enough to knock-over the temporary tents on the anvil. The horn idea worked except the bugler wasn’t loud enough the first time so the heralds were one station behind the actual ceremony. Subjects neither knew nor cared and the pubs did strong trade. 

At the reception, Nag Kath caught the men of Thân zîrân meeting with other ambassadors in a corner. They now had more confidence in how the game was played. A consortium of shipping magnates with offices in Pelargir and Dol Amroth would be taking two larger vessels and a harrier support to their lands next season with a variety of trade goods. The worm-wool was now a memory and they thought they could find strong buyers for another batch now knowing what colors and weights were popular in colder climes. Former Second Mate Kevland and his detailed charts earned him a Captaincy.

In the days that followed, the Conath, Libron and Princely families had dinner on the seventh. Shurran reluctantly took a man cart. Eniecia and Penni shared another. Legorn did not make this trip but sent his love and a poem he hoped would be read with his son’s strong voice. Prince Elboron was particularly struck by Eniecia. Now 73, she still had Mrs. Borenne’s timeless face, near enough to the one her granddaughter inherited from ladies long past. None of this would have happened if Nag Kath hadn’t seen that portrait ninety years before.

As threatened, Nag Kath brought a tube with him that had reproductions of Talienne’s line made from sketches kept over the years, including the women. Twelve pictures in all on the same size and color of paper. He thought he finally captured Eniece’s eyes. The humorous ending was a larger image of King Brand threatening Easterlings with his axe. It was just a sketch of the statue, less the pigeons’ contributions. He could have used Shurran from that age. 

One of the pictures was a seemingly unrelated sketch looking over the long lake from the north showing Esgaroth in flames. The Conath side knew it by heart. Nag Kath asked Shurran to explain to the Prince’s family. The Northman cleared his throat and said, “This, Lords, Ladies and friends, was the line of the shot our kin had on Smaug as the great dragon wheeled to finish his destruction of Lake Town.” The big fellow was dramatic using his hands like a Sayer in Catanard, engaging the youngsters. “Imagine; if you will, a monster coming right at you, perched on a high, frail tower.”

Shurran sat and was quiet. One of Barahir’s young cousins from Rohan asked, “And that was how the Dwarves returned?”

Shur answered, “Yes, and men to Dale. But, there was more than that.” He looked at Nag Kath.

The Elf stood and said in as near to his Elf Lord voice as he used with friends, “Yes, that is one of the pieces that brought us all here now. The terrible dragon was created by Melkor and may well have come to service with Sauron if called. With him over the Pelennor, things would have gone quite differently. But with the courage of men and Dwarves, Hobbits and Elves of good character, freedom was won.” He raised his goblet, “May those alliances never be forgotten.”

There were brave young soldiers in the room, ready to do their duty. But they had never heard just how close their world came to not being here, not in this way. They imagined how little contributions over many years tipped the scale. Not fifty paces away sat the King Ranger and Arwen. In this room sat the son and grandson of Faramir, defender of the Pelennor, husband of Éowyn who slew the terrible servant. People of Dol Amroth knew their own Prince had risked terrible odds to help gain this victory and then fight the Southrons more long years to secure the peace. 

Even Shurran and Penni’s little grandchildren took in the moment. Not long after that it was time to get them to bed and the dinner broke with more to do in the next few weeks.

With established quarters on both sides, the upcoming marriage was more like they both lived in the same town. The young couple met twice, the Prince and Princess had dinner with Field and Grenda. Newlyweds from Dol Amroth enjoyed the summer and rode the Pelennor. Lorandis Panzier stopped peeking through her hands at guests. The Conath grandchildren all had things to do and enjoyed the examples of their older cousins.

The wedding day was overcast and never brightened but did not rain either. The ceremony was held in the Provin Gallery on the sixth. It followed the pattern of both Gondor and Dol Amroth unions which meant on the long side with Sayers and pronouncements. Cal read his father’s poem, which was more dignified than many feared. Everyone had a good time, including Aragorn, Arwen and Eldarion. Millicend and her husband came too with little Inariel. 

The reception was in the same place with tables brought in, a bit of Rohan-style; that. Nag Kath moved among the groups introducing, cajoling and keeping folk from staying to their usual clusters. As it happened, he was talking with the newlyweds when the King and Queen approached. After bows, Talienne was introduced and was welcomed into the family. Eldarion considered Barahir his little brother and both couples spent time alone.

Towards the end, Nag Kath talked with the Dwarves a while. Someone had to drink all that red beer and they did notice the jewelry. The Elf thought similar designs might find their way to market from northern realms.

The Ivandred and Libron grandchildren and Derissa had never met actual Hobbits before. The noble folk of the Shire do not mind being appraised. With their quick wit and excellent manners, any party is a good party. Urandict was now five. The future Northman was still shorter.

The reception went on quite a while. A third round of finger-foods served as dinner for most before the young couple waved goodbye and retired to the Steward’s quarters one floor up. Elboron smiled at the Elf and they said goodnight.

_____________--------_____________

Things settled down quickly after two large weddings in three weeks. Northerners went home first. The Prince’s family returned to Emyn Arnen for a private ceremony with only a few of the Dol Amroth group that returned the next day. Cal and Eniecia stayed in the White City with the married cousins except Raniece and Borond. Nag Kath stayed home as well.

Mr. Herristar received a number of inquiries about his work. Surprisingly, many were secondary referrals from those of Khand and better-heeled Haradrim, who didn’t have cultural prohibitions against displaying wealth. He added two craftsmen, one a longbeard, and spent his time largely in the front of the store dealing with his demanding clientele.

It was finally time for family to return to Belfalas. Shur and Eniecia spent a lot of time alone. They couldn’t be sure but this was probably the last time they would see each other. As long trips in Middle-earth go, the voyage between the two capitals was not grueling. But they were in their seventies now and time marches on.

Nag Kath waved goodbye as the ferry left the dock.

A week later, militia training started. In Ithilien, Lord Barahir was excused from most of his responsibilities as training master. That is Sergeants’ business anyway. Nag Kath went to all four Gondor weeks, shooting, riding and got his old job back showing youngsters how to use the bow. Reyaldar’s son Fieldar, now 12, was the oldest of Shurran’s grandchildren and had been consistently stronger than his age-group for five years. The Elf took special time with him and a few other lads who liked shooting to work on breathing, sighting and clearing one’s head. Even with a tight age-range, arm strength matters a great deal because hitting something far away depends on the tension of the weapon. A tighter pull means less arc. Archers have to compensate and learn to trust their training. Their group of five called themselves the Men of the Tower and would be friends for life.

The big news of the fall was that Prince Eldarion and Princess Aranthal were expecting a child, April, perhaps. If the heir’s birth did not assuage concerns the Reunited King was but one man, this put them to rest. Of course, they might have eight girls, but with pregnancy, fertility was proven.

Nag Kath was at liberty. He went to the archives from time to time. He visited Simlieo Panzier’s wheelwright shop and learned to spoke-shave. The man was a bit overwhelmed at being suddenly almost royalty for a few weeks. He and Bettes lived quietly with their sweet children over his shop on the second. Uncle Nag mentioned when business was slack, he might ask if fletchers needed straight arrow shafts made for them.

Fëuril was still there. She never really trusted old Uncle Nag. The woman was polite, respecting his position, but she was glad when he left. Having a sorcerer in the family was simply not done. It did not help that her Billich disappeared after taking all but the paint on the walls. That reduced the chances he was a toad, but if even a quarter of the stories were true, Uncle Nag would have applied both carrot and stick.

Reyaldar was a Northman like his da. Thinner and not as tall, he was still a couple inches over the average Gondoran with a bushy beard of the Buhrs. He ran the property side of things here which wasn’t as busy as in Osgiliath since they only bought existing buildings. Trumfred mostly built new structures where old ones collapsed from years of neglect. Rey, as most called him, and wife Heuris were always glad to welcome the Elf and made a point of getting the Telandrin sold by the Khandians on the first. From Nag Kath she learned a few of their phrases which always seemed to amaze the vendors.

As the trees turned colors, Nag Kath was invited to Emyn Arnen to visit his kin. It was a pleasant visit. Barahir did indeed take his wife to the Elvish village and stayed in the cottage almost a week, deciding to keep it for their own. They were very happy together and had more in common than youth and desire. She scoured their fine collection of volumes making notes and investigating things they discussed. Both pumped the Elf with questions about the White City archives. Faramir was said to take an interest in those as well. Barahir took oversight of building in the fief, most cavalry preparations and encouraging farmers there and nearby Gondor to consider futures in Emyn Vierald. Nag Kath kissed them both, chided the Prince for not hanging the picture of fierce Brand over his bed and was off. If hung over the privy, it would not make efforts there any more relaxing either.

Winter came late this year after a long, pleasant autumn. It was cold but did not rain or snow much. Syndolan rockets had gone out of fashion. Living at Shurran’s, Nag Kath did not have a party, being chronically short of Hobbits already, so the year FO 93 came in quietly.

_____________--------_____________

The Elf intended to stay close to Shurran for the time the man had without being a nuisance or acting like he was waiting to do something better. One project seemed worthy. On a cold, sunny day, he rode to Osgiliath to get outdoor paint intending to restore Master Quastille’s fresco near the patio on the seventh. It was good he remembered it because most of the original blues and reds were gone and the other colors in sad repair. 

That location is out of view of the palace because of the window angles so few came by to look. Princess Milli liked to visit when her husband was beetling over the nation’s funds. Sometimes she would come alone and they would talk while he sat on the ground or a stool scraping the old and applying the new. The woman claimed not to have an artistic bone in her body but liked watching the Elf work, sometimes bringing a flagon of tea.

The rest of the royal family came by separately to look. Arwen stayed once for a few minutes. He wondered if she remembered the great Elvish sculptors who made Rivendell and Lorien so splendid at their zenith. 

The painting was finished about the time Princess Aranthal went into her confinement. Nag Kath was not asked to attend her but she was a healthy woman from a long line of sturdy Arnorans. Right on schedule, horns were sounded and pennants flown proclaiming she had presented her Lord Husband with a healthy baby girl. They named her Anairë after a queen of Arwen’s line. 

Not to be outdone, they received a letter that Halita Libron was due in the Autumn. Eniecia was going to be a great granna. Two months later, Raniece was with child. It was getting hard to keep track. If the romantic Elf cottage worked its charms, there might be tidings from Emyn Arnen. 

The year came and went with babies bringing renewal to the land. With no real part in that, Nag Kath started a more ambitious project of restoring the Fellowship mural. The top of it was in good condition but children often dragged sticks when they walked along the wall scraping a wide stripe across the Hobbits’ faces. That was a worthwhile project. Between that and occasional healing, it was Syndolan again. 

Just after year 94 started, it was announced that both Princess Millicend and Lady Talienne were expecting. Nag Kath rode to Emyn Arnen to see his great, great granddaughter. She was not showing yet but sick so he knew to bring the right herbs. Childbearing potions are not as foul as healing mixtures and she vowed to drink them dutifully. In payment for his attentions, the young couple with his parents had the Elf recite the ballad of Luthien and Beren, as he had in Dol Amroth on that fateful night. He said it a touch softer this time to suit the mood of snowflakes falling outside. A few less-tragic Elf-keeper stories made their way out as well.

Ice on snow trapped him in Osgiliath for almost a week but it was worth the trip. Fred was holding court in his warm home for dinners and Nag Kath stayed at the Great River. An attractive woman gave him a competitive arched eyebrow but before he decided to follow, a gentleman escorted her to dinner. He grinned to the curiosity of the waiters because he was still not entirely Elf yet.

Spring was mild with no flooding or fevers and it lazily unfolded into a lovely summer. With time on his hands, Nag Kath decided to restore the garden mural on the first level. For inspiration, he took his easel and paints to the sixth and strolled to the far north side. His first visit was with Flor on Syndolan Day when she described her father bringing the family. This was only the third time he had seen this garden in bloom. Other times had been early or late with at best a few petals left. 

He drew the study sketch roughly, knowing the flowers would be done freehand in paint. The branches and stalks came first in greens and tans. As Nag Kath was mixing the reds, a governess trotted behind a boisterous little girl who wanted to see everything at once. She dashed to perhaps twenty feet away and knelt to pull up a sock that had slid to her ankle. Rising, she gave him a fierce stare before asking, “What’s that?”

“I am painting the garden, My Lady.”

“Can I look?”

“Of course, though you will have to come here and see it from this direction.”

Under the watchful eyes of the governess, the child walked next to him and looked back and forth between the sketch and the garden. “There are no flowers.”

He said cheerfully, “Haven’t gotten to them yet. First I have to color-in the stems, like this.” He followed the faint pencil lines with the brown brush, dabbing it on the palate every so often to recharge the bristles. Nag Kath handed her the brush and said, “Now, you try.”

Princess Inariel closed one eye and dragged the brush along one of the lines. With too much pressure it left a blob where it hit and ran dry after two inches. 

Nag Kath said, “Very good. Now, stab it back in the paint and keep going.”

She did. The line was neither straight nor even, but it was a line. The child smiled and called to her governess, “Miss Kurtish, come and see.” The woman approached with a small bow to the Lord and approved her charge’s handiwork.

The White City’s newest artist pronounced, “Brown is well enough, but flowers are pretty colors!”

“Indeed they are, young lady. Let us try those!” Nag Kath wiped the brown off the tip knowing the work was past saving and twirled it in the blue. He touched petals around what would be a nastirum flower and gave Inariel the brush saying, “Now it is your turn.”

She used the same forceful technique to make blotches above some of the stems before saying, “I think red flowers are my favorites!”

“Then red it shall be, your Highness!” A new, larger brush yielded half-inch smears on the canvas, her hands and later her smock where she wiped her hands. 

Undeterred, the girl said proudly, “There, it is a proper garden!”

“Now you must sign it. Can your Ladyship write her name?”

Reloading the same red brush, she scrawled her princely signature across almost the entire bottom of the small canvas. Her instructor advised, “You must let it dry for another week. Then it will be fit to show in the Provin!”

Princess Inariel said importantly, “Yes, unless mother wants it.”

Nag Kath took it off the easel with a cloth so the governess wouldn’t stain her hands and whispered, “Distilled pine essence will clean her up.” The woman bowed in time to race after her charge heading for the diplomatic row.

For the project itself he hired a pair of painters and showed them how to mix the outdoor blends. The Elf found the original grid squares and organized the scaffolding. Elmer and Elmand Urttenbrand did most of the sky and ground and chiseled all of the old yellows up. It took a month but was again a marvel after long years of neglect. 

_____________--------_____________

F.O. 95 was a year of quiet. Nag Kath spent time in scholarship, painting and keeping up with grandchildren through Eniecia’s frequent letters. Legorn Ivandred was ageless, still walking in good weather and always enjoying the music of Dol Amroth. Fortunately, several of his friends were as old as him so they didn’t have to bore their youngsters with the same tales. 

There were babies that summer. Princess Millicend and Lady Talienne presented their husbands with healthy sons. Nag Kath rode Nemren to visit Emyn Arnen and the growing number of people he knew. Sure all were well, he stayed three days and continued to the Elf village for the first time since tracing bad water. When it was opened to non-Elves, people wasted no time staking claims to the fertile soil and tended fields. 

People knew who Kath of the Water was here. He asked a farmer to plant some of the Coloma pips he brought from Thân zîrân. That had not sprouted anywhere else. He remembered in the Red Book that Samwise Gamgee was given Elvish soil to nurture the finest plants. Perhaps this ground had the same magic.

The year F.O. 96 came in with a miserable storm and high winds. Several roofs in large buildings collapsed. No one was hurt but there would be no fixing them until spring with all the damage elements would do to the inside. 

About when everyone was sure it would be like this forever, they had a warm spell in February, enough that one could do a few chores outside of the home. Shurran decided he wanted a trellis near the door that caught the afternoon sun so he could plant climbing flowers. Penni had the seeds and one of the workmen for Kathen made a bent-wood frame. Shur set about putting it in a shallow hole and tying the slats to the porch supports. That all went well but his boots were covered in mud so he slipped them off and went inside in his stocking feet for tea. 

Shur usually wore slippers in the house and for a couple days forgot leaving his boots next to the door. They would be dry now so he could just knock the dirt off on the slates. Errand accomplished, he started climbing the two stairs back inside.

He only made the first. Cook found him leaned against the door when she got back with dinner fixings. 

Penni was a statue. She felt this was coming, feared it for years. Now she could only wring her hands except to wipe tears away. Her family gathered around her. Fëuril helped with cooking and looking after nieces while her sister did the same. Even Urandict knew grand-da was gone. 

In a quiet moment the next day, Nag Kath let himself cry for a long time. The big Northman! The little boy in the Buhrs, sitting with the old Thain. Imagining the dragon swooping in, marveling at Radagast. Apart from his wives, Shur was the best friend Nag Kath ever had, in the way real people have friends. Knowing this was coming, Penni already had plans to move in with Reyaldar and Heuris. There was not much she had to do. One day later, the last grandson of Brand was laid to rest.

Nag Kath was the writer in the family. He dashed off a note to Talienne and another to the Thain of Buhr Austar. He could not bear to write the next one. He had to go to Dol Amroth. After arranging for Fieldar to ride Nemren and spoil him with carrots, the Elf took the Fair Weather to Pelargir and immediately boarded the first seaworthy ship to the Commercial Harbor.

_____________--------_____________

Eniecia opened the door herself and nearly fainted. There could only be one reason he was here unannounced at this time of year. Captain Ivandred padded up soon enough to brace her. Cal was out having tea with fellow retirees but that never went as long as lunch.

Taking his granddaughter to the couch, Nag Kath looked closely in her eyes to be sure she was not in shock. She wasn’t. After a few moments, she focused and asked, “Was it time?”

“Aye, dear girl. His heart failed, same as the Thain.”

She murmured, “Same as da.”

She and Legorn had just finished tea but more was steeped and brought for the traveler. No one spoke for the longest time. Finally, Eniecia said more firmly, “Thank you for coming. This was better than a letter, even if a long way to go.” She looked at Mrs. Vunning waiting by the kitchen door, “Please prepare his room and see to his washing, that’s a good girl.”

Legorn rose and said, “I need to move a few things. Still good to see you, Nag.”

The Elf said, “Penni is moving in with Reyaldar.”

Eniece replied, “I knew that was in store. They had a lot of time to prepare. How is everyone?”

“Taking it hard, me worst of all.”

“You knew him before I did. I can’t imagine that. Like mother, he had two fine fathers.”

Nag Kath said, “Everyone is gathering around. He taught them well. They will manage. How are the bairns here?”

“Both well, and their mothers. Boy and two girls with Halita’s new baby. The girls take after their das. You’ll see them in a day or two.” She began to cry softly. He said nothing. Neither did Legorn when he returned, but he did sit down in case his dear daughter needed him. 

All three were still sitting there when Cal came in. Seeing Nag’s travel bag he said, “Hey ho, company!”

Turning the corner into the great room he knew why. The man sat next to his wife and put his arm over her shoulder. He knew better than to say anything too. When lunch was ready, Eniecia gave her Cal a kiss and then her grandfather. Legorn got his too. 

That evening when the shock was over, the four of them talked about the old times. Those included Cal’s mother and the curious circumstances that had her waiting to be swept off her feet by the southern Marine. Legorn did not talk about her much. 

When the Ivandreds retired; Nag Kath stayed on the couch and watched the moon. Moons near the sea are different. They shimmer, like deserts sometimes. When waking rest brought no peace, he watched the moon. 

The moon gave him answers. Eniece was old but not feeble. It was time for him to find the more pieces of Orlo’s puzzle. Angmar seemed quiet, at least, no one was in a hurry to see what was in that nasty crescent. The coin in a drawer somewhere had those unexplained punches in the back. Nag Kath couldn’t dignify his curiosity as a noble quest but it had certainly yielded noble results. He would have another look when things settled.

Eniecia didn’t sent word to the family knowing Callistra and Derissa were coming in the morning for tea and to get belustra seeds for their garden. It took women from Dale to grow them correctly. They just opened the door and saw Nag Kath sitting on the couch. He looked over and said, “Good morning, ladies. I know Eniecia is expecting you.” With that he walked over and gave them both a kiss.

Callistra loved Shurran Conath for the same reasons everyone else did. Compared to the controlled society of Dol Amroth, the big Northman never took himself too seriously. The subdued Elf’s presence could only mean the same thing her mother knew. She let Nag Kath say it, “I’m sorry Calli, Rissa, we lost your Uncle Shur.”

Both women sat where Nag Kath had been sitting. They didn’t cry. Calli could cry later. Derissa hardly knew him but he was grand old fellow and knew he was loved. She was quiet and looked at Uncle Nag. Eniecia and Cal came out together and could tell from the long faces that the news was out. Nag Kath and Legorn decided that they could be somewhere else and went for local nuppers and tea. Cal stayed but wasn’t going to say much.

They got by. None of this branch of the family remembered him as any other than the bear of a man who was always in good humor when they saw him over long intervals. The two new families had babes to tend with their men away as little as they could manage without dereliction of duty. 

They were home more often than they used to be. The naval and marine tactics were changing under their feet. The high Lord of Umbar, whoever he was, got wind that there would be merchant traffic past his front door with the deep Numenoreans and chose to participate rather than filch around the edges. They were the perfect harbor on the long trip. Their own navy let pirates know that occupation had no future and set a few examples for emphasis.

That was all to the good unless your career was making pirates behave. Sailing in circles around the mud flats of the Ethir Anduin was losing heroic appeal. They had to do it, just not as much and not as often. Corsairs still had unlimited manpower, but if Umbar shipyards were now being discouraged from making attack vessels, ship stock would only last until worms ate the planks. Spies in Umbar were better too, some of Cal’s doing. Like the rest of Middle-earth learned two generations before, they had run out of war.

Shurran joining his esteemed ancestors meant more storytelling for Nag Kath. With older children he removed some of the humor inserted to not frighten children. He had lost men in his command, as had the kin of the young people gathered round. Legorn recalled ships go down on both sides, being able to do nothing for men in the water. It brought home just how insulated the Principality was since they hadn’t been attacked since before the War of the Ring.

Dol Amroth was also running out of space. Fertile Princes going back many generations had created longs lists of counts and Lords and favored children with a government the size of a country on a small island. Past the first tier of heirs, nobles of means had started visiting and sometimes even living at their country holdings. It was better to be a gentleman squire growing grapes than the third son of a second son with an apartment and a dwindling piece of the Privy Purse. Cash was good now, but a few bad years might find them on the thin end of the dole.

Spring became summer. The toddlers were walking and talking. Their mothers often traded places so the other could get away with her handsome husband. Mothers were a bit leery of Uncle Nag so he was not asked for baby-minding. That took a turn when Halita’s little daughter Siorscia had a gut blockage and was running a fever at a time when no one else was sick. Herbs and remedies had no effect. Nag Kath seldom talked about his exploits but the family had all heard second-hand accounts of daring-do. Eniecia told them he had also magically pulled dozens of river fevers a day on the banks of the Anduin. 

The Elf returned home after fishing and found a deputation of desperate Ivandreds on his porch who promptly took him to Halita’s. Halita liked the Elf but he was otherworldly and this was her child. Nag Kath held the howling eleven-month old Siorscia close and said, “Upset tummy, eh? Let us have a look.”

He put the child on her blanket and lifted her smock. With genuine horror, the youngsters watched him run his silver hand over the baby’s belly until her flesh turned yellow! What monstrous devilry was this?! The child was wailing and mother was on the verge of panic when the infant burped like an orc and stopped crying. Then Uncle Nag said routinely, “You might try a touch of feiruc root with her porridge.”

She did. It worked. But what the … ?

He fished, painted, sailed a little, occasionally met members of the Swan Breeze crew and his scholars. Khandrash was over several times to talk about inland Belfalas. The Elf had a better feel for both it and Lebennin from the cross country trip a few years ago. 

Catanard season was fun. One of the six was new, well, new for this theater which was when a writer knew he or she had made the top. Those were sometimes more thinly attended than the known crowd-pleasers but it was entertaining. Players wore huerzis costumes! Callistra could not resist having unattached females join them. Uncle Nag was nice but did not follow-up.

For some reason, Nag Kath was restless as autumn approached. Things were fine here. He could stay forever. He remembered Orlo’s coin in the chest of drawers. Mrs. Vunning thought it queer that the tall man sat at the table studying a copper fiver for hours at a time. In frustration he spun the coin on the plank. At the speed only he could have spun it, he saw the pattern. To be sure, he spun it five more times.

Nag Kath remembered Gandalf when the Uruk formulas were revealed. The wizard closed his eyes and let it all fall away. Those punch marks on the back weren’t letters or ancient code or a constellation of stars. In spinning they were the four huts of the oval compound where he met Orlo. It was right where he was bloody standing with the man! Another illusion in plain sight; for those of wit. But it was a ruin! Was the issue what it had been? Was it the key to the next clue? What mattered was where. He would have to discover all else as it presented itself.


	46. Scholarship

** _Chapter 46_ **

** _Scholarship_ **

It was time to go. Eniecia cried. Her grand-da was going to a strange and dangerous land again after having been here for half of the last fifty years. She knew he must, and she wished he could always be with her. He gave his love to everyone and was off on the Cloud Stream to Pelargir. This time he honored Phylless and Helien before taking the ferry north. 

Nemren was ten or eleven with good years left. He was Lossarnach, which put him a step ahead of whoever was chasing. Nag Kath traveled light. He had clothes, foul-weather gear, weapons, a month’s worth of a fair Lembas copy and money, some in his pocket, some sewn into his saddle pad. There were diamonds too. Full and empty water skins were ready for dry crossings. He always had his art tube.

Reyaldar said he would mind the store. Tumfred said the same on his way out. Secret things were hidden. There was no reason to look back. Nag Kath followed the same path he did with returning Chûr to Khand until veering up the side of the Rhûn. The western men were the same, trying to bring in the grapes for their fine Dorwinion wines. The Elf did not stop to relive old battles until he reached Riavod. He was just another traveler.

Vegad Druhamel would know the pulse of Northern Rhûn as well as anyone, certainly as well as anyone who was likely to tell him. Asking in the better Easterling districts in three languages would find him if he was still alive. Nag Kath took rooms as Solvanth at the Sea Breeze Inn. Not much changed in sixty-three years. He sat in one of the rocking chairs facing the water.

The next morning a young man very like Vegad had been before the Battle of Celduin asked for him at the desk. The clerk said he was on the sea porch. The fellow knew better than to walk through the inn and circled around in the sand.

“Your pardon, best of sirs.” It was said in good common-speech. “I was hoping you might be interested in a small charm, certain to bring the best of all possible luck.”

Nag Kath put his sketchbook down and considered that, “I am always interested in the best of luck. Your charm must be potent indeed.”

“Certainly, very reliable.”

“It takes one with luck to transfer luck. Do you know such a person?”

“Several, best of sirs. Do you seek one in particular?”

The Elf switched to Rhûnic, “One must be very discerning, on both sides of the transaction. Would not a wise man agree?”

“I am sure he would.”

“In the event you know such a man, please tell him Nag Kath has come to take the breezes of Riavod once more. The wise man can decide which way those breezes blow.”

The fellow rose and bowed saying, “Should I meet such an esteemed person, I will tell him just that.” 

The old man was sitting near the source of his fortune in the sand by the water’s edge. What was left of his hair was white. Vegad never had much of a beard. Nag Kath sat next to him and gazed at the gray water, “Thank you for coming, old friend.”

“How is it you never aged?”

“Eating my greens.”

The man replied, “Then I shall follow your example. I hope your life has been good.”

“I have to say so. I have flocks of great grandchildren who are having babies of their own. I count my self fortunate.”

Vegad said, “I have a few myself, though not so old. You met one. How is it I can help?”

“I am following cold trails, starting in the uncertain capital of Kugavod.”

Kugavod was the winter capital of the Rhûn nation. Bror Hughlan would probably be back there by now. Western relations with this vast country had never been completely smooth. After diplomacy when Nag Kath and Vegad first met, affairs were better, but every third, hurried generation, for reasons they could not explain themselves, the rulers of this land decided they needed to invest the Brown Lands. Aragorn had to assemble an army fifty years ago. The local Dorwinion forces with help from Rohirrim auxiliaries and Dalish militias killed the last probe-in-strength to a man.

Vegad began softly, “Uncertain, yes, but better than fair. This year’s harvest was good, on both sides of the land.” That mattered because the more warlike clans were on the western side, closest to here and Dale. The two Easterling factions only shared when there was plenty and the more traditional elite had the better land. 

Vegad was thoughtful, “Hughlan is old. They like their comfort when they get old. His half-brother tried to raise a force to retake the lands south of the sea until he walked into a knife. I count the merchants. This season saw fewer than usual but more than last.”

Nag Kath held his chin, “Any trouble with the soldiers demanding more than their due?”

“Of course. But only the small troops away from Kugavad. Once you are close, you still need cause and to grease a few palms. Coming back they leave you alone because you carry things the Bror wants sold. So; no different than ever.”

“How is this new Bror fixed for horses?”

“He has a few, but they are not waiting for someone to take them. We see them here occasionally. Every time they have too many horses, they get killed.”

“I know.”

Vegad looked at the small waves lapping the small stones. “I am glad I do not oppose you.”

Nag Kath said, “There is one more thing you can help me with. If I need to make an arrangement with the old Bror, what does he want most?”

Druhamel thought a moment and said, “He is greedy, but they all are. He has four sons of three women. The oldest is said to be arrogant and slow-of-wit, ideal for some Brors, not so good for others. The third has support in the countryside. I hear Hughlan wishes that would go away, that he would live forever to keep them from fighting over his body. Not even you can cure that.”

The Elf watched the same little waves, “Yes, that is beyond my powers. I follow the prophet’s clues. They take me that way again. Tell me, Vegad, do you think the Bror would be interested in one of these?”

Nag Kath took a diamond from his pocket and handed it to the clever trader.

The old man’s eyes were still good enough to see what it was. He smiled, “I am certain of it. Men of those lands have always been poor. When they are poor and angry, they take.” Vegad began to hand it back.

“Why don’t you keep that one for me, old friend? Your grandson agreed wise men consider things carefully.”

“You exceed yourself, best of sirs.”

“It is my good fortune.”

__________-----___________

The old workman left the back palace gate early today. Tall for their kind, long years of toil had stooped him with a noticeable limp, eyes fixed on the dirt under his every step. He carried a small shovel and broom with a water skin and a bag of fried fish and potatoes over his shoulder. No one noticed. No one cared. Every hundred paces he would rest and shift the tools, sometimes taking a sip of water. The compound was not the direction Kugavad was growing, not that it grew much in any direction. Kelepar was where one made his name these days. 

Now, what was he looking for? With nobody near, he walked upright, slowly circling the oval from the inside out with his palms down, hoping to feel something that shouldn’t be there. Two hours yielded nothing. He paid special attention to where the imaginary gardener tended the imaginary garden, just dirt and hardy weeds. 

With a deep sigh, he climbed the most stable-looking wall and sat on the edge hoping a change of angle would instruct. What was this place? It seemed like a course where the Wain Riders were said to race chariots except it was a quarter of that size and had no seats. And those four little huts around the rim would have protruded on the track. 

He climbed down and carried the tools to his own hut, the best of the four with the remnants of wooden top-sills. Nothing sinister here. There were slate shards scattered in the dirt. He walked to the eastern hut. It had a slate floor at one time too. Perhaps the originals were ‘borrowed’ for projects elsewhere.

Anyone the Bror had spying would report he was quite mad. The Elf scooped the dirt floor inside his hut until he hit stone about six inches down. This also had a hard floor but it was now just bits of the same dull slate around the edges and soft dirt in the middle.

In for a groat, in for a Florin. He walked to the short dimension across the compound and started digging in Orlo’s hut, the worst of the four with three bare walls just above head-height. It had a floor too, only this one went all the way across. The hut was only about eight feet square but it still took half a bell to shovel half a foot of hard dirt off the middle. 

Orlo, you clever man!

Nag Kath collected the broom and a water sack. He brushed the floor as bare as it he could to discover a circle inlaid in the middle about three feet across with the three symbols of Orlo face down, only not covered with the originals like the Pelargir temple. As he poured water over the slates, black and green tendrils of malice snaked into the air. There was a small cartouche fitted in the grout. The Elf cleaned that thoroughly and copied it in his notebook before gently prying it up, the whole time thinking; ‘couldn’t you have just told me?!’ 

No, he wasn’t ready then. It took this long for a reason. The cartouche symbol was new and did not combine elements he had seen before. No demons crawled out. Hopefully the Ghurates would know more. 

After a long drink and several bites of Lembas, he took the shovel to the fourth hut. That floor had been torn apart too, probably from the bottom up. The last piece of business was to dump the dirt back on Orlo’s floor including some slate chips from the other huts. Nag Kath left the shovel and broom against a workman’s fence on the way back to town.

__________------__________

The original plan was to bribe the Bror for whatever he couldn’t sneak out. There was no sneaking this. Nag Kath would leave quietly, but now he needed to tell the retreats to keep one more eye on the crude mosaic, and anyone who seemed interested.

The road to Kelepar was the same. This was the breadbasket of the Rhûn with fertile fields stretching until useful forests started with clean water on most of the northeast corner of the lake. The horse farms looked the same too but the horses were a bit less hairy. People stared at his. They stared at him. He saw three half-troops, their standard patrol formation of six headed by a corporal. All three asked his business. One Corporal got shirty and forgot his name for a few hours.

The Visitors should be behind Nag Kath, but for the rest of his life, he could compare the price of whisker-fish versus any other fish on sale. Bottom-fish were always cheaper, now because of the taste. Orlo’s ‘unlovely brown ditch’, the Súrûbeki, was fairly low and he forded with enough time to watch the shipwrights for an hour before finding an inn. 

With the dawn the Elf made east for the retreat of Yhammâs Fruhir. He rested at the proper crossing after a Kath Bath and making a smoky fire for tea. No cautious fellow travelers happened by to chat about their destination. Listracht told him both retreats were doing well, even after the recent aggression of an unlamented local satrap. Could it be they weren’t so concerned about security? He finished his tea and crossed the stream heading north on the Nose of Gathod.

The Elf was noticed when he crested the ridge to the beautiful windward valley sweeping down towards the region of Lest. A rider at the administration building, perhaps the man who should have been loitering near the creek, jumped on a horse and fair flew up the hill to the waiting rider. There was no pretending this was a farm. When he arrived, he asked firmly but not aggressively in Rhûnic, “What brings you here, friend?”

The blonde traveler said, “I was hoping for lessons in right-living, friend.”

The man nodded and turned his horse. Tying both mounts on the same rail, they walked in. The Righter asked the stranger his name and was told, “I am called Nag Kath.”

The man bore his eyes in a moment and nodded before speaking to a woman at a small desk outside the council room door and then going inside. Not a minute later, a big man in the familiar tan robe, this one much the better for wear than the Ghurs of fifty years ago, walked out and appraised the new arrival, “Please sir, come with me.”

Inside was an older man wearing a tan over-robe writing in a small notebook at the conference table. He looked up and smiled but returned to finish an entry before closing the book and having a sip of tea. The larger Ghur smiled and said to have a seat and he took one too.

The older man smiled saying, “Your name is known and honored. My name is Ouvouldo and my learned colleague here is Dorxom Frier. We hope you can take your rest.”

“I hope to, but first I have tidings; some good, some not.”

Frier said, “Let us start with the good.”

They knew of the mithril band already. Nag Kath added, “It was destroyed, melted by the Dwarves in my presence. It brought considerable value and I brought some for here and Hanvas Tur to further your labors.”

Ouvouldo smiled and said, “Splendid. I doubt there are any more of those devices on this side of the Great River.”

Frier added, “Good news indeed, and the other?”

Nag Kath took a piece of paper out of his pocket and slid it over to Ouvouldo. The man suddenly remembered hospitality and poured his guest a mug of cold tea from the pitcher on the table. Frier looked at the picture and the map on the other side. 

As he did, the Elf said, “Many years too late, I discovered another of Orlo’s clues. The imaginary garden in my mind also houses a warded demon pit, like the one in Pelargir. There was another of the sorcerer’s secrets as well.”

Ouvouldo looked at the paper then admitted, “Your exploits are required reading for higher office, but it has been a while since I wrapped my sorry brain around them.”

Nag Kath gave them the tale of the troll pit, probably the most accurate version of the dozens that swirled at the time. In closing he took the fiver out of his pocket and placed the bottom of the design on the table so it would spin the right way. Both men saw the pattern of the huts but they meant nothing without having seen the compound.

The Elf continued, “The other three huts also had creatures that broke up through the bottom in times well past. Those were not warded. The fourth was this circle mosaic, about three feet across, in the center of the hut. I cannot but think the Righters of the day meant it to stay there.”

Ouvouldo frowned in concentration before saying, “I know the troll hole was quite large, bigger than this table. This one is small. Does that mean whatever resides there is that size?”

Nag Kath said, “A good question, Ghur Ouvouldo. I wondered myself. I think not. If whoever enclosed the trolls knew what they were, they would have all day to lay the stones. I think whoever did this used a handheld spell against something that could rise at any hour. There is no telling the size of what looks up at that instruction. A powerful sorcerer had to do that, perhaps Orlo himself.”

Frier said, “Forgive me, Mr. Kath, old as I am, I am still too new to this world to imagine such craft. Our kind has always imagined Orlo as a symbol, rather than a man.”

“He is spirit, I believe. His puzzles for me have been confounding but took almost no physical presence to provide. I wonder if he was stronger long ago.” Nag Kath took the cartouche from his pocket and said, “Then; there is this. It is not part of the ward but finely inlaid in the mosaic, I think done before in detail and added with the rough stones. I have not seen its like.”

Both men looked and shook their heads before handing it back. Frier expanded, “Since your last visit, our retreat has become more a place of learning and soul. Hanvas Tur in Khand has the ‘eyes’ and has grown more than us. We see men like the incorrigible Mr. Listracht from time to time but they report to the south retreat or a more clandestine base in your lands. One of them will know who watches the Bror.”

  
The Elf said, “I thought as much, but since you are closest to Kugavod, I wanted to tell you first.”

Ouvouldo said, “Thank you, Mr. Kath. There are those who would dig whatever is in there out to vex the Balchoth. In the end, they would only harm the sort of folk who need our help.”

Nag Kath had considered that too. “A noble thought, sir. I hope we don’t have to wake it ourselves.”

__________------__________

There were about a hundred people here now. At its fullest, the retreat didn’t see one hundred fifty people at a time. Those who came here tended to stay longer than in the south where there was more healing and practical knowledge. This place was more of soul and mind. As they had before, and maybe always had, there were resident Lorists and Sayers. They had just ended the afternoon meetings and people were drifting to their cabins or barracks to prepare for the evening meal. Nag Kath put Nemren up and washed his hands in the stream to join the early diners in the mess hall. He sat next to a young family whose children kept trying to see his ears. Groats were found behind theirs which was powerful magic to their wide eyes.

The evening saying was a reading from the Book of Khantu, an early Righter who taught widely. Like most of them, he came to a bad end, but his stories survived. It was said in old Rhûnic so the Elf only caught about half of it. Most people in the southern Rhûn spoke Khandian fluently. It was the common-tongue of the east.

A full Ghurate was called for tomorrow morning after breaking the fast. At light, Nag Kath wandered to the pasture below the campus and watched the dogs chase the sheep. They had to be the smartest dogs in the world. Admittedly, their charges weren’t that sharp, but the small dogs could move dozens of the creatures according to the herder’s commands almost the way each bird in a flock will change direction at the same time. After porridge he made for the large building and met four of five other Ghurs who were very interested in troll wards.

Nag Kath was always impressed with their comportment. Proud men of the west would sometimes use councils to show their oratory or make opposing cases to impress. These folk said their minds but never seemed to lose their temper. They knew about the mithril band. Now that it was destroyed, they put it further from their minds. 

For a moment Nag Kath thought even the remote possibility of Morgoth would send shivers down their backs before he realized that these folk had no lore of his misdeeds. Until the last hundred years, they hardly knew any lore at all. Part of their work now was finding surviving pieces to better understand their past. They were not afraid of it. They just wanted to know. 

The Elf presented twenty Florin as a gift from the mithril conversion. It seemed paltry compared to the potential value of the stones but it was a several years of operating money here. One woman said they must not let that go to their heads. No recognized the cartouche or the Orlo sketch.

With nothing to do about the warding pit except keep it to themselves, the meeting broke well before the lunch bell in the west. Easterlings don’t eat organized lunches unless it is a mid-day bite during hard work. As he promised himself, Nag Kath went to listen to the Poet Sayer in the afternoon class. 

Blind, as was the custom but not required, the man sang in a high, clear voice of fears overcome with patience and love. This was a very old poem done in the traditional rhythmic style of Khand. In the west, he may have been accompanied by a light drummer or tuned cymbals. These were long, on the order of half a bell, and the audience was stock still. Instead of clapping like after entertainment, everyone said; ‘Ohhhh’ and let it fade. Other readings and saying they clapped like back home.

The organized classes were held after breakfast and early afternoon but there were others in-between for discussions and song and amateur entertainment. New since the last time were a few musicians trying to adapt more westerly instruments to the songs of the region, a work in progress.

On his third day, Nag Kath was pressed into a story. He adapted the Lúthien and Beren narrative into Khandian. In retrospect, it was not an especially right-living saga, but people were pleased and he promised to do one of the Elf-keeper tales too. As always, probably for as long as he drew breath, someone wanted to hear about the troll swarm on the river. The Mordor story never got old either since that was the end of the modern Visitors. In large part, the Ghurates had to reinvent themselves after Nulvanash took the plunge.

A pleasant week came and went before the long road to Lhûg. It was about four hundred miles as the crow flies, and Khand had lots of crows. Original roads gave the mouth of Mordor a wide berth and there were only original roads here now. There was more drinking water than his first trip. With a fleet horse and no trouble with militias, Nag Kath made the turn from Lhûg west to Hanvas Tur. 

This time he also waited for a competent stranger to see him waiting and talk about the weather. Again; he drank his tea alone, but he did respect the tradition of walking his horse upstream fifty paces and leaving the other bank on a slide of shale chips so as to not leave prints. From there it was up to the ridge. 

Nag Kath was intercepted before reaching sight of the retreat but at that point on a well-worn trail, there was no pretending this traveler didn’t know where he was going. The man said nothing, turning his horse around and leading the tall rider to the Ghurate. 

The place was indeed bigger. There was a third large building and dozens of bungalows down the south slope. Both men tied their horses to the rail in front of the headquarters and walked up the steps. Other than a coat of paint ten years ago, these rooms were the same. Instead of a Ghur walking out, he got a sizeable fellow who looked a deal more Easterling Northman than Khandian. He put his hands on his hips and said in a low, no-nonsense voice, “Welcome to Hanvas Tur.” He grinned, “I fear you taught Listracht bad habits!”

“Failure to supervise adequately, I fear.”

“I had the same failings. My name is Ghuldieg. The Ghurs are in a meeting. I think they would like to hear from you.”

They walked into the council room. Everyone stared. Nag Kath said sheepishly, “Please, complete your regular business. What I have will wait.”

Only their security man had been told who this was. One of the other Ghurs said in exacting tones, “You had better explain yourself.”

“I am Nag Kath and I bring tidings from the north.”

Listracht described the Elf only six years before but no one in this world imagined people not aging. The first visit of Nag Kath was sixty three years ago. Even a young man then would be doddering now. They all knew who he was and, to a much lesser extent, what he was. But seeing him in the flesh still strained credulity. The changeling did not know it, but some considered him an avatar of Orlo, possibly Orlo himself, returned again to complete the work as he had appeared sporadically for millenia. No one had ever said that to Nag Kath and he would have thought it coincidence, though, in retrospect, he had been useful. 

The head Ghur, not the eldest by a fair margin, greeted him warmly, “Welcome back. Please be seated, Nag Kath. I think our other business is what can wait.”

The Elf gave them basically the same story he did in Yhammâs Fruhir saving the warding pit for after the mithril. He knew Ghuldieg was the head of their ‘eyes’ and they would speak again. People had intelligent questions that took nearly a bell in this the first of what was sure to be several discussions. As they broke, two of the Ghurs and the Eyes stayed behind. The Elf helped himself to cold tea and sat back against the wall. The head Ghur smiled, “Listracht said you were a handful.”

“I cannot seem to escape the man. His stories were said to try the patience of calm souls on the Nose of Gathod.”

The head Ghur was Proberies and the other, older man was Findulas. Nag Kath gave him the eyebrow and the man admitted, “My parents had Elvish ambitions for me.”

Proberies got down to cases, “You found a beast under the Bror’s nose, long hidden and waiting for a signal. Why do you suppose?”

The Elf had a pull of very good tea and said, “This is pure supposition and I hope to learn more, but the only lore we heard in the west was of the armies sent there. People here fought themselves at least as much. If this was one of the Witch-King’s traps, perhaps it was there if Rhûn became hostile to their other forces.”

Findulas said, “You are a man of the world Nag Kath. What is your advice?”

“I have given that long thought, gentlemen. Let me settle some accounting first. Here is a purse with twenty gold Florin; your stake in the mithril hoard. Do with it as you like. I recommend you send a Florin up to your operative in Kugavod. I do not know who owns the property, but in that town, it can be had. If anyone wants to build or starts digging where he shouldn’t, that should be enough cash to buy it through intermediaries, that or put a heavy stone monument on top honoring Timalen the Fierce.”

Proberies wondered aloud, “Timalen is not known to us, a warrior?”

“A wise man of my youth.”

Findulas asked, “What would trigger such a fell call?”

“In Pelargir it was just digging up the stones. I am sure there is a spell to overcome the ward. I don’t know it and didn’t try. But your person up there should have a pry bar handy. This war isn’t quite over.”

That took the Ghurs back a bit. Ghuldieg considered it neutrally. Findulas asked, “Nag Kath, does that not risk terrible harm to the people of Kugavod?”

“Certainly, sir, but that compound is less than half a mile from the palace in an area of other ruins. If whatever is down there makes for town, it reaches the Bror first. I am sure that is by design. I am also sure the Brors have never known, else they would order it violated when they were safely in their summer capital.”

Ghuldieg took charge, “Best of sirs, let me consider this with Nag Kath and we will report back promptly.”

Proberies agreed. It sat there for at least a thousand years. Hopefully it would sit there forever more. Ghuldieg and Nag Kath walked out together. After a minute, the Righter said, “Got bad news about Listracht. He turned his knee a year ago. I took him off the road and he is now Eyes in Lhûg. He can get around, but his traveling days are through.”

The Elf looked ahead before saying, “There are worse fates, and he is a man who can amuse himself in all positions.”

“I would have liked to see you two work together in the land of Thân zîrân. Maybe we should put his statue over the pit!”

Nag Kath gave close to his fullest grin, “Statues are not always the honor intended.” Before the Righter could ask what he meant, the Elf added, “Let us talk tomorrow. I would like to visit the healers.” They waved off and the Elf continued to the small area of the campus where people went for care. 

______________------______________

Sitting on a stool in front of the second building was a woman who looked like she bent horseshoes with her hands. Nag Kath walked up with a bow and said, “Your pardon, miss, are you of the Viersh?”

In a voice that took no prisoners she replied, “Nûrad, though Viersh is honored as well.”

“I have come to learn of Nenwûla of the Viersh. We knew each other some years ago.”

The woman looked at the beardless face and thought not that many years. She rose nearly as wide as tall saying, “This way.”

Nenwûla was inside knitting. She was nearing ninety and almost blind so she did not recognize the stranger in the dark room until he said, “Greetings Nenwûla. It is Nag Kath.”

“Nag … oh yes. How nice of you to come.”

The Elf had caused her a great deal of stress with pressure to use her healing talents for nefarious, if justified, purposes. She was well past that now and secretly delighted her magic caused the Visitors’ horses to become incontinent before the battle. Her husband died ten years ago, at a good age in his own time. She waited here to join him beyond the Easterling notion of the circle and advised others if asked. The new woman stood ready to twist the tall man double if he troubled the revered practitioner. Nenwûla could not see her but knew her mind and said, “Ventuub, this is Nag Kath. He is a healer also, a healer of induction and much honored.”

That was different. The woman bowed. If Nenwûla respected him, she did too. They spoke for nearly an hour, especially about the Elf’s back. Nenwûla knead it several times when Nag Kath returned Chûr. The Elf decided he would have the two women straighten it again since it still hurt sometimes after a long day’s ride. 

“Honored Nenwûla, are there others like me here?”

“No, she died some years back. Greshules is very wise in the use of herbs and food. She works with Ventuub often. 

Ventuub offered, “There is said a woman of Lhûg if you go there.” She did not mention Chûr. 

The old healer was tiring so he said he would see them soon and wandered over to the pond where he dunked Shelturn his first time here. That forced the Ghurs to take action leading to the collapse of the Assured. It was one of the few times he did a public display of his powers to make a point. His charming personality only went so far. As before, there was a duu crow in the tree hanging over the water. He had almost stopped thinking of them as spies.

Over the next few days, nothing much came of the ward pit. Letting sleeping dogs lie was sound policy. Maybe the cartouche in the mosaic would offer solutions. No one recognized it here either. Orlo certainly set heads spinning.

The Elf took in several of the Sayings, though he never quite developed a taste for Variag singing. The pitches didn’t divide evenly. They didn’t have lusty ballads or sailors’ shanties so the music wasn’t intrusive. After a couple days he went back to see if the healers could realign his back. Nenwûla remembered every bone she had ever felt and walked Ventuub through. The younger woman was an expert in her own right. Dear Nenwûla kept her humorous secret and let Ventuub discover for herself that the young man would make his spine shine silver. 

He went back again three days later. Nenwûla was asleep. At her age, long, deep rest was hard to find. They let her stay in her room and Ventuub did the healing. After he left the first time, Nenwûla told her successor that the Elf, and that was what he was, had encouraged her to open her heart to a supportive man leading to her great joy. If the revered healer said he was a fine fellow, he was.

After his session, they talked quite some time about Nûrad. It lay east of Khand separated by the imposing Ered Harmul Mountains running north/south as far as the lands of the Swertings. Some of the tallest peaks were at the northern tip with permanent snow caps plainly visible two hundred miles due south. 

The school of their craft was located on the southeastern shore of Lake Nennûrad, fed by those northern peaks. Any official of Khand would tell you those lands were of the greater Upper Khaganate, but you couldn’t prove that by anyone who lived below the River Kól. They paid no taxes to the Khagan. That was the final word on who owned what.

Geography wasn’t Ventuub’s best subject but she said the strong river humped-up into Khand towards Lhûg and right back down again making another lake. From there it snaked east until meeting a like-sized river flowing southeast. From the way she described the mountains, the country sounded a bit like the shape of Dale. Further south than her village, the soft fabric ko-ton was grown that was more comfortable than the local linen or wool.

Fierce, terrible warriors came from deep in the heart of that land. For all their claims of independence, the Nûradi here were largely Khandian stock. Further down they were a different sort of men. She said those troops were just behind the Haradrim when the Elessar’s fell ghost army slaughtered them to a man. Could he imagine such an evil force?

Yes, yes he could. 

__________------__________

The old Scholar’s school was not much better for fifty years of haphazard repairs, no Halfers deciding what color to paint the trim in Lhûg! Nag Kath pounded the heel of his palm into the door several times. From inside he heard, “What do you want?! People are trying to sleep!”

“Collecting for the Dol Amroth Flower Guild.”

Elf ears heard the sounds of rustling and dragging until the door opened wide with the bleary-eyed Righter squinting in the sun. “By the hanging … come in, come in.” Listracht gave him a very un-Khandian hug and showed his guest to the couch. He limped over to the kitchen for the last two mugs of last night’s tea before sitting in a chair with a padded stool in front for his right leg.

“Good to see you, Nag. Are you just in?”

I was in Hanvas for a week. They told me where to find you.” 

Listracht had a pull of very strong tea and said, “You always said you would be back. I am sure there is a reason.”

Nag Kath gave him a very detailed version of events, starting with the warded pit. The Righter shifted his weight before asking another question and winced. “Bloody knee, wasn’t even my fault.”

“Did you have the ladies in Hanvas look at that?”

“Of course. They told me to build the muscles around it. I said I would.”

His personal physician said, “Better let me have a look.”

After more tea, Listracht shook his head, “No way. Not after those saddle sores. This is sure to hurt.”

He knew he was stalling. The Elf would look, it would hurt and those lily-white hands were the best chance the man had to walk half-normally. While he savored his last few moments, Nag Kath picked-up List's brace. It was the same sort of contraption Eomander used in Orthanc with two pivoting lengths of steel on both sides of the leg with belts looped through them to secure it in place. He put it back on the floor. 

Listracht capitulated. The Elf knelt by the stool and rolled the man’s pant leg past the knee. Gentle probes yielded a chorus of whines and squeaks. “Stop wiggling, Righter.”

This was going to hurt so Nag Kath put a local pain block on the knee and dug his fingers in deeper. It wasn’t bone. One of the sinews holding top and bottom was torn and another was stretched. The healer stimulated the stretched sinew to bring it closer. Then he tried to reattach the broken end. That failed. If he could do it at all, it would take two months.

When Nag Kath stood up, his patient slipped a worm-wool sleeve over his knee and went through the lengthy process of attaching the brace. That done; he said, “Let’s eat.”

They walked half a block to one of the places Listracht gathered information around the city. At this his local tavern, he dressed as he usually did. Others got better attire. They ordered fried fish and ale. When the mugs arrived, Listracht asked, “How long does that silver last?”

“Half a bell. Do it again too soon and the next is half that.”

“Hughmmm. So, what happened to the mithril.”

“I took it to Erebor and they melted it. Remind me to tell you about that when we get back to the school. For any chance to right your knee, it will take two months of healing, every third day.”

“Dougsh, Nag. What did I ever do to you?”

“We’ll leave that for the moment.”

“Is this Elvish healing?”

“A little, but an Elf’s injuries would heal themselves in a splint. This is mine from the wizards.

The Righter had a long draft of his weak, local ale and said, “You didn’t describe that lot as over-gentle.”

“Not that they shared with me. Now what do you make of this?” Nag Kath handed him the cartouche.

“Nûrad. At least this inner band is.” He traced the one with the back of his fingernail like the temple attendant had done for Melkor’s glyph in Bozisha.

Nag Kath shook his head and smiled even in the gravity of the situation, “It was grouted into the beast ward in Kugavod.”

“Nag, why couldn’t the old man have just told you instead of making you ride the world chasing these ill-favored hints?” He got the waiter’s attention for another ale.

“I don’t think he could. When we met, I didn’t even know he came to me in a glamour. He couldn’t know if I was on the right side or had enough talent to help. This was a series of tests, ones that I am passing slowly and poorly. And I wonder that he doesn’t have the power he had. Holding whatever is down there would take great skill but now he uses the barest of hints. I have to go. Who do we have in that land?”

The pain spell was ending. Listracht answered tersely, “They aren’t in our guild!”

Nag Kath reached across to his hand, “Finish your drink. I’ll get my horse.

Back at the school the Righter said, “Nag, I’m sorry. I …”

“Forget it. Do you want me to do what I can for that leg?”

“Yeah, if you are not in a hurry.”

“It took me sixty years to find it. Sixty days won’t hurt. I can find more about the place. The healer’s tale in Hanvas was that they came to a bad end.”

Listracht was more comfortable with his leg up. “I was to remind you of something.”

“Oh, yes.” Nag Kath dug in a secret pocket and produced six small and a pair of medium-sized diamonds. He put them in the Righter’s palm. 

Listracht took his half-spectacles out of his shirt pocket and looked closely, finally asking without looking up, “Are these what I think they are?”

“Elf diamonds. I got them for the mithril.”

The Righter kept looking and said, “A lordly exchange. I have no concept of what they are worth.” He handed them back.

“You misunderstand, old friend. That is your share.”

Listracht stammered slightly, “I cannot accept these. Aren’t we supposed to be poor and righteous?”

“You’ll have to take that up with the Ghurs. Did you keep any of the gold?”

The Righter smiled sheepishly, “A little.”

“There! It hasn’t killed you yet.” Nag Kath suspected he had more than a little if he wasn’t paying fifteen groats a month to have someone cooking and cleaning here. The Elf would see to that engagement himself. He would also see if he could design a leg brace that didn’t weigh as much as a plow. Standing he said, “I am going to see Chûr.”

“He lives at his ma’s old house. Lunch was too short to tell you Shelturn died when I thought he might and Idgshtok the same year. The men of Mordor were not made for dotage. Five kids, all counted.”

_______________----______________

Nag Kath knew Chûr wasn’t a Righter in the strict sense but one never takes security for granted. He watched the house for watchers from both sides before knocking on the back door. A servant was expecting groceries so when the tall delivery boy had no basket she demanded his business.”

“I am here to see esteemed Vanteg Chûr, ma’am”

She shut the door and barred it. No one of standing used the back door.

A minute later, Chûr opened it wide and beamed, “Come in my friend. Come in!” The maid was still suspicious. He told her, “This is an honored guest. We will need another plate at the high meal.”

The former Visitor showed him to the same main room he remembered so well and made him comfortable. “Oh it is good to see you. No doubt you have seen Listracht. We visit once a month or so.”

“I was just there.”

Vanteg Chur was almost eighty. His full head of long hair was brilliant white and combed straight back. Still fit and handsome, he had a good life. A part of that life walked downstairs. They were right, she did look like him. Shaindre was taller than the petite Chûran but cut from the same bolt. Nag Kath rose and bowed, knowing that was a western custom. Here, only ladies bowed in mixed introductions . She joined them for tea brought out by the suspicious maid.

Nag Kath said, “Tell me of your life.”

“Well, I had a small stake …” he winked “… and that became a trading business, mostly here but sometimes into the old Nûrnen lands.” A pause to let the Elf know his wife, like most wives of businessmen, was not involved in day-to-day decisions. He continued, “I did modestly well and retired fifteen years ago to be with mother and enjoy sunrises with my lovely Shaindre. As the Righter has certainly told you, we have two daughters who have two daughters each.”

Listracht had, said they were beauties. Two of the grandchildren were married and the others of the right age. Shaindre said sweetly but firmly, “You will meet one daughter and her two tonight if my husband has correctly invited you to join us for the evening meal.”

Chûr told the maid to get more food, which qualified as an invitation in Nag Kath’s book. They spoke quite a while, leaving Mordor and the Ghurates out. The man added, “My healing abilities were hard to control, like others in the family, it was said. I lost one patient and maimed another so what little I’ve done is healing stomach aches. 

“Oh, Nag Kath, one of our runners to the west was the trader Ureano. It seems his business there became tenuous.” The Elf recalled him well. He wasn’t an evil man and he was competent. Competence is underrated.

As promised, daughter Chûreth and granddaughters Chievon and Denaldra came about the six-bell. And yes, they might be the Queen Nepthat’s of the eastern world. Nag Kath was explained as an old trading partner come to visit for a few months, buying things to take north. These were the two unmarried lasses. Their father was attending to things near the village where Idschtok lived but they would meet during the tall man’s stay. Nag Kath escorted the ladies six houses over after dinner and walked back to the school where Listracht was looking through old notes.

The next day started the work. The Elf designed two new braces; one to be completely rigid during the healing and another to replace the makeshift clanker that announced the Righter’s approach. The first was just a simple woven reed sleeve with a small bend at the knee. Listracht would relish burning it in two months. The other was made from the cheapest sword Nag Kath could find. The smith would have to bore holes for the pivot and slots for the bands but thin steel was much lighter. The bands themselves would borrow from his bow with bent horn laminations to hold the shape of the leg instead of straps cutting into the flesh. Thin leather around them would be supple and support the buckles. It was hard to explain in any language but pictures told the story for the craftsmen he engaged. He also got a stiff brass wire to scratch inside the reed sleeve or it would be pure torture.

Next he went to a service in a better part of Lhûg to hire a daytime cook/housekeeper at Chûreth’s recommendation. It was run by a woman who was all smiles until Nag Kath told her the address. A servant would be provided at 18 groats a month, payable in advance. He paid a silver for three. She would be there tomorrow. Nag Kath told Listracht as soon as he got back to the school so the Righter could hide his money, jewels and probably a few other things no one else needed to see.

______________--------______________

Had he not offered to heal Listracht’s leg, Nag Kath would have bulled-off to Nûrad seeking answers by himself. The adherents of Orlo might have been a force of arms when men warded the pits, but after Sauron, and especially after the fall of the Visitors, they had become a society of individual freedom in a world that had never seen its like. Field men like Listracht were closer to warriors at need. They were few. Working against such overwhelming powers for all those years had taught them stealth and patience. Two months here would give him to time to ask questions about the mysterious place to the southeast dividing into at least two lines of inquiry; one was the lore that might lead to either Righters or dark servants. The other was what to expect along the way. 

Study would have to wait. A Mrs. Puluogh reported the next morning. A stout, matronly woman with grown children, she was perfect to keep the leering Righter behaved. She would not run out of things to clean. Both the lame and pretty men had eaten so she organized pails and mops and rags to remove two generations of grime from the school. Her work was strictly inside but a friend of her son-in-law would paint the outside and the make the two-horse stable presentable for a few more groats. 

At lunch-hour in the west, Mrs. Puluogh took her basket to the market for dinner fixings. That was the chance to perform the demon-raising healing on Listracht’s knee. On this the third session, Nag Kath applied the sorcery trying to graft the sinew back in place. Making it stick took more of him than he expected. He might sleep an hour those nights. 

“So, another week or two and I’m fine?”

“Two months, that’s if it works at all. I’ve never done this before.”

“What?!”

“Two months.”

“Couldn’t you find a better looking cook?”

“Don’t you like her cooking?”

Listracht knew he would get nothing he wanted from this exchange. In his rigid splint he had to use a pair of crutches to get around which limited him to a nearby tavern where he was known by his real name. The pattern was to ask what he was interested in and buy ale or wine for those who knew. He drank less than it appeared, sometimes telling the barman to water his wine on physician’s orders.

List was on the couch with his leg up snaking the wire down the reed splint to scratch. It was a life-saver. Mrs. Pulough was washing the area behind the food preparation counter, first brushing off the grease then wiping and rinsing. She worked slowly but did not complain. This should be a long engagement. The stove was outside and her lad would get to that when he showed.

Nag Kath brought Listracht a fresh tea and sat next to him on the chair. He did not use the couch since the extra weight shifted the invalid’s leg painfully. He asked, “Any tidings of Nûradi scholars?”

“That quarry is better hunted with wine.”

Nag Kath wondered, “What about the Khan?”

That was a mouthful and they both knew it. Khan Sumen-Doth inherited this district cleanly from his father. It was a good one. He got a ‘taste’ of every transaction, exchange and inheritance, which was the most important work of his administration. A portion of that went to Ûbésêsh, which was the most important thing the anointed Khagan’s men did. Sumen-Doth’s military needs were about average. There were no credible threats from the east. To the north, whenever expansionist Brors wanted empire, they rode west to get their noses bloodied by Elessar. The Khan had the option of sending troops to, or money for, more serious threats to the Khaganate along the southeastern Swerting border. He sent cash. The Khagan of Lower Khand held the border further south.

Sumen-Doth was said to have an impressive library. The scholar who engaged them for the Mordor commission was a consultant. It might be useful but they had learned in the capital that high lords often burned or hid unflattering records leaving large gaps in the history. That was done occasionally in the west too but, as a rule, no matter how bad the last king was, lore was not destroyed. They wrote less often though, and it could be lost in wars or fires or molding in neglected vaults. The Elves and the Black Numenoreans treasured their records. In the latter case that said a lot since they had thousands of years of decline to chronicle.

Another difference between east and west was that here; professional scribes kept track of events fairly carefully. Scholars of those records would discuss them to the end of their days, but it was always source material. In the west, lore was always kept by amateurs, often long after events. What made it different was that people like Barahir would compile those remembrances and analyze them in writing. That added another bias to the lore but could be very helpful in following how a people got from here to there. Nag Kath hoped Barahir could copy the Red Book so it would live on.

____________--------____________

Now; about the Khan: It was Righter policy to avoid any dealings with the authorities. They paid their taxes, caused no trouble and got none in exchange. That said; with the destruction of the ring and the Visitors a generation later, the retreats were now in the non-political business of healing. 

Listracht and the few like him were as close as they had to soldiers. Nag Kath, on the other hand, was more mercenary and had no visible connection to the pacifist schools in the hinterland. Still, Hanvas Tur was in Khan Sumen-Doth’s satrapy so they minded their manners. All that had been discussed by the Elf and Listracht many times. The largest threat to right-living was political interference. The second largest was hidden beast-pits whose inhabitants might have instructions to cause old antagonists as much trouble as possible. That fell to the soldiers who had honed their fictitious scholar ruse to an art. They would have a look in that library. Ancient Righters might have left footprints.

Nag Kath could not simply walk to the palace and say he wanted to read through the files. He had to be invited, and invited for something other than his true intention. Using his same alias, junior trader Solvanth approached the partnership of Chanbough Kultan, known to work closely with the palace, and asked for a few minutes of surviving partner Mr. Chanbhough’s time to discuss a matter of mutual benefit. The steward told him to wait and went down a corridor to tell his boss. The man was back out a few minutes later saying Chanbhough was with someone else but should be free shortly. Shortly was more like half a bell but he was offered tea in the meantime.

The businessman was as pictured in the adventure books Ectilla drew in Minas Tirith for children. Obese, sumptuously clothed and inscrutable, he sat on a cushion of more southerly Khand. Nag Kath approached and bowed before a wave of the man’s hand had him sit on an equally comfortable pillow.

Usually these people have elaborate rituals to begin a conversation but Chanbhough politely started with business, “I was told you have a need my humble office can serve, Mr. Solvansh. Please, tell me how we can assist.”

The guest spoke in excellent Variag with the hint of a Rhunish accent, “Thank you for seeing me, best of sirs. I am a trader of the north. My father’s partner and I came here but missed a man we were supposed to meet. Our part of the bargain is an item that will need a cultured buyer. We understand they regard you highly.”

The businessman sipped his tea from a small, glazed cup and asked, “May I ask the nature of this item, honored sir?”

A real merchant might hem and haw or offer descriptions of things held elsewhere. Not Nag Solvanth. He reached in his pocket and handed Chanbhough one of the smaller diamonds. Anticipating difficulty, he added, “Please, sir, use my fire-glass.” The Elf showed the man how to hold it near his eye and handed that to him as well.

Chanbhough adjusted the diamond and his viewing-stone a little and then looked for quite some time. He closed his fist around it and said, “I see your concern.”

It was more than finding a buyer. Someone could get the same jewel any business day of the week for two Florin at Mr. Hellistar’s jewelry in the White City. The problem here was that it was indivisible. No one could publicly own this if the Khan didn’t have one as well. If the Khan owned one, the Khagan needed one too. In their lack, gold would have to make up the difference and nobody but the Khagan would get what they wanted. If the junior trader was planning to exchange this with a local, hopefully a man who would pay taxes to the appropriate authorities, that was different, but it cut potential buyers to as many people as the merchant had fingers on his fat hand.

Chanbhough asked softly, “I do not suppose your trading firm has more of these, Mr. Solvansh?”

“One, perhaps, but they may become a stock in trade. Northern Dwarves fashioned these for the Elves. Now that the firstborn are gone, the Dwarves are willing to part with some to former adversaries. My father’s partners are negotiating for their larger stones next season. They are certainly easier to bring here than iron goods.”

Smaller stones now, larger ones later, all handled through the discreet trading firm of Chanbhough Kultan; this had potential. The man said, “I will make enquiries, young sir. Are you in haste?”

In a Rhûnic drawl his guest chuckled, “I fear not. My father’s esteemed partner injured his leg so we will be here a month, maybe two. While he rests I hope to indulge my passion for ancient lore. It is said treasures of your honored people are long kept here. I gave your steward my card if we can be of service.” 

“Then we will be in touch, Mr. Solvansh.” The merchant handed him the diamond. The fire-glass was in the other hand and he pulled it back and forth in his vision with a genuine smile. Handing that back as well, the young trader said, “Please, best of sirs, that is also one of our trade goods. I hope you will keep that for your courtesy to examine other items of benefit to your house. I look forward to seeing you again.”

Chanbhough had to think about this. Maybe one more? One for him, one for the Khan and the Khan could make his excuses to the Highest of Lords waiting for gems worthy of imperial adornment, with a commission on the latter to his own humble trading house next season. The Rhûn seemed authentic and the diamond was real. He had seen diamonds before. His wife had a very small one but not prepared with flat surfaces to reflect light. Chanbhough would look at hers again through the astonishing fire-glass. 

The merchant wondered what this would cost in the near-term. He decided it didn’t matter. These were the opportunities men put themselves in a position to earn and he had done that over every decision for forty years. After a couple days of not appearing too eager, a man of his firm knocked on the door written on the card.

Mr. Solvanth missed the representative of Chanbhough Kultan by half a bell. The young man was a clerk at the firm and seemed very savvy. He wanted to know if the gentlemen could meet with his employer again to discuss subtleties of their unique proposition at his place of business. The lamed Mr. Ionzul pleaded his indisposition, but Mr. Solvanth could certainly represent the firm in all decisions. The important thing was that the clerk saw they were in a genuine, and now modestly clean, trading post. The following morning at the Rhûnic ten-bell was propitious.

Nag Kath was shown in with no waiting. Tea was ready. Looking at the portly merchant, the Elf wondered if he had moved. Chanbhough went through more formalities before business. His man reported they were as they said with horses stabled, a servant and facilities for storing inventory. Chanbhough decided whatever arrangement they made, he must include the Khan. Too many people may have learned of that diamond. The Rhûns seemed discreet, but their first intended buyer was unknown. After forms were observed, the man asked, “Did you discover any more of those lovely gems, Mr. Solvansh?”

What he got was unexpected and solved most of his problems. The young man replied, “Another buyer was unable to complete the transaction so I have two available.”

Chandhough did not like being the first one to talk money but it fell to him. “May I ask the cash price for such jewels?

“In the White City they sell for two Florin. Since my firm believes we can return with others, I will sell you both for three Florin which would allow you to include persons who appreciate the future.” With a knowing head-tilt, “Would that meet the case?”

It was too good. There could be no dickering. The merchant would do no worse than break even unless he kept one for his daughter’s dowry. The Khan would get his tax and favor later business that would fall into the broad lap of Chanbhough Kultan.

When faced with such success, a little honesty is appropriate. “That is a generous proposal, young sir. I accept on behalf of my house and other esteemed people.”

It was time to get what Nag Kath came for. “In view of those who benefit, would it be possible to look in esteemed libraries for my interest in lore. I confess; forced idleness in my uncle’s company is not for all hours of the day.”

Half a diamond for a look in the Khan’s library? That would be easily arranged. The merchant said, “I will personally speak to esteemed persons about such a visit, best of sirs.”

He would too. Even with the fire-stone, the merchant could not tell the difference between the two stones. The trader was given three new Elessar Florin from the strong-box. Mr. Chandhough sent a note to the Khan’s personal secretary asking for the privilege to bow before the man with good tidings.

________-----_______

It took eleven days until the same clerk from Mr. Chanbhough came by to say that arrangements had been made for Mr. Solvanth to present himself at the palace tomorrow at the local three-bell. They hadn’t given up, but Nag Kath was prepared to leave either way.

The palace of Lhûg is an impressive edifice. He had avoided it on previous visits. There were two front gates, one for the Khan’s use and the other for the vast administrative offices that served the huge Khanate. A rear gate handled deliveries and messengers coming and going at all hours.

It was in a white enclosure with ten foot walls. They were not very thick. In a land of artillery, they would not last a half bell. Guards were sober and clean. He showed the men at the administrative gate his pass and he was told politely to climb the steps and present himself to a Mr. Kennambur.

Mr. Kennambur had to be summoned but he walked as fast as a man well in his sixties could with dignity. Both bowed as equals and the little fellow took his charge down a series of corridors to the back of the wing. Kennambur was the librarian of a nice facility. There was a room with real eastern windows holding six tables that could seat between four and eight men, always men in this land. One had six fellows quietly discussing what scholars talk about.

This room opened to a larger space with no windows. It had rows of shelves for the archives of the Khanate. It was not dark but it did protect the paper from sun. The rooms were clean and smelled considerably better than the papers in Minas Tirith. A lad of perhaps fifteen helped guests needing volumes brought or returned to the table. Nothing was allowed to leave. No smoking or eating was permitted.

Mr. Kennibur’s desk was where he could keep an eye on both rooms. The man had simply been told that a guest of his Excellency was granted permission to research. There did not seem to be a time limit. After making the Lord’s favored foreigner comfortable, the librarian asked, “How we can assist, best of sirs?”

Given the structure here, he would have to be specific. In more halting Khandian than before, Mr. Solvanth answered, “I am interested in lore of ancient Nûrad, before it was included in the Great Khagan’s beneficence.”

As with the national archives in Ûbésêsh, all records were divided by the four Heavens; art, history, religion and celestial observation. There was considerable overlap and scholars specific to each did not always see eye-to-eye. Religion was the greatest of them. When in doubt, decisions fell to that discipline since the Khan or Khagan was the arbiter. 

This was clearly history. Normally, Kennibur would have his lad go fetch a few volumes but Nag Kath got the sense he wanted something other to do than listen or intervene with the grim men around table three. The fellow walked behind the inner counter and brought back one book and a folio of loose-leaf papers. With a slight sideways nod, Nag Kath joined him at the furthest table from the scholars.

Kennambur opened the book first and said, “These are writings of Vembran and his son, Vembranic in the year eighteen forty.” Nag Kath converted that to about eleven hundred of the third age. “Vembran was scribe to Khagan Gor-Jellamb during the battles where our glorious troops took the low passes and beset the blasphemers below their northern deserts. I warn you, this may not be easy to read if you are unfamiliar with our older tongue. Ariestu over there can help if I am not available.” He had a glance at the scholars. They were quiet now ... but they were scholars.

Kennambur closed that and opened the top of the finely-crafted folio box. It was loose sheets of different sizes and colors. The man looked at Nag Kath’s hands and quietly called his aide who brought a pair of gloves made of fine, soft ko-tan fabric. The fingers would have been much too long for anyone else in the room but they fit nicely. There would be no sweat or dirt on the Khan’s archives.

“Sir, these are accounts of a hundred years later when a deputation was sent in force to receive the Cheyan tribute. They were required to pay money, food, arms and men at the call of both the Khagan and the dark servants.”

It was time for an innocent question, “I cannot imagine that was popular.”

“You imagine correctly. In the deputation were men of his Excellency and men, if you could call them that, in the Angmarach’s service. Servants of power, sorcerers with wolves or other fell creatures to enforce compliance. I expect they got what they came for.”

The librarian was about to say something else when two men at the far table raised their voices. Was the esteemed colleague suggesting that Upahndur rather than Toushagid first reordered the humors?! Family life and social decorum were included in religion, which garnered all manner of opinions. Kennibur excused himself to see if he could keep them civilized while Nag Kath sorted through the papers.

It was slow going. He read Khandian well, but like most languages, two thousand years of little changes took concentration. The writer was a deputy to the Khagan’s man, part aide, part scribe. At least his handwriting was good. It described their progress through the middle of three passes leading from the old Khandian Capital Khand-Amu to a large city in Chey, an empire in southern Nûrad, a hundred leagues east of the pass. 

With them were twelve servants of Sauron. Two of those were sorcerers; one to tell the truth of answers, one to insist on it. The others were soldiers, grim, silent and watchful. Deputy Asbouth’s cortege was larger than the Yvsuldors' since this was supposed to have at least the trappings of a state visit. They had eighty mounted spearmen protecting the Emissary along with an assortment of purse, tax and military experts to be sure the levies were paid scrupulously.

The call was for two thousand infantry with arms and provisions to march north of Mordor and support horse and chariot riders from those plains. Nag Kath had seen some of them staring up in anger from a foot below stinking bog water. What was most telling was the ability to draw two thousand men from the population without emptying the city. Unlike the chariot riders, women and children stayed at home.

Kennambur was still speaking with the scholars. Nag Kath flipped though the pages specifically looking for anything about the Yvsuldor or those who opposed them. The Deputy was recording his Lord’s business but that included recruitment. Halfway back were a sketch and map of the city, both well done. Nag Kath put it at the size of Pelargir but with only a main river along the eastern edge. There were trees. 

It wasn’t until three pages from the end that their soldiers were pressed into service to help the dark Visitors deal with agitators who poisoned two of the dark ones. The ruler of the city ordered his men to help find the guilty as well. A number of people were put to the question but nothing came of it. In a rare moment away from the purity of the mission, the Deputy wrote that other acts of treason had been committed in secret over the years. Examples were made, probably not of anyone responsible, and they withdrew; the Khagan’s men to the west and the Yvsuldor’s conscripts tramping north. 

The scholars had not come to blows so Kennambur was back when Nag Kath opened the book. There was not much here. Like its counterparts in the west, it was mostly grand pronouncements about great lords and noble deeds but not the distances between drinking water. The Righters were not mentioned. That made sense since there was no one Orlo would have favored in that squabble. 

The librarian sensed his guest was greatly impressed by the collection he worked so hard to present. That was prelude to the tall man saying, “I hope you settled the scholars.”

“Never. They are religious men and always right.”

“Are there scholars of this lore, Mr. Kennambur?”

The man smiled looking at the far table, “Not with the same strong views. A Mr. Nennambuul comes in time and again. His interest is more hobby, but the man is a courteous guest.”

“I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Kennambur. Where should I seek Mr. Nennambuul?”

“He lives in Bech Ghel, short street, blue door, I think.”

__________------_________

Nag Kath walked directly over. The lane was only eight houses on either side between a market street and other houses a block away. It was a nice neighborhood of smaller, well-kept homes. None of the doors were blue so he knocked on the most recently painted and was directed two buildings down. That door was opened by a bright-eyed lad of about eleven The Elf greeted him and said he was looking for Mr. Nennambuul. The boy wasted no time on protocol and shouted over his shoulder, “Uncle, someone to see you.” 

He was reinforced by a man of about sixty wearing slippers and a comfortable light robe over trousers and a shirt. What was left of his hair was sticking sideways as if he had been sleeping. Nag Kath said, “Your pardon, sir, Librarian Kennambur suggest you might help me in my studies.”

The fellow grinned broadly and asked, “How is the old rascal?”

“He was settling disputes with a table of religious men but seemed hale.”

“We can ask no more. Come in. Tea?”

“Yes, thank you. I am Nag Solvanth.” The nephew was sent for refreshments and Nennambuul ushered the Elf into a small room, made smaller by haphazard stacks of books and papers. 

Nennambuul said, “Nice of him to send you. I warn you, my views are not always favored by those of greater learning.” A way of saying they might not always be in accord with the palace.

Solvanth smiled, “I had asked about old Nûrad and was given to understand not all records were to hand.”

“That’s one way of putting it. May I ask your interest, young man.”

That was a question the Elf would rather have come later. This man was not in the Khan’s service. He watched his tongue, but not out of devotion. The room showed no symbols of personal gods or Valar. Did he take in relatives or was it the other way around?

A clue came when a woman brought tea. She had been attractive but had the sort of face that absorbed every disappointment. There was no wedding band. The woman gave Nag Kath a forced smile and left without introduction. So; he took them in, a good and honest man but probably open to paid consulting. Nag Kath answered, “Sir, I am interested in anything I can find about Nûrad; history, culture, war, particularly politics.”

Nennambuul considered that carefully. His tea was too hot so he put it on the table and said, “That is a long list. You do not appear to be of those people.”

“I am of northern stock, honored sir.”

“I thought as much. My archives are modest.” He waved his hand at the papers. “That is an area of study I enjoy.”

Nag Kath’s tea was too hot too. He said over the steam, “I should make plain that your counsel need not be purely donated.”

“What did you have in mind, Mr. Solvanth?”

“If you could make your self available for consultation over the next month, would you consider a quarter Florin insulting?”

The Dukks face could only hold so long. Nennambuul chuckled, “I have been insulted far worse for far less, Mr. Solvanth.”

The man was expecting a drawn-out negotiation over when and how that would be paid. What he got was the blonde man laying down a nipper. And just like Captain Penandoth, the scholar looked at it closely. Then he slowly mouthed, “Your favor with the authorities matters in this, best of sirs.”

“I have just done the Khan a service. He sent me to the librarian and he sent me here, unofficially.”

Nennambuul slipped the coin into an inside pocket and asked, “Where should these discussions occur?”

Listracht was sleeping when Nag Kath got there, a good sign that today’s healing was not too painful. When the Righter woke, the Elf mentioned, “Got a guest coming tomorrow. Do you know a Mr. Nennambuul?”

“Can’t say I do.”

“He is a scholar on Nûrad. I’ll go get him after we break our fasts.”

__________------__________

Nennambuul was at his door with a belly full of porridge and a satchel when Nag Kath arrived to bring him to the school. A fifteen minute walk was longer for a few wrong turns to see if anyone else made the same mistakes. Mrs. Puluogh was leaving with her basket when they walked in the open door.

The Righter and Elf had prepared excuses and names for most possibilities, but not this one. Nennambuul stared for a moment and cried, “Listracht, you old devil! I heard you were lamed.”

“Hello Artur!” That was as much as he would say until Nag Kath salvaged the situation. 

Nennambuul solved that, “How could you be this pretty man’s uncle?”

Listracht said affably, “It is a title of respect. Sit down. Nephew, can you bring your father’s favored partner some tea?” His mug was full, “Er, hot tea.”

While serving, the Elf thought he needed to simplify. He conspired to bribe the Khan on an elaborate and expensive pretext to see the library. Then he was sent to the Nûradi expert who was on a first-name basis with the resident Righter! Evidently, not on a last-name basis.

Listracht was savoring this. “Nephew, how did you meet my old friend?”

The Elf doled the mugs around the low table. “Mr. Nennambuul has agreed to help me in my studies of ancient lore, best of sirs.”

The Righter struck a theatrical pose, “Lore? I thought you studied ways of counting, Artur.”

“That pays the bills, Listracht.” He looked at the tall Rhûn wondering what about dusty old Nûrad was worth a dented King. 

The Elf was going to let one of them mention Listracht’s contribution to fair Lhûg. When they didn’t, he smiled his simple-nephew smile and beamed, “More than lore, Uncle Listracht. Mr. Nennambuul is an acknowledged scholar of our ancient ancestors.”

The Righter took a sip and held the mug in his lap so he didn’t have to reach so far again. That put things in perspective. With avuncular indulgence, and against the likelihood that their guest’s pocket was fuller than this time yesterday, Listracht chuckled, “Are you on that again? I should not complain. Your father never gave up his interest.” To the scholar, “I am curious as well. 

Nephew Nag asked, “Is there any word as to when you can work again, Uncle Listracht?”

The Righter was about to say; ‘You’re asking me?!’ then realized the nature of the question. “Ah, work. It might be months before I am able to travel again. By now, Brothar will have taken all of the Kelepar contracts. You will have to win them back for us, young man!” That was a fiction created if the Khan had questions since they could not rely on mobility. 

Nennambuul was still a risk. Listracht’s claim to be traveling merchant was thin since he had been here for a year, not that the scholar knew when he came and went. Pretending to be half of what they were seemed harmless, but the Righters were more dangerous than ordinary cut-throats to the wrong throats.

The scholar did not sense the tension and said, “Well, young man, you have engaged me to tell you what I know about ancient Nûrad, including Chey, I suppose.” He looked over saying, “That is a broad subject.”

“Sir, I meant all but I am specifically interested in two things, starting with recruiting armies to serve Sauron going back two thousand years … Uncle, more tea?”

Listracht shook his head. Nennambuul answered, “This is from what little Khand has kept. There is more in Ûbésêsh. When the dark lord’s servants came to demand armies, it did not end regional tensions. Often times, great hosts would battle among themselves if one group did not want to serve since the weaker army was usually assigned poorer battle positions when they went west. Chey was a great power here in constantly rivalry with Khand. They lost more of those fights than they won and were diminished. In the last war, their descendants were forced into the center column between the huge beasts and reserve orcs. Then it was said a terrible wind of rotten ghosts blew through them, killing every man while a number of Khandians and Swertings to either flank fled and survived.”

The hobbled trader kept the thread alive, “A fell wind of ghosts? What sorcery did the Elessar possess?”

“No one knows. By then, the land was Nûrad. The Cheyans were long gone a thousand years ago. The Khagan, in his wisdom, oversees their protection.”

Youthful Solvanth was rapt, “I have heard of the terrible ghost plague. My other interest is those who spoke against dark service.”

Nennambuul knitted his brows and asked, “You mean like the right-livers west of the city?”

Listracht pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger as if having eaten a frozen treat too quickly. The Elf only took a moment to react, “They still exist?!”

Nennambuul said helpfully, “Sing songs and heal hurts. Listracht, you ought to see what they can do for that game leg.”

The bald merchant mumbled, “I’d better do something.”

Young Solvanth jumped in, “I do not know what singing will do, but yes, I am interested if there were those who tried to oppose the dark ones, or slow them down, at least.”

Nennambuul considered that while the Righter massaged his nose and replied, “There was a force that encouraged people to flee or refuse. As you can imagine, that did not bring favor from the servants; terrible wolves and sorcerers and orcs; they were, in fell times when darkness blotted the sun. The Nazgûl were said to come when armies were needed. I suppose some people escaped.”

Listracht’s headache seemed better, “A hard business; fight and die or refuse and die. How did these people make themselves known?”

The scholar chuckled, “Before my time. Servants were said to burn anything that carried their glyph.”

Enthusiastic junior partner Solvanth exclaimed, “See uncle, a sign like the dark one’s sigil.”

“Do not go crashing into the bushes, young man. We do not know if they rallied behind a lord or just shrunk from duty.”

The young trader would not be dissuaded, “Do you suppose it was the same as found among the Wain-riders?”

This was one of Nenambuul’s passions too and he was genuinely curious, “What sigil is this, Mr. Solvanth?”

The Elf went to a modest pile of books, bringing one open to a symbol of Orlo he drew last week. Reverentially the trader said, “This was discovered among those who fled to the cold north. Those remaining village were slaughtered in retribution. But some survived and returned. My father is now among those ancestors. He tried to understand but ran out of time, as men must. I carry his torch.”

The scholar had a hard look and said, “It seems familiar, perhaps the mark of Stámo?”

Nag Kath murmured, “Orlo?”

“No, sorry, I said Stámo, a sorcerer. I do not know if he encouraged folk to escape or not. He would be about the right time though.”

Listracht offered, “Did you show Artur your da’s cartouche?”

“No uncle, I completely forgot.” Nag Kath handed Nemambuul the ward-pit token. 

The scholar looked at it for a minute and said, “I am afraid I have raised your hopes unreasonably. This inside symbol is Chey, Nûrad now. But this is the water. This shows Lake Nennûrad, on the border, at the base of those beautiful mountains you can see from the other side of the street.”

Listracht decided it was time for a little Catanard. He shifted and groaned piteously. Nag Kath looked over and cried, “Uncle, you are unwell!”

“I must give this knee more ease than the rest of my body is willing. Is it too early for ale?”

His solicitous nephew compromised, “We make exceptions in your distress, but we are out and Mrs. Puluogh does not know to get more, even if she could carry it. Shall I fetch some?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, dear boy. Artur, this must be a short meeting but next time we will have an ale!”

When the man was gone, Nag Kath flopped in a chair and sighed enough to fill a sail. Listracht finished his tea, knowing his partner had some explaining to do. The Elf took a long pull of his neglected mug and said, “Librarian sent me to him as the unofficial expert on Nûrad, Chey it was then. You know him from counting. I paid him. How much does he know about you?”

“Same as everyone else. I was a trader. Now I’m an injured trader. I am known to drink and chase women but never get much of either. Hanvas is no secret. He didn’t seem to put us together. Face facts, nephew, sometimes we need friends. You are about to go into a sausage stuffer. Now, what about that ale?”

His nephew smiled, “We might have a little left after all. Nag Kath took Listracht’s tea mug to the demi-cask. 

__________------__________

Three days later, Nag Kath knocked on the scholar’s door. Listracht was right. Vengeful monsters were waiting to crawl out of the ground and beset the Witch-King's foes in who-knew how many places. They needed friends. Nennambuul welcomed him inside and gave his nephew two groats if his mother would take him for sweets. It would buy a lot of sweets. Cold tea was waiting. The scholar smiled grimly, “That was an impressive performance. Can you tell me what this is about, young man?”

Nag Kath leaned forward so his elbows were on his knees saying softly, “I find and destroy remnants of the dark lord’s empire. People have known me by different names over the years. This summer I found a warded pit like the one in Pelargir many years ago. Have you heard of that?”

“Same year I was born.”

The cartouche I showed you was grouted into the mosaic. I seek other clues of the sorcerer who left it for me, said to oppose Sauron for many centuries. He is known further north as Orlo.”

“You are Kath?”

“I am.”

“What is Listracht’s interest in this?”

“The same as mine. His knee really is broken. When I go south, I am the last soldier. The right-livers are now of caring and lore.”

Nennambuul had no faith in the powers that failed this land so miserably. He had heard stories of great evil in the west but after a century, they had yet to return for vengeance. His wife was dead. His niece had no one but her son and they would inherit a nipper more than last week. If this Kath creature was living history and had not slain him, he could see it manifest. The scholar said, “The cartouche was from about the time you asked, no newer than fifteen hundred years ago. Like now; people were nomadic but there was one large city where the rivers meet.”

Nag Kath reached in his satchel and produced the copy of the Deputy’s drawing. Nennambuul had seen it before in the Khan’s library. Almost to himself he said, “Unhumm. I want to call you young man. You are not, are you?”

That got his first Nag-Kath grin, “Younger than the rest of my kind.”

“I will call you young man because I am an old man and set in my ways. What do you seek?”

“I am never sure, but mostly artifacts of the Witch-King of Angmar, possibly called the Angmarach or Ar-Balkumagân, a Numenorean King of the Second Age. He was leader of the nine, Sauron’s most powerful servant and likely the one who enforced the lord’s will here in the east.”

“You must forgive me, Mr. Solvanth Kath. You are from a place that knows our history. We do not. The nine were the Nazgûl?”

“They were, all dead now. But the leader left behind bits of his own power that were not doused when the Ring was unmade. Like swords left in a nursery, they wait for the wrong hand to gain strength.”

“The Ring I know of. When these are destroyed, what then?”

“I will go home to my family.”

Nennambuul was fascinated, “The Valar?”

That got a real laugh. “No, I have mortal families, on the order of twenty five great, great grandchildren. I must lose them, but they are dear when I can share their lives. I have been married three times and enjoy that state.” Nag Kath shifted in his chair, “You said the Orlo symbol reminded you of another. May I have a look?”

It was the scholar’s time to laugh, “I fear not. I barely remember that from when I had limitless time and my father had limitless money.”

“When you did, did you study it carefully?”

“Yes, for hours.”

“Do you trust me at all?”

Nennambuul said cautiously, “A little.”

“I would like to take you back to that memory and help you recapture the image. It is not dangerous, or even unpleasant. But it is not of this world either.”

The scholar thought of returning relatives and asked, “Will this take long?”

“A quarter-bell unless we find something else.”

“What do you need, Solvanth Kath?”

“Please roll up your right sleeve.” That done, the Elf knelt in front of the man and put one hand on his head and his other on the open wrist. “Please, gently think back to that image.”

Nennambuul did his best. His wrist glowed yellow against silver and his face the same. He had no sense of time but only a few moments later, Nag Kath released the spell. The scholar had a heightened sense of color and remembered the image as if it was an hour ago. Nag Kath had him describe it in detail and drew it with numerous corrections. A quarter-bell after that it was a good representation. 

Scholar Nennambuul flushed, “I must say, that was … new.”

“Probably enjoyable, unless you are taken to a bad time. If you are curious, this is what Orlo looked like to me.” He handed the scholar the sketch. “He is different to all, a much more powerful sorcerer than me.” The image had exactly the same reaction as everyone else. The Elf added, “People are sure they know him and then can’t recall why.”

Nag Kath slipped the two papers into his satchel and said, “That is as much as I can ask but I will be here tending the old reprobate for another month. In the furtherance of your own interests, we know a few things you haven’t heard yet. I hope you will join us for the promised ale.”

“I will come to your trading post two nights hence with a few bits and pieces we didn’t get to.”

When he got home, Listracht called from the couch, “I hope you didn’t kill him. He knows how to calculate Dukks odds.”

“He is coming for dinner the night after tomorrow.”

“Good.”

Mrs. Puluogh made dinner and left for the evening. The place was finally clean. Nennambuul arrived as she was a block towards her home. Listracht was sitting where he always was and did not stand to bow. The scholar had his satchel. 

Dinner lasted three hours. They talked about Thân zîrân. Listracht told an outlandish story corrupted from Shelturn’s telling of Mordor which Nag Kath made clearer, if not believable. The Elf tried to steer away from magic and the retreats but eventually Nennambuul asked, “Now what about the place up in the western hills?”

Nag Kath had to leave that up to Listracht and learned something himself. The man was always sober, despite appearances. He answered, “I was called to right-living after I soldiered for the Bror, the last who got men killed. I learned of places where folk were instructed not to take what was not theirs, that life was better that way. It offered me succor after having slain and taken and not given. When I need reminding, I return and listen to wise counsel and am healed.” He looked at Nag Kath and added, “It is something quite apart from my friend’s journey.”

The scholar considered that carefully. Nag Kath walked him home against bad light and footpads.

The Righter’s leg was healing, even if he could not try it. The Elf stubbornly stuck to his schedule. Nennambuul came weekly, learning far more about his own world than he could from anyone here. The symbol he drew was more complex that the simple Orlo glyph but if one filled in the gaps between some of the lines, it formed the same rune. The Righters got the impression Nennambuul might like to visit the retreat, perhaps with a long-suffering niece.

Two months were finally over. Listracht’s new brace was better. He would always have to wear it. He would also have to do as the healers said and strengthen his leg to match the other. He might. It was up to him now. 


	47. The Blue Jewel

** _Chapter 47_ **

** _The Blue Jewel_ **

**The Map Khand Topo might help here. <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8> **

From Kugavod to the first three weeks in Lhûg, Nag Kath thought he would have to ride to the back of beyond chasing the old sorcerer’s cryptic clues. Lake Nennûrad was on the border of Khand and Nûrad. About two hundred miles due south, it would ride more like three for lack of a straight road. The lake was nestled in the eastern foothills of the Ered Harmal range that divided Khand from Nûrad all the way to Harad and then some. A natural dam formed the headwaters of the River Kól, said to be not easy to ford even in the dry season now ending. Nennûrad was in the Khanate of Pashir, one hundred miles away on the Khand side of the peaks. They were Lhûg’s southern neighbor and relations were acceptable.

Mrs. Puluogh was shown how to make such Lembas as could be mixed from local ingredients and Nag Kath said his goodbyes. The plan was to return before making west again, for what that was worth. The first hundred forty miles was on good road making for the sharp bend in the river at a place called the Temple of Kondri Odchi. There were shortcuts within forty miles but anything to do with temples got the Elf’s attention. 

The shrine was before a modest town so he stopped there a few hours before sundown. There were no preservation societies here. The architecture could be two thousand years old at the oldest but possibly much newer. It had been rather grand with a main room about forty feet square and smaller rooms around three sides. A family of merchants sought shelter inside but thought better of it when the tall rider started inspecting all the nooks and crevices. 

Nag Kath looked closely everywhere but especially the floor. The slates were laid at the same time. It gave no sense of foreboding. Used by squatters, it smelled rank but not fell. Water gave no signs.

Another hour’s ride brought him to the River Kól. Reports were right it would be very hard to cross. This was the outside of a bend forty miles long. Trying to ford in the strong flow would land you on the same side well downstream. There was an inn with a tavern serving edible fish and drinkable ale to merchants along the near bank. Other guests included fishermen who hooked or netted large fish and some farmers, about twelve men all tallied.

The tall rider had ale brought to all tables to commemorate his father’s naming day. That prised all manner of conversation from the patrons, some useful. The trail to Nennûrad was poor for wagons, fair for horses. They traded primarily with Pashir to their west served by good roads. The northerner would find adequate water but should keep a full skin if he went far inland. Along the river itself were rivulets and the river was drinkable but sometimes hard to access.

One local man had been up and down that trail several times and said to watch for swamp bandits about halfway to the lake. They were farmers and fishermen unless a fat prize stumbled by. He had never been accosted but humbly admitted he wasn’t worth the effort. The man did not know if they were archers.

From there it was another hundred and forty miles to the town. If there were bandits watching, they thought better of interfering. The river dipped forty miles from the city and the path cut straight so he was out of sight of the Kól for two days before regaining it at the town along the northern bank.

______________------_____________

It was a blue jewel, not unlike Bozisha-Kantû. Quite deep, a natural dam formed the main source of the powerful river making east. The western side of the city did not climb the mountains like the Numenorean capital. There were perhaps ten miles of gradual slopes until the rocks, divided by strong rivers with fertile farms producing two crops a year. The north side was much the same.

He put the lake about twenty miles across at the longest. In addition to the creeks running directly in, a raging river to the south fed water in from peaks on this side of a low-pass to the Khandian town of Alagoth, perhaps seventy miles away. Smaller creeks in these hills made this the only place to cross what would become the Kol for another two hundred miles.

By now, former municipal architect Nag Kath had a good eye for size and folk. He figured the city itself had perhaps four thousand residents, so; not as large as Lhûg but the biggest place in this direction. The Elf arrived about mid-morning so the market still had another hour or two to go. Walking Nemren up the slight upslope, he saw folk trading cloth, wool, jewelry, and finished clothing. Closer to the water, women sang that they had the freshest fish, including some whoppers staring at passers-by. There were meats, chickens, vegetables and baskets of grain. Half a dozen kids gathered close, but not too close, to the giant horse flicking his tail at flies. 

Lake Nennûrad had several inns serving the quality. He chose the Helivar with its own stable. If it was nice, he would extend the stay. That night he did not wade into existing conversations with men at the taverns. He was looking for symbols first; some fell, some fair, risking strong opinions from the few who knew them. The first day he went to the lake’s edge to see the boats. They were similar to the craft of Mistrand. The prevailing breeze was northwesterly so most vessels had triangular sails to tack against it back to the harbor. There were no docks. Since the lake level never changed, men dragged their boats up enough not to float away and tied them to stakes like horses. The exceptions were houseboat where people lived all year. Those were kept downstream for cleanliness. 

Nag Kath wandered the market again, this time without the eye-catching horse. He was still interesting to children ranging from shoeless to fairly well-dressed. His trek took him to one of the better neighborhoods. It was more to the eastern side of the lake and town but not elevated like most favored Dalish districts. The largest homes had stout fences with no obvious guards. There were temples and other places of observance but not in a dedicated quarter like Pelargir. One of the larger structures had what looked like the remnants of a Fûl symbol chipped away, probably within the last century. They would not all be as obvious so he would inquire.

In Khand, even border-towns like this one, there is a large civil administration. It is where men of higher birth than brains can find employment but there are usually a few who have a modicum of both. He walked into the Khanate office for the district and told the desk man he was here to study the temples and architecture of this magnificent city for a lore-book. This was not one of the bright lads. It took several minutes to find one. Nag Kath repeated his interests and was shown to a small office towards the back of the building near a real window. 

Mr. Jhelland said politely, “To be sure, you are interested in our older buildings for a report?” Reports were usually given to important people, often reporting on less-important people who had done something wrong.

The tall stranger smiled slightly and reassured, “Purely for scholarship, best of sirs. As my people and yours learn more of our heroic past, men wish to know how they reached their current homes. Their buildings help tell us.” He fumbled in his pocket for the gate pass to the northern Khan’s library. It had nothing to do with this or the local Khan, but it was on official stationary and recently dated. 

Since it was nothing to Mr. Jhelland if the man wanted to spend his money here, he said, “A worthy notion, Mr. Solva … Solvansh. How can my humble office assist?”

“It would help me if there was a map of old buildings. I don’t need to enter them. This is more about their design and inscriptions. If none such exists, a lad who knows the city well can earn a few coppers showing me around.”

The clerk stood and went down the hall for a moment, coming back with a folio. He opened it at his desk and filed through a few sheets until coming to an old one that showed the city long ago. Without comment, he gave it to the northern scholar. This would help, and Nag Kath knew the protocol saying, “Thank you. Mr. Jhelland. I would like to make a copy of this. Do I pay the administrative fee here?”

“If that is convenient. For a friend of the Esteemed Khan Sulem-Doth, I should think a silver coin will cover all of the necessary taxes.” Such a coin found its way to the desk and disappeared. The man left with plenty of time for Nag Kath to make his copy with a quick peek at a few of the other pages.

On the way out, Nag Kath would keep his eye open for a Brenen.

__________-------__________

Before lunch, he stopped at a store, one of half a dozen partitioned from a former temple. They sold weaving supplies like looms, along with the metal and wooden parts to make them work. This area got a supply of ko-tan from further south made from little fluffy balls that grew on bushes. Strangely, folk said it needed sandy soil. There was plenty of sand when you got away from the foothills.

An older woman and a rather pretty younger one took turns helping customers. When business was slow, they made decorated weavings on their own looms. Nag Kath remembered seeing these types of pattern in Ûbésêsh but not in northern Khand. It is difficult for a man to look like he needs something in such a place but he had to try. The older woman rose from her bench and asked, “Is sir looking for something?”

“A gift for my niece. Her mother is now teaching her such craft in Kelepar and I know Nennûrad is commended for your work.”

Whether she believed him or not, he seemed a paying customer. She spoke to the younger woman and said, “Karlalla will assist.” Karlalla rose after completing a pass. These were large looms with levers to shift the long threads up or down so the cross threads would lock in place after every pass. They wouldn’t be cheap either compared to women knotting them by hand.

She bowed and said, “Sir is interested in a gift for a young woman. May I ask her age?”

Her customer replied sheepishly, “I think nine, but that could go a year either way.”

The tall man slowly walked along the goods as she followed trying to pin-down what the girl knew and his budget. He was from far away so it had to be portable. There was a carpet in the middle of the slate floor. He knelt and folded back a corner and said, “Now, what is needed for this type of work?”

At the risk of losing a sale the flustered young lady tried; “That is a much different sort of loom than we sell, best of sirs. Ours are more for clothing.”

As if he hadn’t heard a word, the customer pulled the rug up as far as it would go without upsetting a cabinet and wondered aloud, “Yes, how does one get the pattern to show on the top side but it is just knots on the bottom?”

“After the plain weave is complete, those are added in by hand, best sir.”

He carefully put the rug back over original stones and wondered, “Ah, now what is this?”

“That is a shuttle, sir. Thread is attached to it and one slides it through the weave, growing the length with each pass. Let me show you.” She returned to her seat and stepped on a foot treadle raising the lower threads and lowering the top threads. Then she passed the shuttle through and with another step, changed the long threads to the way they were.

“I think that would be a marvelous gift. These seem much better made than I have seen.” He was right. These were carved of tighter wood and painted or finished for ladies of the fine neighborhoods. The tall stranger added, “You had better give me two. Her sister is but two years younger and I may not be this way again.”

Sale saved, the customer left with two weaving shuttles at two groats each. The young woman watched him walk away longer than she might have before returning to her work.

___________-----___________

Nag Kath hadn’t been entirely honest when he told the administrator he didn’t need to go inside the buildings. He would either pay for the privilege like at the weaving store or visit when no one knew. That could be a lot of places. He had been looking for temples. The warded hut in Kugavod would be small for a pig pen. He wandered back to his inn for a closer look at the sketch of old Nennûrad.

That evening was time to play simple. Purposely arriving at the tavern as it filled, he took a seat next to several better-dressed men at a long table not meant for games of chance. Dinner was one of the large fish, baked with local spices. Ale was the only drink with alcohol so he got one and minded his own business, eaves-dropping on conversations around the room. 

At a certain point in life, a sizeable number of men need a few hours away from their wives. These men may use language not spoken before their wives and daughters, sometimes of wives and daughters. They refine old glories over time. Some drink a lot, some little. They do business. They share secrets. Whatever the reason, they gather at places like the Lake Heron when the sun gets low.

The tall man asked for another ale in a strong Rhûnic accent. It was unusual but not sinister. He was obviously not from around here and now they knew where. That area was not known as a bastion of piety but it was not unreasonable when he asked the man next to him in fair Variag, “Excuse me, best of sirs. So as not to offend, where does one pay his respects to the gods and Valar of your city?”

He wasn’t specific as to which gods or Valar or barbarian spirits he meant. The fellow took a pull of his own ale, his third by the Elf’s count, and instructed, “Hard to say, young man. Now men of the court visit the Shrine of the Khagan’s Blessing, Khagan Uzbiesh, mind, not the one from the war.”

The lanky foreigner considered that and said, “Perhaps one that honors the old ways. My father was very traditional.”

The old ways hadn’t gone so well down here. They might have been different where this fellow was born. A man across the table offered, “You mean Those Who are Named?”

“I do not know them as such, but probably so.”

A third fellow next to the second said, “Try the prayer altar across from the cooper’s. There’s thems what goes there on Wednesdays.” The man had seen Northmen there from time to time and it might be helpful.

That got him a good smile. “Thank you, best of sirs. I will remember to light the candle a day before.”

Wednesday was two days later. It is not easy to loiter where men are shaving staves from dawn to dusk with nothing to eat, drink or leer at. On one pass he took a buttered loaf to the stone alter and started eating. No one hurried over to proclaim sacrilege. While there he looked for carvings or Northmen, getting neither. 

Another lack was local lads like Brenen or Tumlen. Travelers here seemed to have their own children run errands. At the inn desk he said he wanted to make a reservation for the window table across the street and gave the clerk a groat to send it over. The man whistled up a slovenly lad with a runny nose to deliver the message. Nag Kath would eat there tonight but keep searching for his next Tumlen.

____________------____________

After a week of looking under rugs and buying things he didn’t need, Nag Kath took Nemren along the western side of the lake, fording three small rivers at the shoreline where the area opened to small farming villages. There were no inns or businesses until he reached the road from Alagoth over the low pass. He took a room for the night and let Nemren eat real grass for the first time in too long. 

Southern peaks ran almost to the river feeding the lake with strong flows. Rain falling here was always snow if you looked high enough. Upstream was a known ford where folk of Nûrad crossed. With only a safety loop over a rope-line to grasp by hand, it was brisk for those on foot. On the other side, he looped back to the southern lake and was pleasantly surprised to find an outpost of the kneading healers beside a farm town. 

The tall, blonde rider got stares from those outside, those inside and those who hurried out their doors. Approaching one of the strapping lasses, he said, “I am known to Ventuub of your teaching. She helped me with an old injury.”

The woman still stared but went to fetch a more senior member in a nearby hut. That lady walked over and said, “You honor us sir, but she has long gone on to healing among the Khandi.”

“That is where we met, the last time only four months ago. She is well and continues with a woman of the Viersh.”

“They are honored as well.” He wasn’t sure how much. They seemed like competitors, wherever Viersh was. The woman asked, “Do you seek relief now?”

“Yes, I have back pain. Perhaps I can take your care and rest after long travel.”

Without ever breaking a smile, she walked into her hut and returned with a woman aged about between herself and the youngster saying, “This is Fhûlar. She will attend you.”

With the same accent as Ventuub the healer said, “If you will come with me, best of sirs.”

Guilt was not an emotion Saruman bred into his Uruk-hai. At times like this, Nag Kath felt it. He protected people from orcs and trolls and a variety of monsters but he was here under false pretenses. The woman showed him into another modest hut and had him remove his jacket and shirt. Lying on her table, he showed her where he felt old troubles. It was unusual that a man could even reach that part of his back. He assisted, but not enough to show silver. It felt good. I would feel good if his back wasn’t injured. She relieved his muscles too and he drifted into waking rest.

It seemed like a moment later but it was about half-a-bell, judging by the sun. He said groggily, “I think I should have another healing tomorrow or the day after. Who do I see about that and your payment?” He had to poke around for symbols here too. 

She smiled less timidly than the other powerful healers he had met and told him to take that up with the Thourah who introduced them. The Elf walked outside and stretched before going back to the first hut and asking the older woman about accommodations and groats.

The village just east might have rooms. Inventing a number, the woman said it would be a groat for each session. He gave her a tenner and told her to keep the change. That wasn’t good for a smile either. Leading the horse over to the village he got a room with a farmer for a groat.

There wasn’t much more to do than sketch and watch Nemren graze. Farmers put a couple lads at the nearest gardens to keep the horse from the winter cabbage. Roughly the same time the next day he reported to Fhûlar for another treatment. On the table, Nag Kath asked her about Ventuub, who seemed about ten years older. Fhûhar met her before she left. The Elf asked, “Do you go where the Order says?”

The healer considered that and replied, “Sometimes, and with permission, but someone recommended her. They said there was need.”

Trying not to betray real interest, Nag Kath followed, “I am glad she was able to serve. She continued learning from a woman who is very old and now she comforts her learned mentor.” The next question mattered, “Who suggested she serve in Khand?”

“A person of the town who came here for care, though one of us lives right there.” She stopped for a moment wondering, “Now, what is his name?”

“Perhaps the healer there knows?”

“Probably.”

_____________------_____________

His back felt great. Most graduates of this school went into the world. If one could make it to Pelargir, having one in nearby Hanvas Tûr was not unreasonable. Being recommended to go there specifically was even better. As good as his back felt, he thought he would seek additional treatment after returning to the inn. There was no healers’ guild. When the desk man asked about his trip, Nag Kath winced, “Good, but I jarred an old back injury. Are there healers here who can help?”

“One of the women who does such care is near the water above the boat yard, a large female with strong hands.”

Business was brisk. One man was receiving attention and two more were on an uncomfortable bench out front. The Elf would stop by when they left. He had lunch at another new place looking for secrets. Most of the old buildings from the city map had been destroyed one way or another. If there were wards, they were hidden under new floors.

Nag Kath liked this little city. People seemed relaxed. There was enough to eat. No one seemed desperately poor. Grinding poverty bothered him. He had been sent to heal but did so in large ways. That mattered little to the hungry. He saw the attractive woman from the loom shop going home and she smiled.

Nearing the dinner hour he knocked on the healer's door. A minute later, a woman who looked a lot like Nenwûla answered and asked how she could help. Without mentioning having just been across the lake, he said he was hoping she could see to his old trouble. It was past quitting time but this man was new and might not come back like a townsman so she told him to come in and lit an oil sconce next to her table.

“Thank you for staying open. I know your work is tiring.”

Somewhat surprised she asked, “You know our work?”

“Yes, to the north.” Then he was quiet. She would ask again.

Nag Kath explained where he had been injured and she probed with strong, sensitive fingers around the bone, deeply enough that a man would typically squeal. He just took it in and said that was the place. Then it was his turn to be surprised. She pressed down hard and they both heard a loud pop. For an instant he thought there had been damage and flooded the area with his own healing. If it glowed, she did not notice.

Matter-of-factly she observed, “Roughness had built around those bones. They should be looser now.”

He said; “Hmmmmm” and meant it.

Miss Veintshu was a bit better-heeled than the others of this discipline, which made sense since she was out of the school and not working at a retreat. Her home was modest but clean and her clothes were new. As Nag Kath hoped, she said, “Our care is not always known to the north, best of sirs.”

“There are not many, I will admit. I knew Velluub near Lhûg.”

“Oh yes.” She dug a finger into the Elf’s lower back that nearly had him howl. “She went five, no six years ago.”

Trying the same tack here he asked, “Did your order send her?”

“No, once we complete our studies, we go where we like. I am from here and my brother repairs boats.”

It was time, “That is a far from here. Perhaps she knew someone there.”

“Someone who comes for healing told her of a great Thourah there who was elderly and wanted to care for her patients.”

The Elf stretched in comfort and groaned, “Well, I should like to thank him because she helped me just as you have done.”

“Not him, her. A woman of the Phaul district, Mrs. Xhurrag-Ledj.” The healer said proudly, “She comes to me now.”

The Elf relaxed completely, “Then she is in good hands.” 

____________-------____________

The Phaul district was the oldest of three wealthy neighborhoods. Another was merely three hundred years old and the latest from after the war. Here was where he needed a Brenen or Tumlen to discretely ferret-out where the woman lived. From end to end there were ninety homes, about half with walls. There was no mail service in Khand outside of official documents and what influential people could slip in the pouch. 

If he couldn’t find a lad, he would have to borrow one. The Elf went to a shop that sold fine shawls and scarves made of the puffy balls and chose one a woman of any age could wear. As he was paying he realized he was late for an appointment and pressed, “This is for Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj up the hill. Can you have this delivered at an extra charge?”

The proprietor was absolutely sure that could be done. Many things in his shop were purchased by family or servants. Two extra groats seemed quite reasonable and the esteemed lady would receive it before the end of the day.

She did, but not by a lad. The old man who delivered it reminded him of the lamplighter in Trum Dreng. He knocked on the gate of the walled home, was admitted and left a few minutes later clutching a copper. The fellow hadn’t been manhandled or questioned, except maybe to ask who sent the anonymous gift. Another delivery man might be treated as well. The Elf was lucky that there was an empty home across the street. The neighborhoods had a number of second or third homes for families of the capital and inner districts to escape the heat in summer. It had a front window and a back door. Other than a few Lembas crumbs, it was like he wasn’t there.

A stout woman and a younger man left every market day holding baskets they brought back full. Someone else let them in the gate. They had no horses or stables around back. On day three, he thought he got a look at Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj. She left in the afternoon with a strapping fellow poorly concealing a dirk just short enough to not qualify as an illegal sword. Her first stop was to call on a friend a block closer to town for an hour while her bodyguard kept his eyes open. Nag Kath could not tell if this was an ordinary precaution or related to secret activities. Other women of means had attendants too but this one moved like a soldier.

Then they went to a store that sold spices. That was one of the first places Nag Kath visited looking for clues but didn't see anything dangerous. Most folk in the west would have the cook attend this but here you had your own family blends, closely guarded secrets. That only took a few minutes. Her final stop was at a candle shop, also a place one sent domestics. She was in a quarter-bell and left with a small bag. He went in a few minutes later and seemed to be looking at his shoes before buying a few candles of his own. 

The night after, he got his break. The strapping fellow left after dark and quietly made his way to a large house near the administrative offices. Waiting in the shadows until another man left, he was admitted in the gate. Judging by lamps moving in the upper rooms and soft music below, men were being entertained. A powerful specimen, he was there at least a bell. On his way home the guard walked into a strong confusion spell. Five minutes later Nag Kath was over the back fence to visit the man’s employer.

She was in her fifties or a well-preserved sixty. As she went into her bedroom she sensed him and started to leave when he said, “I must ask you to stay, Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj.”

She answered calmly, “My man may disagree.”

“He is unavoidably delayed, ma’am, else we could not talk about the benefits of healing. Please take the chair nearest your candle.”

She did very slowly and said, “What kind of conversation can we have if I cannot see you?”

“A brief one. Perhaps others will follow, at your pleasure.”

“We shall see. What do you want?”

He answered, “Please, look at the paper next to your candle.” She unfolded the sheet and studied it. Her face betrayed nothing. Then he asked, “Are any of those familiar to you?”

She folded the sheet, “I have nothing further to say to you.”

“That, ma’am, was the correct answer, even if untrue. The symbol in the upper right is Orlo, who I represent. On the left is Fûl, which I try to destroy. The bottom-right is of a sorcerer I do not know and the last was inlaid on a ward in Rhûn holding fell creatures beneath the ground. I believe there may be something like that here and would not see it opened. 

“My name is Solvanth and I am at the Helivar. If anything I said has meaning, I hope to hear from you.”

She would certainly question her strong-man when he returned for some sense of her guest. Nag Kath maintained the room at the Helivar but moved Nemren and a few things to a modest inn across the street.

There was no mad rush of Guardi the next morning. People came and went. He recognized most of them. Late in the afternoon, he walked into the Helivar and asked if there were any messages. The proprietor thought a moment and said, “Yes, sir. A note.”

It was sealed with a stamp he did not recognize. Inside were the sigil Nennambuur described and the word ‘wait’. Nag Kath kept the room across the street but was in or about the Helivar for the rest of the day and the next. A short man in working clothes came by in the afternoon with a package. As he walked by he said, “We should go.” Nag Kath let him leave before following. 

The fellow took a route no one would use if they wanted to go from here to there. Nag Kath never got too close and watched for watchers. When the man reached his destination, he opened the door of a small home where none of the places across the alley had windows and waited for the Elf to catch-up. 

Inside he walked to a pitcher of tea and said, “Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj wanted to thank you for the scarf.”

“It seemed the least I could do.”

The man handed him a mug and said, “My name, for our purposes, is Dourdhan. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Solvansh. Please, make yourself at home. We will be joined by another shortly. No reason to all arrive at the same time, is there?”

“Less crowded.”

Dourdhan took a chair ten feet away, not unlike the safe-house in Lhûg. The room had an oiled-paper window above street level and two candles waiting to be lit after the remaining sun. The fellow took a sip and said, “I am afraid you will have to do most of the talking, Mr. Solvansh. We were not expecting you.”

The Elf chuckled, “I find that often, Mr. Dourdhan.”

They sat in silence for only a few more minutes when Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj opened the unlocked door and locked it behind her. She looked at the visitor in better light and said, “Now I can put a face with the name. Thank you for coming, Mr. Solvansh.”

Dourdhan offered, “There is fresh tea, my dear.” She helped herself and sat to Nat Kath’s left. Letting her settle, the man added, “I was about to ask our guest his purpose.”

She took a sip and said to Nag Kath, “You asked me if I recognized those symbols. I still reserve my answer pending your reason for coming, sir.”

The Elf conceded, “That is entirely fair. I hunt and destroy remaining tools of the dark ones. They are represented by a great many things but I included the sigil of the Witch-King of Angmar. In my work I meet folk of like sentiments but who more interested in creating better lives than the ones they inherited. They are symbolized by the opposite drawing.”

She handed Dourdhan the sheet and waited while the tall one added, “In Kugavod I found a ward of their founder used to contain foul servants beneath the ground. It includes his and two others which are ancient Rhûnic. I have found those before. That mosaic also included the cartouche which brought me here. Then, there is yours.”

“No secrets there, sir. That is Stámo.”

Nag Kath said, “The good one of the north is used by those who call themselves right-livers. From what I know now, it is no great leap to believe Orlo and Stámo are one and the same.” I made a drawing of him but he appears different to those few who have seen him. He has appeared only so often for thousands of years.”

The Elf thought carefully, “Forgive me, but you must know of Orlo to the north. That is how I found you, Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj.” 

“No, I have never heard of this person.”

Nag Kath said, “Then how did you know to send the healer Ventuub there?”

“Mr. Dourdhan suggested it.” She looked at him.

He shook his head, “Never heard of the girl.”

They were confused and more than a little concerned. That wasn’t the sort of mistake people like this make. The smile went to a chuckle to a Nag-Kath grin before he asked, “Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj, by any chance did he tell you that during the crescent moon in July?”

Not an easy woman to fluster, she said calmly, “I think it was summer.”

The Elf kept his grin, “Then, ma’am, you met Stámo.”

They talked quite a while without revealing anybody else’s identity. There were others in their society. Nag Kath explained he was looking for wards against more evil creatures and drew the warding spell on a new sheet. They had heard of Pelargir. In that story there were four trolls. He told them about the lost country and the mithril band. They had never heard of Melkor. 

About the time he should leave, the Elf said, “It is possible that if there was such a beast here, he was released a thousand years after the ward in Rhûn was inlaid. You could help me by discovering if a creature sprang from nowhere in the city’s past. If those wards are here, they should stay that way. I have the power to sense them but I have to be very close. If they were broken, the threat is past.”

It was agreed that Mr. Dourdhan would be in touch. Nag Kath left first. On his way out he asked the formidable woman, “I hope your man wasn’t punished too harshly.”

“He was more talkative than usual. That is an interesting skill, Mr. Solvansh.”

____________------____________

They met three days later at Mr. Dourdhan’s home. It was in a pleasant neighborhood. Like the Righters in Thân zîrân, the property had been modified to get in and out by other than the front door. It was still largely Nag Kath’s responsibility to explain and he accepted that. He told them of the retreats without naming cities. She did not remember where she sent the healer. There was nothing like that here. They were their own version of Righters but without embracing the peace of lore and knowledge. Lake Nennûrad was an artery for troops coming up from northern Nûrad turning the corner directly into Mordor or further north to Rohan. They had to be more militant because, unlike ancient Khand and Rhûn, the place changed hands often.

History explained; they got down to business on the wards. There was no lore of beasts besetting the town. There were no trolls or orcs in the central plains or deserts because there was nowhere to hide from long, bright sun. Nazgûl and powerful human servants saw to discipline if the Khandians didn’t. 

The next meeting was at a widow’s home. She was brought to her main room seated in a wheeled chair by an attendant who served tea and left. Mrs. Walash was quite elderly. 

Dourdhan was gentle, “Mrs. Walash, thank you for having us. Our guest is come from the north and interested in lore of our city. “Mr. Solvansh, can you explain what you seek?”

“Thank you, Mr. Dourdhan. Ma’am, I hope to find three symbols, probably on a floor but perhaps on a wall that hearken ancient times. Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj, have you shown her the drawing?”

Mrs. Walash said in a clear voice, “She tried, young man, but I do not see very well.”

The Elf reached in his satchel for one of Listracht’s fire-stones, “Perhaps this will aid.” He put it in her hand and said, “If you hold this near your best eye, the image will be larger.”

The old woman bent over and took the glass away from her face towards the drawing in her lap. It still took wavering back and forth but she grinned saying, “Yes, it is clearer now.” When she started to return the valuable object he told her to keep it with his compliments.

Her eyes and hearing were nearing the end of use but she still had all her wits. As Nag Kath had been taught, she started slowly and softly, “In the third month I will be ninety seven. I hope I have made a fair accounting of myself. When I was a girl there was such a marking. I cannot now remember the symbols but there were two or three, woven like these. 

“Life was difficult then. Soldiers were not long returned from terrible war in the west. They fought among themselves for food and women. The Lord’s residence was sacked and abandoned for long years. Where his hall stood was a circle of fine stones like your picture.”

Nag Kath did not want to give her a clarity spell, but he did ask, “Your pardon, Mrs. Walash, may I draw another message for you to see.”

He make a large, quick sketch of the original Witch-King summons as drawn for the Pelargir pit before Orlo’s lads changed it around. She waited patiently and seemed to enjoy using her fire-glass saying, “This is my new eye, Mr. Solvanth.” She said it correctly. “No, I know this symbol in the middle. Soldiers bore it on their shields. That is one I will never forget.

“I was born the year after the bad soldiers left and only those of our esteemed Khagan were here. When my sister and I were little, we would go with friends to the ruins and imagine we were fine ladies attending high courts of yore. There were imaginary musicians and dancers and singers reciting great tales as they attended us!" Mrs. Walash smiled sweetly, "Forgive me, children. My memories of then were fonder than my parents’. Then came the peace. The residence was rebuilt the year I married. I remember because I fancied being wed there. I do not know if the floor was covered because I have not been invited back to my princess court.”

The four enjoyed finger-foods with their tea and left Mrs. Walash with fond memories and her new eye.

They returned to Mr. Dourdhan’s home which was only a five minute walk. Nag Kath went inside and put his hands on his hips, looking at the ceiling. It would have been better if the sweet old lady remembered a stinking hole in the floor. They sat in his main room. Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj said, “I have been in the place. All of the floors have new slates. That is the Khan’s residence, though he is almost never here. His sons come every other year, or so.”

She looked at the Elf and cautioned, “If you are thinking of a midnight visit, it is always guarded.”

“That poses no problem. The risk is that the mosaic underneath is disturbed. With new stones over the top, we are that much the safer unless sorcery is used. Please, tell me of our friend the Khan.”

Dourdhan explained, “Khan Feddigh-Hoh is fifty-eight, fourth in his line after a distant uncle met his end in the Gondor. Most of the land on the northwest bank of the lake is his personal property with a large lodge. Khanate holdings are his fief from the Khagan. The man has but one wife and two concubines, among them producing two sons and some daughters. His permanent home is Pashir. As Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj said, he is seldom here. I believe his health makes the journey difficult.”

That night the mansion had a guest. Hoping the new hall was on top of the last one, the intruder gently walked over it and poured a small skin of water in the middle of the room. With a wave of his silver hand, he saw the tell-tale green and black mist rise. A guard making his rounds at dawn stepped in the puddle. He looked up and would remember to have the steward check for leaks.

The next day Nag Kath told them, “It is the same cleft stick as in Rhûn; if the Khan believes me, he will probably have someone dig up the floor while his family is not here. I think you need to let sleeping dogs lie and hope one day we find what is keeping these creatures alive.”

Dourdhan muttered, “I am not sure I am glad I know.” He had a sip of tea, “But I am glad to hear that other lands are vigilant.”

Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj agreed, “Mr. Solvansh, you have seen more of the world than us. What do you make of the situation?”

“Sauron and his ring are legend. The Witch-King is dead but has left us two beast-pits, maybe more. I call that victory. Consider an embassy to the north, see how they do things. The retreats have long had a care for how to heal and live with one another now that the boot is off their necks.”

Dourdhan said, “There are always political matters, Mr. Solvansh.”

“The largest matter left, good sir. The Ghurs above know that game better than me. I will return through Pashir to advise them which way the wind blows in Khand proper.” 


	48. Perilous Consultations

** _Chapter 48_ **

** _Perilous Consultations_ **

An idea was forming in his mind. Nag Kath rode around the west side of the lake again but this time he forded the first of the three rivers at the water's edge and rode two miles upstream along a fair wagon track towards a very grand compound that could only be the Khan’s hunting lodge. Behind the complex was at least another two miles before the ground reached dense forest -- ten or twelve square miles to his surveyor’s eye, not including steeper grades into the mountains. It would not be approached from the west. Like Conath’s lodge, it was not built for defense. The northernmost river would dissuade cows, not fording riders. Tenant farmers along the lake had plots but the fields and pasture three hundred paces inland were fallow with no beasts put to graze. 

Reaching a low wall he he turned towards the rock and timber buildings and approached an open gate. Two guards came out of the lodge so he waited on the outside. The senior man said, “You are trespassing on the Khan Feddigh-Hoh’s land without leave. Go now.”

“My error, best of sirs. I was looking for the great hunt.”

The hunting here is for our Lord. On your way.”

“Thank you, sir.”

If the Righters, Stámöe in these parts, liked the northern model, this would make an ideal retreat. The other two communities had no reason to hide anymore. They were schools with no political interests and paid enough taxes not to muster levies. They were also large enough to defend themselves and always had a few repentant soldiers who knew the tip from the grip.

Making a purchase depended much more on the Khan than the price of farmland. He might be squeezed or have all the gold in Khand. He might have daughters to dower or sons to commission. Nag Kath did not know how much went to the Lord Khagan. 

One thing was for sure; Khans like diamonds. He would keep this under his hat until he got a better idea of how his suggestion to introduce the groups fared. Dourdhan and Zhurrag-Ledj thought an embassy was an excellent idea but she had never been on a horse in her life. He was in his sixties and not ready for three weeks in the wild each way. They told the Elf they needed to discuss it with their friends. 

It quickly emerged there were two senior men capable of the ride to Lhûg and speaking for them when they arrived. One of them also felt it was a fine plan but was not willing to leave his family. Hemid Torlurn was a family man too, but owned a business with his brother who could see to things while he was away. If this was the last thing needed to honor his father's call to defy the darkness, he would see it through. He did not yet know that the most dangerous place in Nennûrad was eight blocks from his house. The top two Stámöe would keep that to themselves until they couldn’t. 

The four of them met at Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj’s. One of her rooms could only be reached from a single corridor making it very private from listening servants. Torlurn said hello to his friends and that he would go to Lhûg when needed. He was thirty-eight and had been involved as his father had. Like most of these people, their children were not told until they were adults. They probably figured it out, but duties had been light for generations. 

With his proven ability to disrupt well-laid plans, Nag Kath unrolled a large map of the northwestern corner of the lake showing the rivers feeding in, roads and landmarks. This was novel here. In the west, generals often had huge maps and would move colored blocks on it to represent infantry, cavalry, enemy and artillery. The Elf asked, “Tell me about this section here” and pointed to the area he scouted.

Mr. Dourdhan said, “That land belongs to the Khan’s family. He has a home up there but his family stays here in the …” he caught himself before saying the warded beast-palace in front of Torlurn and substituted, “… in the town.”

The Elf held his chin and asked softly, “What can you tell me of the man?”

Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj was the keeper of facts. She explained, “In the every-other year call-up, Lord Feddigh-Hoh sent men to the south rather than gold. They send gold when they can. Soldiers are cheaper but conscripting them is unpopular. He is also considering the marriage of his second daughter to the second son of the Khan of Alagoth on our southern border. The lass is not favored in the way men like.” She suppressed a smile thinking of her bodyguard’s blathered tastes as he recovered from the confusion spell. “The second son will be, shall we say, honoring the family’s needs over his own. They will expect a commensurate dowry.”

“Do you have friends in Pashir?”

“We do.”

Knowing he could speak for the group, Dourdhan said, “Let Hemid Torlurn return with you to this place of lore and meet with our own kind there. He will tell us if it holds true to our ways. If so, we will consider the practical needs with time and clarity.”

Nag Kath looked at the Stámöe saying, “We can leave anytime. We will take the road to Pashir for a feel of the mood and then north. It is not much longer on good roads. Perhaps leisure in the capital of Khan Feddigh-Hoh III will make decisions easier on our return.”

Torlurn asked for a week to hug and hold. A quiet nipper in the family till was appreciated. On the third of November, they nudged their horses towards the northern peaks of the Harmal.

If he could bring Chûr to Hanvas Tûr, he could bring Hemid. The man was happily married with three children. His older boy already had responsibilities in the business and the girl would marry according to her parent’s wishes. Hemid Torlurn was small and spare with thick, short hair and a sparse beard, very Khandian in that sense. He only spoke that tongue, which was fine. Nag Kath had one look at his cart-horse and overpaid for another with proper tack and kit. 

For the first few days, the man said little. They were under some of the most astonishing peaks on earth and had to ford a few streams that reached their knees. By day three, Torlurn started to talk, mostly about his family. He had never been away from his wife for more than a week and now he was going far, perhaps for months. She did not understand why he had to go, only that he must. Halah would say prayers for his safe return at dawn and dusk.

Nag Kath shared bits and pieces of his life and what he knew of the world, staying away from magic, wizards and being immortal. The only magical creatures east of the Anduin were monsters to freeze the blood. Describing Mordor alone took a full day and well into the campfire time. Settling Nulvanash used hardly any of the Elf’s sorcery. Nag Kath could have had an hour of information to every minute of his companion’s but he listened carefully and encouraged the soft-spoken lake-man to share his story.

This was the road connecting Nennûrad with the rest of the country. There were other riders, donkeys, people pulling two-wheeled wagons and many on foot. It was winter; temperate on level ground but very cold in the mountains. Here in northern shadow they wore coats most of the day. 

Four days after leaving they reached Illast Dûn. The scenic town had a number of second or third homes of wealthy Variags since it was the first cool, green foothills for thirty leagues from the central plains. The town was situated at the confluence of three small creeks that formed a river flowing west. 

The capital of Khan Feddigh-Hoh III was only three hours west on another small river feeding from the foothills. Pashir was a city of about six thousand people. To the east, the creeks forming the river had fertile farms. Any town in this country had to be on water, hopefully, reliable water. This was. Nag Kath had explained he needed to know more about the capital and its ruler but he wasn’t ready to talk about a third retreat. So far, the southeastern Righters seemed fine folks and had separately opposed a common enemy. It remained to be seen if their peacetime ambitions aligned.

Hemid was not scholarly. He was a smart man with a strong sense of purpose and moral commitment. He was also more accepting of conditions than men of the west. Nag Kath noticed that loitering in Nennûrad’s taverns and markets too. Men did not have discussions starting with; ‘what if’. Conditions were what they were unless changed so there was no reason to speculate if they were otherwise. Hemid liked to talk about his business of making and selling dyes. Reeds, flowers and other vegetables ringing the lake could be reduced and blended to a wide variety of shades. His family gathered and prepared them for weavers, spinners and knitters to make the colorful clothing of their land. This trip might be the first time his hands were their natural hue since he was eight. Nag Kath knew a lot about that too so they fell back to the subject when other topics were exhausted.

Hemid had never been here before but had been told their contact in the city. He was to chalk a circle in an alley with no windows. Nag Kath stayed behind him to make sure no one was following close enough to wonder the reason. The next day Hemid was to wear a red cap and have tea at the shop across from the Stele of the Conqueror at mid-day.

Nag Kath got them separate rooms several doors apart at a good inn with a stable. They had their evening meal separately too so the Elf would watch for watchers. He did the same while Hemid was having tea the next day. The man had not trained like a field-Righter of the north but he did look like he was there for tea. From his perch on the other side of the monument the Elf didn’t see any obvious watchers. Someone would have to track the men in red caps since they didn’t know where he was staying. If no one contacted him, he was to try again in two days.

They weren’t used to this. Listracht would have written a code for the inn and room number rather than just a chalk mark after making sure the inn wasn’t ‘broken’. Then again, the Yvsuldors died sixty years ago. No one was watching anymore. Righters weren’t even watching each other.

The woman alone in an inn was not ideal either. They were generally there for professional reasons and she was not dressed for the part. Around forty, plainer clothes and carrying chamber pots would have worked too. Somehow, she knocked on the right door and spoke with Hemid for moment. They were to walk west from the inn at dusk and then follow a man with a limp. There seemed to be quite a few of those so he would hopefully be easy to select. He was. After a block, the limp went away but they kept their distance until he entered a tavern. The visitors from Nennûrad gave him a few minutes to settle and went in. Secrecy was over. He waved them to a table in the corner and stood to introduce himself. 

Pedregs was from the Listracht school of Rightness. About thirty with the same size and baldness, he already had a pitcher on order. In introductions, Nag Kath used his real name for the first time. If Hemid was surprised, he didn’t show it. Quiet until the ale arrived, Pedrigs took a good swallow and said, “Kath of the Trolls?”

“One and the same, best of sirs.”

“So you are immortal?”

“Thus far.”

“Good. What do you need here gentlemen?”

Hemid offered, “We make our way north where Mr. Kath knows others with similar views.”

Pedrigs had another sip and wiped his lips with his sleeve, “That makes sense. In all my years there has been a dividing line between the Khanates.”

Mr. Kath said, “I wonder that those of your calling may have been one before losses and distance divided. Hemid and I go there to see my friends.”

Pedrigs leaned over the little table more quietly, “All to the good. I am still not sure how I can help.”

The Elf replied, “It would help to better understand Khan Feddigh-Hoh’s relationship with his neighbors and his motivations.”

“Ah, Kath, it seems you have done quiet work too. This is not the place and there are others who know more than a humble traveling trader. Give me day to speak with them and leave your dinner hour open tomorrow.” He added in a voice suggesting now was the time, “Is there anything else I should share first?”

The Elf gave that a few moments thought and then took a small sheet of paper out of his pocket and sketched three wards in pencil. Pedrigs looked closely and put it in his pocket with a nod. “Look for me again having tea at your inn before the high-meal.” He rose and left. Nag Kath wondered if he paid for the ale.

______________-------______________

After drawing the beast wards, as arranged with the Stámöe, it was time to tell Hemid. Nag Kath took a pull of his own ale and said, “Sir, this has had to wait, and I apologize for that.”

Hemid Torlurn was better than the Elf for keeping his Dukks face. He had a sip too and waited. Nag Kath confessed, “The symbol I gave our new friend is a ward against fell beasts of the Servant. It was laid over their hiding place by the sorcerer you know as Stámo. I have found two in the north. I came to Nennûrad to find another and did. One of the Gondor pits was disturbed by men. Trolls emerged to great mayhem. The other is newly found and remains a secret. So must yours.”

Hemid took another sip and said, “Do not apologize. We of my land faced terrible dangers for all of time. They are fewer. My father, and now me, tried to protect the land we love and do so now. Can you tell me of the ward in my home?

Nag Kath did, supposing it rather more protected under the Khan’s new floor than an abandoned hut. The immortal, which did not seem to bother Hemid either, said it had been there for at least a thousand years. That was a good run.

Hemid stayed to the inn most of the day but Nag Kath did some strolling in the markets and around the palace grounds. Khan Feddigh-Hoh III lived well. This was a larger complex than in Lhûg with more people beetling about in his service. The walls were no stouter. Guards were sharp-eyed and rotated on an uneven schedule. Whether that was on purpose or not, one could not time the changes. These local rulers seemed much more concerned about assassination than force of arms.

It seemed to Nag Kath that he was having a lot of clandestine meetings in dark places. The days of massing troops against ferocious hosts were hopefully over. Now they had to worry about officious guardi thinking them subversive. Pedrigs led them to the front door of a nice home near the palace district. After thinking of the modest outpost in Nennûrad, this might be their Ghurate. It might also be a good way to see how far their influence stretched. There were Righters in Ûbésêsh before the Mordor war. Listracht had not said if any of their group was there now. Strange they should know so little about each other. 

Hemid and Nag Kath bowed to three people arranged comfortably on cushions. The guests took their places facing them with Pedrigs by the door. The new faces were an elderly gentleman in the middle, a man of about thirty to his left and a woman of about fifty on his right. There were no introductions and no one spoke for quite a while. 

Finally, the older man cleared his throat and spoke formally, “We are told you are come from northern lands in common purpose.” He was quiet long enough to make the visitors think they should respond. They didn’t and he continued, “We have known of such efforts but have kept our own council to not attract unwanted interest. Our friends in Nennûrad …” he gestured to Hemid; “… feel we should hear your tidings and we agreed. Please proceed.”

Nag Kath said, “I seek and destroy remnants of Sauron. I occasionally meet those who have long resisted his servants. Their view is that men must not take what is not theirs. I believe, and am closer to confirming, that their sorcerer is also yours in a different guise. The northern branch of the family has long offered lore and healing as dark threats lessen. Mr. Torlurn is going to see for himself.”

The woman asked, “Are you of the council in that place?”

“No ma’am. They are looking to the future. I am of the past, which I will share in a moment.”

The older man inquired, “Mr. Torlurn, you are known to us here. Is it your choice to go there?”

“I volunteered, revered sir. Mr. Kath said we would take our rest there for a month or more and then I will return to my family.”

The woman looked at the other two faces closely before saying, “We will consider that presently. Mr. Kath, let us speak of the past.”

The Elf looked at the eyes as well and started deliberately, “Sauron and his most powerful servant left pits seeded with foul creatures awaiting their summons. I found three that had been warded with counter-spells by the sorcerer I know as Orlo at least a thousand years ago. One was disturbed by men to great calamity in Gondor. The next I found this spring in Rhûn. That ward included a clue to come here and last week I found a third in Nennûrad.”

Pedrigs offered, “The first was the troll-slaying, ma’am.”

She confirmed, “On the Great River?” He nodded. Turning to Nag Kath she asked, “Are they all warded?”

“I do not know. Many more have already been opened. I imagine others malinger.”

The senior man looked at him very closely and asked, “And how do you know this, young man?”

“I have some of the same powers, sir.”

The younger man finally spoke, “Terrible things, yes, but why so few and scattered?”

Nag Kath thought a moment before replying, “I am supposing here, but the ones found so far have all been in cities that changed hands many times during the long war, and all near the ruler’s quarters. I believe these were for assassination. If the resident lord was opposed to Sauron, or even less enthusiastic than a chosen man, the Angmarach had but to close his hand and bring them forth.

“Orlo, Stámo if you will, would not have found or been able to get them all, and probably did not want to. For all I know, the Khagan’s throne is over monsters that wait even now. I remember his floors covered with mosaics.”

The old man seemed very concerned about what he had taken to be a beardless northerner. The woman was more practical, “Mr. Kath, is that why you come now?”

“In part, ma’am. I seek to find and prevent their release, but my primary reason is to discover the source of power that keeps them alive long after the One Ring. Great graveyards of soldiers, many from your lands, remain undead, waiting like the pit beasts for their summons. Someone will eventually have the power to claim them.”

The old man looked Nag Kath sternly in the eyes and demanded, “And you do not seek to be among them?!”

“I already have been, sir.”

That froze them for a moment. The younger man recovered first, “What can we do to assist, Mr. Kath?”

“I would like to know more of your Khan. The pit in Nennûrad is under his great hall. I would not see him killed but I would not see him uncover it to the peril of our friends there. Mr. Torlurn and I will stay a few days and then make for Lhûg to consult with folk like you.”

The three Ghurs, looked at each other first and then the old man spoke, “What in particular do you want to know about Khan Feddigh-Hoh III?”

“His finances, sir.”

They must have been expecting him to say; troops or devils. The woman closed the discussion, “I think we can manage that. Mr. Pedrigs remains your contact. We may want to speak again, sirs.”

_____________------____________

On the way back to the inn, Pedrigs chuckled, “You fooled me, Mr. Kath. I thought you a young buck fighting for ideals.”

“Me too. They seemed terribly serious. Does this local Khan actually care what you do?”

“No.”

“I only ask because you aren’t causing trouble. If there those agitating for the old days, that is another matter. I dealt with a sorcerer in Mordor trying to make himself the next Witch-King. He had a ring of power, bad combination.”

“That was you too? Good work. Yes, we know all about the Yvsuldor here.”

Hemid was listening to every word. Nag Kath mused, “I should imagine the Visitors were not warmly embraced after the purge.”

Pedrigs smirked, “Warmer than they liked.”

“Are there any who now claim that mantle?”

“Not here. A bird told me that some in the capital wish for that. The Khagan discourages them but does not silence them. Probably it is better to know the source than to guess.”

Nag Kath set a new tone, “See here, Mr. Pedrigs. The world is changed. Outside of a few old trolls, the fight is within us now. Unless Hemid here is picky, perhaps one of your flock should come with us …” he grinned, “… give us something to eat when goblins are scarce.”

“I thought that myself. In the meantime, watch for a note about money.”

At dinner that night, Hemid was quiet but not nervous. He suspected Mr. Solvanth was more than put forth. That would make for a safer trip and return to those he loved. He hoped no one would destroy the Khan’s nice floor.

The note arrived the next morning. Mr. Kath was to go to an address not far from yesterday’s meeting at the hour after the mid-day meal. It was a tavern. The Elf had tea and left his money on the table against a quick exit. During the meal, a young woman approached him and said, “Please come with me, best of sirs.”

She led him silently to another very nice home in the other direction and opened the door herself. As he was gawking, the woman said, “This way, please.” They went through a large room to a smaller office where his female questioner was sitting on one of the tall cushions at a low desk. 

She looked up and said, “Good of you to come. Dear, please see if cook has tea.” Then she waved her hand at the pillows across from her. The young woman was gone and back almost before he sat. She poured from a pot into two small cups.

The older woman said, “Thank you, my dear.” After the lass left she said to him, “I am Felishde, Mr. Kath. I am sorry for the harshness of our questions yesterday.”

“I have suffered worse, kind lady.”

“So, the Khan’s money? Can you be more specific?”

The Elf said, “Let me start with my intention. I am interested in purchasing some of his land near Nennûrad for our shared purpose. With other than a prince, that is a matter of price. But princes need other things. I hope to learn what he wants.”

Felishda looked had a sip and summarized, “The Khanate is strong with a permanent army of two thousand and militias of twice that. Five hundred of the army and five more of the militia were sent south two season ago for four years in service to our honored Khagan. For many years before, Khan Feddigh-Hoh sent the tax instead to pay for levies nearer the Swertings. 

“His crop taxes have been only fair this year and last owing to a blight on gureeq and wheat. His family considers a union between second daughter and the second son of the Khan to our south. A dowry will be expected.” That confirmed what Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj implied at the lake but didn’t suggest the man was strapped beyond what most rulers face. Fair crops are better than no crops. No one seemed in rebellion. 

She then offered the barest hint of a smile, “There is some difficulty with our Excellency’s older daughter. She is married to the Khagan’s wife’s brother. It is said that his habits are ... irregular. In his wisdom, the Khagan limits payments when he is displeased and it falls to our esteemed Khan to maintain his daughter’s standard of living since she is kin to the Khagan. The noble Khan is not pleased either, but cannot cast them adrift to reflect poorly on the great ruler.

“Is that the sort of knowledge you seek, sir knight?”

“Yes.” He took a sip and asked, “How does the elder daughter view things?”

“She is no better pleased than the Khagan or the Khan without an heir to show for the union. Mr. Kath, are you considering removing their problem?”

“No, I want them to remain miserable with the Queen in favor. Why such difficult matches?”

She considered the wisdom there and said without judgment, “His Excellency’s line throws manly lads. Daughters fare less well. The girl’s husband was not the first man to darken her door. Her husband took her and payment with proclamations of maidenhood. Those payments never stopped. You see our poor Khan’s dilemma, sir.”

Nag Kath nodded but didn’t see. In his experience; your stand-up Variag would have incinerated the man as a lesson to the lot. She said nothing about furtherance of any sort of right-living. Their group didn’t seem interested in contemplation. They hadn’t actually said what they were interested in, here or in Nennûrad. He was interested in buying the land so he commiserated, “A difficult position, ma’am. Without betraying any secrets, does the noble family still use their palace or hunting lodge on the lake?”

“His Excellency has not traveled there for some time. His second son hunts every other year or stays in the family apartments.”

The Elf thought they were a deal nicer than apartments except for trolls in the basement. All smiles, he asked, “And the heir?”

“He stays here, except for trips with his wife and children to homes in Illast Dûn, a dutiful and loyal son.”

“Mrs. Felishda, I will need a discreet word with Khan Feddigh-Hoh III when I return. Do you have friends of friends who can arrange that?”

Felishda said regally, “We have any number of friends, Mr. Kath.”

She knew things that could get her killed if the Elf was interrogated. The local Khan might grit his teeth to spare his shared in-law. He would not be as tolerant with the Stämoe. The Elf rose and thanked her for her courtesy and courage.

One thing was certain, diamonds were in the offing. Small and private, the little rocks would not be reported by the seller on the Khagan’s clacker. The Khan wouldn’t miss the place by the lake. Nag Kath would take the earnest Stámöe to the Hanvas retreat and see how that went.

_______________------______________

The next morning Pedrigs was waiting in front of the inn. They followed him to one of a dozen tea houses in the market district. After being served, the man asked, “Productive trip?”

Torlurn offered, “Informative.”

Nag Kath confirmed, “I believe so. I do not need to know the reach of the Stámöe, but please look for those symbols, or places where they might have been. 

Pedrigs considered that and said, “We will, but not too loudly. It is hard to seem interested without others getting interested. I have asked among friends who might travel with you. One may be available but I will not know until tomorrow. When must you leave?”

Torlurn answered, “When we know. This is a journey that cannot be rushed.”

“Wisely put, best of sirs.”

Nag Kath leaned back and stroked his chin before saying, “There is one more thing I would ask of you, my friend. Please tell me the Stámöe’s vision for our new world.”

“I cannot, sir. We have so long fought and resisted and toiled that we never thought it would be through. That is why I hope one of us will see what the northerners are making of their peace. You will know at first light.”

Torlurn was content. He missed his wife and children. He blessed them in his heart. But he was ready for new things. Like many of these lands, he had what little Nûradi blood escaped the Pelennor. If those lands below the desert were ever reclaimed, it must be done in new ways. They saw a comedy play that night and the Righter slept well.

As promised, Pedrigs was sitting by the fountain four buildings down from the inn. Nag Kath and Hemid saw him looking north and collected their horses thinking to wish him well on their way. As they rode up, Hemid said, “It is a hard thing to ask someone to leave. I wrestle with that each day.”

Pedrigs stood and stretched, “I could not have said it better myself. I spoke to my wife and we agreed that it was time for me to do as you have done. My horse is at the end of the block. I hope one of you can cook.” 

_____________-------____________

One hundred years without Sauron had produced no new roads. Getting to Lhûg from here was about the same distance as from Nennûrad. The first leg was forty leagues and would take them to the two towns of any size leading from Mordor where Idgshtok discovered wine and dancing women. The road was fair, it was not hot and as with every year since Nag Kath first came here, there was more water, new streams, larger streams, sometimes small ponds. Merchant traffic was thin. Traders of Khand mostly stayed to the corridors along the east or west mountain ranges. This was the Gap of Khand; not famously hospitable.

The three men traveled well together. Nag Kath wished he could have gotten a fresher mount for Pedrigs. They would not have been easy to come by, but his old mare determined the pace. Nemren was no youngster but born to run. There were no inns. The rain season would not start until spring but no one explained that to a thunderstorm pelting small hail on them sideways. They rode through it and arrived in Laghiri Ôrath at the end of day six. There was an inn there since anyone going to modern Nûrnen from the north or east was at this junction. They had ale and the men bought mutton stew. Their guide ate his little yellow crackers.

The next day should put them at Nebûriha. Ground opened with forests to the north with streams large enough for fish. Three men waiting for them had other ideas about fishing. They were riding towards the Righters in no hurry. The approaching horsemen had no packs other than their traveling kits. Both groups looked like hard men. People got out of the Righters’ way for that. On this long, straight stretch of road they had reached the point where forests after Sauron flourished with enough water to reach their roots. And in the trees to the left, Elf eyes saw movement. At the two parties' rates of speed, they would pass each other at the nearest copse of trees, shades of leaving Tharbad.

Nag Kath murmured, “Pedrigs, get your bow to hand.” Torlurn trained in the Nennûrad militia but never swung his sword in anger. Pedrigs had been in one of the Pashir call-ups to serve the Khagan along the Harad border, their army’s hard school. That experience made him “Eyes” for the Stámöe.

Pedrigs slid his bow off his shoulder with little motion. Nag Kath said without turning his head, “Horsemen or archers to the left. If we hold, the riders will have to pass them before they reach us." He pulled his bow and put three arrows in the same hand. If the approaching riders were honest, they would be in danger from the lads hiding in the woods. If they weren’t honest, they worked together. The Elf whispered, “They are slowing. It might mean the men in the copse are mounting to join them. Do you see the two large rocks to our right about fifty paces?”

They both said, “Aye.”

Nat Kath said calmly, “We walk there until they move, then we run. Pedrigs, you get behind the far one. I’ll take the near. Hemid, you get behind one of us. Let us go.”

The horses lazily clopped off the road into the wispy grass. They got half way there before the three riders dug in their spurs and five more emerged from the trees. Reaching the rocks, Nag Kath and Pedrigs nocked arrows while Torlurn held the reins. When Nag Kath figured they were fifty paces away he broke cover and put three arrows at the group as they combined from different directions. The first caught a horse in the chest to the feathers. He dropped and threw his rider over the top. The second missed. The third took a man in the gut. 

Pedrigs broke his cover as well. Good archers had the advantage. The bandits were not used to experienced military bowmen on their road and probably expected them to run rather than stand. Pedrigs missed his target but grazed the horse behind it enough to break its stride and start shying in pain. By then, Nag Kath was out again and put his next arrow through that rider's thigh and well into the horse’s flesh. The shot did not drop either of them but the horse was terrified and his rider was staked to him until the arrow broke. 

Pedrigs next shot caught a horse in the foreleg. She did go down and at a full run, rolled over her rider. They were close enough now that Nag Kath put arrows into one man’s forehead and another’s shoulder. 

With all the screaming horses and shouting men, Pedrig’s horse shied and skittered enough from the shadow of the rock that when Torlurn stepped out to pull her back, one of the unhorsed men put an arrow through the front of his neck and out the side. Moments later, their attackers had enough and whistled the retreat. Nag Kath’s last shot took the unhorsed archer through both buttock cheeks from the side. He screamed and tried to run eight inches at a step. The man with the arrow holding him to his mad horse could not have stopped if he wanted to and the wounded man could not halt any of the terrified steeds even if he could remount. 

Pedrigs hissed, “Nag Kath, get over here.”

Torlurn was bleeding profusely but the arrow had somehow missed his spine. He was alert. It would not be a fatal injury unless infection set in. The Elf remembered the poisoned arrows of the Greyflood. Pedrigs nocked another arrow and watched for movement ahead while Nag Kath sat Hemid against the back of the rock telling the man, “This is going to hurt.”

“Go ... oo ... od. Worry when it doesn’t.”

“I am going to leave that arrow in until we make sure these lads are dead because it needs my full attention. Do not try to take it out yourself, understand?”

The man used as little nod as he could. With that, the Elf and Righter broke cover and crouched into the field. All the nearby men were dead or dying except the one pretending with an arrow through his arse. Pedrigs gave him a quick kick causing a blood-curdling scream and chuckled, “Nag, got one for you.” 

The Elf ran over and said, “We’ll ask him a few questions.” With that, he dragged the man on his stomach by his hair back to the larger rock and left him with the arrowhead coming out one side and the feathers on the other. Pedrigs grabbed the reins of a mare nosing the man shot in the face. The Elf collected his little medicine bag and knelt by Torlurn who had done as told. Hemid’s hands were trembling and he had wet himself but his eyes were open. 

“Hemid, old friend, I am going to cut one end of that arrow off and pull it through the other side. As soon as I do, I am going to put a cloth up hard against each side to see what else comes out.” Torlurn blinked his eyes in understanding.

Using his nippers, the Elf gently cut the feathered end close to the neck. No one saw him pull the other side or slap his hands against both wounds. The man clenched his teeth, hands and eyes but did not lose consciousness. Nag Kath slowly took the cloth away and saw only normal bleeding. Had the arrowhead gone in with the edges side-to-side, it would have cut the artery. It still nicked his windpipe and blood was coming into his mouth. His physician gently touched the wounds with silver followed by an ointment in his bag. Then he bound the pads with a length of gauze around his neck.

Hemid offered the barest grin and said, “Let us see what our new friend has to say.” 

Their captive left his face in the dirt and groaned but had not said a word. Nag Kath asked him, “What’s your name?”

When he forgot, Pedrigs stepped on one cheek to a curdling scream and said smoothly, “The man asked you politely.”

“Ngauhhh! Ardushk!”

Nag Kath knelt next to his head and said, “That’s a fine, lovely Mordor name, Studray, I should think.” Silence. He looked at Pedrigs to adjust his footrest.

“Raughhhh!!! Cardugh.”

“Just as nice. How many more back in those trees?”

Pedrigs shifting in the gravel was enough this time, “Eight.”

Pedrigs wondered, “Are they still close?”

“No. Camp is five miles in. Nghhh! You will not find them.”

Nag Kath pulled the arrow out by the head without removing the feathers. That brought a scream louder than the others combined. The Elf growled, “If you can walk, you can leave.” The bandit groaned but pushed himself up trying not to bend at the hip. It cannot be done. On the second try he bent with a grimace until he stood and took mincing little steps on the longest walk of his life, five miles if he wasn’t lying. 

Many men would have exacted their revenge. Pedrigs understood that if his mates didn’t kill him or let him fester, they would be that much slower coming back. He would walk past the groaning man who was gut-shot. Watching the bandit waddle up the slope, Pedrigs muttered, “I would give a month’s pay to hear his new nickname.” With that he nodded at the Elf as if to say it was time to get their man on a horse and make for Nebûriha. 

At a walking pace, that was another three hours. Hemid could hold his own reins with one or the others alongside. The bandage was red on both wounds but not getting redder. Even at this speed they passed several people leading donkeys who stared at the wounded Stámöe and the reassuring tall man. 

____________--------____________

In sixty years the place had done well. There were three inns. They chose the freshest paint and took Turlurn upstairs right away. Nag Kath undressed him and got him into a very lumpy straw bed while Pedrigs unsaddled the horses. He would ask the local guardi about one of them when their man was attended. Back upstairs, he was astounded. 

Nag Kath removed the bandage and examined the wounds. The side barb slices were clean but the shaft holes would need time to heal. Pedrigs had seen such wounds. He watched the tall, blonde soldier’s hands turn silver and glow like sun on swords! Hemid’s neck was yellow! That went on about thirty seconds until Nag Kath removed his hands and the colors faded.

Then, as if he had done no more than put a kettle on the stove, he looked at Pedrigs and said, “There was no poison. I will keep watching for infection. Do they have food here?”

A spell put Hemid fast asleep for hours. Pedrigs watched Nag Kath wave his hand over their bags and they went downstairs with the feathered end of the orcish arrow that took Torlurn. Khand doesn’t have guardi like in the west. They have varying qualities of soldiers, around here, not their best. Two of them were lolling by the county building when the Righters walked over. Nag Kath said, “We were attacked by a band of eight riders three hours east. A man of our company was wounded. One bandit was from Cardugh and shot this arrow.” He handed it to the closest trooper. “Do you recognize it, best of sirs?”

“That is not our district. What do you expect us to do?”

Pedrigs watched his companion seem to grow eight feet tall and say, “I expect you to be fat and stupid.” A beam of light left his hand into the faces of the soldiers as he added, “What you will do is tell me who these men are.”

The other man said in a daze, “Nûrnen raiders. They come up the Vhilias Road and hide in the trees.”

“And what are you doing about that?”

“Nothing.”

Nag Kath said more gently, “There are five groats in your pocket. Go to the tavern on the east side and drink until it is spent.”

The two walked off in the other direction without looking back.

The Elf growled, “Let us see if we can get Hemid to eat something.”

_____________-------____________

They stayed three days. On each of them, Pedrigs watched the blonde Righter hold his hands to both wounds and glow. By the time they left, Turlurn did not need bandages. He would carry the scars but they were no longer wounds. From here they followed a fair sized creek forty leagues to Lhûg. There were no inns and it rained two days without stop, but after a week without pushing and Pedrigs on a stronger horse, they arrived at the school not long before the dinner hour.

As usual, Nag Kath slammed his palm into the door. Mrs. Puluogh peeked out and said, “Oh, sir.” She opened it wide and the three weary travelers stamped in with their bags after having left the horses tied to the stable rails. The Elf said to the cook, “Mrs. Puluogh, these fellows will be staying for dinner and to sleep tonight at least. Can you attend that?”

“Right away, best of sirs.” Not wanting to say the wrong name, she added, “The other gentleman should be along shortly, sir.” With that she took her basket back to the market to see if the fish was still good.

There was ale in the demi-cask and it went down smoothly. Before the first mug was drained, Nag Kath heard boots outside trying to be quiet. He yelled out the window, “It is me. Come meet my new friends.”

Listracht opened the door and gawked at the three travelers sprawled on the couch and chair. He walked in slowly and not too lame. All three rose and Nag Kath gave him a hug that always unnerves Khandians, especially ones from the south. They had been warned their host was a barbarian and who knew what Nag Kath was? "Listracht, these are Pedrigs from Pashir and Hemid from Nennûrad and oh, do we have a tale for you!”

Dinner lasted four hours. Pedrigs and Listracht had the same position in their respective bands and were best friends before the cask was gone. Torlurn was more reserved, as always, but enjoyed himself more than he probably ever had. He got the honor of explaining how the tall one pulled the arrow out of the bandit and made him walk home.

There were a lot of things the Righters would talk about later and both knew that. It was not really a slip, but Listracht did say, “The Elf has more stories than any I know.” Nag Kath thought nothing of it but both of the other men turned to stare at him as if noticing for the first time that he looked thirty yet talked about things twice that long ago. Elves were as mythical as dragons around here.

Nag Kath let Torlurn have his bed. Pedrigs got the couch. Nag Kath sat in his usual chair and Listracht snored all night in his room. They were up early when Mrs. Puluogh arrived to make tea and porridge. The Elf and Righter walked outside with their mugs. In the way he usually did, Nag Kath looked straight forward and said, “I brought them to see Hanvas Tûr. They have been fighting for Orlo by a different name for two thousand years and don’t know what to do next. I won’t take them without the Ghurs permission, but I intend to get it. The time for small, secret bands is past.”

Listracht looked the same direction, “Just go. You have taken their measure. The Ghurs and Ghuldieg need to know about that troll-pit.” He took a sip and smiled, “There is something else, Elf. I know you.”

“I need a few more pieces, but you are going to love it.”

As they turned to go inside Listracht muttered, “As much as I loved saddle sores, no doubt.” 

It took another day to get organized. Pedrigs kept the bandit horse. Nag Kath explained how he got Vandery many years before. The Elf gave Torlurn more care and checked Listracht’s leg. His knee-graft was holding. The school was actually clean. 

Morning found all four riding to the retreat. Listracht rode well. He punched an extra hole in the top and bottom straps so he could loosen them while mounted. When they arrived, Nag Kath and the two guests sat in the grass along the road while Listracht went in the office to explain. That took long enough that the Pashir men might have been nervous about their reception. After a month on the road and getting shot through the neck, Hemid had earned it, Pedrigs too. In the meantime, they watched people, some waving but attending their business.

After half a bell, Listracht walked out with Ghuldieg who introduced himself with a bow rather than the overly-familiar handshake of the barbarian Rhûns and sat in the grass with them. “You are welcome to Hanvas Tûr with full courtesies extended. The council has to be notified but is mostly here and, I am sure, will look forward to this. In the meantime, let us take nourishment and tell me of your journey.”

The three ‘Eyes’ dominated the conversation. Hemid listened with the Elf who silently prayed he would not become Kath of the Arse Arrow. Their meal lasted until Ghuldieg heard a gong that the Ghurs were gathered. Listracht would have given the person on duty the gist of the situation. Five of the seven were there and two of the important staff. 

They went two bells covering mostly comparative right-living knowing the pits would be covered separately with the security folk. Towards the end, Torlurn opened-up. He was an equivalent Ghur in Nennûrad with a care for family upbringing so the man would find plenty of activities and like-minded folk. Mr. Tielu was asked to show the new people around, knowing the Elf and Listracht would be busy much of the next few days with internal business. He took the Stámöe to one of the afternoon Sayings when the Righters went back to talk about beasts.

There wasn’t that much more to say. Nag Kath found another ward where Orlo said it would be. There was nothing they could do about it. If clues were revealed at each new site, the next was under the Khan’s floor and they couldn’t do anything about that either. Their opposite numbers were of the same opinion. The Elf would not be a bit surprised if the Khagan had beasts waiting in low places too. Those lands had always been strong allies to Sauron, but that would not have kept the Yvsuldor from putting in a pit against a coup. It would be unwarded.

The larger picture was political. Their Khan was a known commodity. The southern man was not. It would have to be made plain to the Khagan that increased contact between the formerly independent groups was not a conspiracy against his divine rule. 

Nag Kath had that in mind when he introduced his radical concept, “Sirs and ladies, would like to speak to the central Ghurate in Pashir and their branch in Nennûrad about buying the Khan’s lodge property at the lake and making it a third retreat. It is perfect in size and location with a population ready for such learning and healing. I also think it can be had in a way that rewards both the Khan and Khagan for their gracious support.”

The Elf would tell you he never had an original idea in his life. Things he tried willingly always had one tested component. This was the same, but since his experience was so different than men, they were always stunned with the audacity. Who wouldn’t spend a fortune in diamonds to help people he never met? His view was that he couldn’t do anything else with them so why not?

The guests could spend as much time as they wanted but since they were family men, that wasn’t expected to be more than a month. Nag Kath and Listracht were not of the retreats and planned to return to Lhûg after a few days so as not to distract them. They would be back up in a month or sooner for what came of this. 

The Ghurs were all astonished about Stámo. Was that his name in Chey? It was a bit like finding Thân zîrân past the end of the world. Both organizations were so secret and held to their own turf so diligently that they were almost on top of each other. Pedrigs suggested Orlo wanted it that way so the fall of one would not lead to the other. Others like them had been lost when the Yvsuldors got wind. In Righter minds, it also emphasized they had won the war. If they were to remain relevant, it had to be in fair-living rather than sabotage.

As they were closing the second meeting, Nag Kath said, “Some of this depends on the physical healers. They are on the southern bank of the lake. Orlo sent Ventuub here himself.” That caused a gentle uproar before he told the story. Then he continued, “I only met him once, sixty years ago, but he was in Nennûrad just eight years past. Those women don’t know that. He had purpose for them and to help us here. I would not be a bit surprised if he sent Nenwula too. A haven would grant them a permanent place for those skills in both lands if politics get sticky.” 

They agreed it was worth pursuing. The Stámöe could do whatever they wanted. The question here was; how much could the northern Ghurates help? They should send folk down and vise versa for training without demands. Documents should be copied since the southern folk had almost none of the written lore the northerners had so carefully accumulated since the fall of Sauron. Field Righters would have to widen their loop. That was all to the good since this lot still had ‘Eyes’ in the capital not that far away. 

This made the Elf seem even queerer. Like Orlo, he appeared every so often, the first time to drive reconstituted Visitors from Rhûn and shortly after, destroy them in Mordor. He found the troll-pits and now long-lost cousins in their own country. Orlo seemed to think he needed someone like Nag Kath but he also feared someone misusing the foul gleanings of darkness. Nag Kath had never claimed leadership or demanded fealty. It was hard to imagine he spent the generations in-between building sluices and burping grand-babies.

Before the evening meal, Nag Kath walked down to the healing area. Nenwûla was sitting on her large chair outside taking the last of the sun. He said hello and Ventuub came outside with a patient just leaving. He would not tell them of discussions of the Ghurs but he did say he had visited the Nûradi school and gave the ladies Ventuub’s best wishes. She was delighted and asked of her friends, including Miss Veintshu who replaced her in Nennûrad. Nag Kath did say the woman somehow knocked grit off two of the bones and they took that under advisement. He said he would visit them again before he left and walked back to the office thinking he was so much the better for knowing of these marvelous women. They should be protected. 

Over the next few days, Torlurn and Pedrigs went to every meeting, discussion and meal they could. People came and went here so there was no awkward adjustment period. Their accents were closer to local than not. Torlurn especially enjoyed the Sayers and Poets. Pedrigs liked lore. They were not always together, by design, and Pedrigs also spent more time with Listracht and sometimes Ghuldieg on the craft of lurking, things like using a code for the room number instead of the plain mark and sending a lad or old person rather than a woman of an age where men would pay attention. Pedrigs had some good secrets in that realm too so these were worthwhile sessions. 

By the time Listracht and Nag Kath made for town, everyone was sure there would be a permanent bond between the two groups. The neighboring Khans had a working relationship on their uncontentious border since it was established specifically where nothing was worth fighting over. There would be a lot more to come but much depended on Nag Kath’s conversation with Khan Feddigh-Hoh III. It was probably time to deliver on a hint dropped with his father's revered partner.

On the trail, Listracht did not say much but never stopped grinning. He had to remember to tighten his brace straps before dismounting. Then they were inside where Mrs. Puluogh was scrubbing some new corner of grime. The frugal Listracht was browbeaten into spending a little of his gold for a better cook-stove, carpets and paint. Since he would be here a while, Nag Kath ordered glass windows to replace the oiled paper ones that were leaking anyway. The stable needed work. Pedrigs took his old mare to the retreat for grass rather than leaving her here to eat fodder.

The Righter made noises about having his knee tended but knew it helped and didn’t hurt as much as he whined. They had Nenambuul over for dinner. There were secrets they could not share but the trip and the cities provided plenty of conversations. Listracht still felt the man was a natural adherent when he chose.

Spring is the rainy season here so much of the time was spent indoors. The month passed slowly, although he did have dinner with the other half of Chûr's beautiful granddaughters. There was no word that they should return to Hanvas early so Listracht concentrated on keeping his ear to comings and goings. As soon as it was reasonable for northern merchants to arrive, the Elf asked for an interview with Mr. Chanbhough which was set for the next day.

After greetings and tea, Nag Kath told the head of Chanbhough Kultan that he had only been able to get a few of the stones. His dear friend had the first right of refusal. On the first transaction, two of three potential owners had gotten a diamond. One was Mr. Chanbhough. Khan Sulen-Doth would have had the second in his hand but probably sent it to Ûbésêsh in lieu of cash taxes. The next to arrive was his. There one of the size he already bought, another about twice that and the third was about half an inch around, cut so it reflected from both sides of an open mounting. Khandian jewelers could do justice to the fitting just as one had done such a superb job with the false Dwarf ring. 

Chanbhough looked at it with his treasured fire-stone, which the northern trader also had in stock. Listracht kept a hundred of the trade glasses from the southern voyage making sure one would reach his Excellency. 

Small, medium and large was by design. Khan Sumen-Doth of Lhûg would certainly get the big one if he wanted it but it would probably go a long way in satisfying his troop levy for next year with the Khagan. Nag Kath said it would bring twenty Florin in Gondor, which it would. At two Florin and six Florin for the smaller stones, that was twenty eight to the merchant. He had the cash but wanted to be sure the Khan was interested. 

Putting himself in the merchant’s mind, Nag Kath thought that a modest mark-up on the big stone paid for the two smaller ones with demand having been created among other wealthy citizens over a winter of lust. He could probably get double his price for the two smaller stones putting him eight Florin to the good with little risk, depending on demand for the big jewel. He would do that every day of the week. 

That afternoon, Chanbhough asked for a brief word with his Excellency and it was granted for the very next morning after staff meetings. Two hours later, the same senior assistant came to the school to say the terms were acceptable. Nag Kath returned with him and did the deal.

He didn’t need the money. The object was that it would be impossible for the southern Khan not to learn about the large rock his neighbor had acquired since one of the five would be ceremoniously sent to his Excellency the Khagan. Listracht would make sure of that. Nag Kath sometimes made things more complicated than they had to be but he looked at this as creating options. Like in Mordor, he had a plan for however a handful of variables played. In this case; if a direct approach to Khan Feddigh-Hoh III was inadvisable, the northern Khan could buy the property for a trusted scholar at a price that was sure to be irresistible and look good in the doing. That was the fallback position.

Seeds sown, the Righters returned to Hanvas. Both of the Stámöe were ready for home and family but had a good experience in the retreat. The Ghurate had decided to assist and sent their decision to Rhûn. They would make copies of records over the next few years so the third retreat had them for study and as spares against losing one ghurate. It all depended on Nag Kath’s negotiating skills. 

It was time to test them.


	49. Nennûrad Tudj

** _Chapter 48_ **

** _Nennûrad Tudj_ **

The Righters returned the same way they came, joining a train of spring merchants on the road. Everyone was wall-eyed to the right where the forest neared the trail. Getting past the two rocks was worth a demi-cask for their fellow travelers that night. Nag Kath had a new batch of false-Lembas baked against hardship and mutton stew. He needed it.

They made Pashir wet but on schedule. Pedrigs went to his family, who he almost never mentioned, while the other two took rooms in their same inn. The next day started the next phase.

The Stámöe met first without the Elf for a candid assessment of their northern brethren. Two men of the Rhûnic retreat were at Hanvas during Pedrigs and Hemid's stay and explained the similarities and differences between the two havens. The facilities used the same type of organization. Pedrigs and Turlurn waited to let Nag Kath broach his idea for another retreat when he was called in that afternoon. The Stámöe asked intelligent questions and would discuss it privately if they liked the idea. The Nennûrad contingent would have to agree. If a trip to Ûbésêsh was in the offing; that should be done before it got hot on the central plain. 

They took two days to discuss matters. Turlurn was in on about half of those and did not discuss them with Nag Kath. He was a quiet man anyway and being so close to his family also occupied his thoughts. At the end of the second day, Pedrigs told the Elf to come to Mrs. Feldishda’s home. They asked several more questions and with a nod among them, agreed to proceed. It was time to approach Khan Feddigh-Hoh III with a proposal.

The noble daughter’s marriage was causing even more tension. Her husband was briefly arrested outside a pleasure house when he was too drunk to remember he was above such indignity. The man was released as soon as he woke up, but the Khan was reportedly furious, not so much by what his son-in-law did but that he got caught so indelicately. Promises of sobriety and rediscovered troth kept the woman from moving home. They had not been seen out together since.

Marital discord was music to Nag Kath’s ears. Mrs. Felishda was as good as her word. A noble and respected member of the court was not of their order, but he was a reasonable man and had not received favor from his father’s estate. Lord Ondouv-Tel asked for and was granted an audience with his esteemed cousin the Khan. After a short meeting, he reported that the gentleman from Rhûn would be received at the local two-bell two days after the Khagan’s naming-day celebration. 

That was five days out. In shades of similar frauds here and around the world, Turlurn was dutiful assistant to Mr. Solvanth, reportedly of minor nobility among the barbarians. That cut no quarter with the Khan, but dressing and acting the part could help set the tone. Clothing and boots were sewn in Lhûg well in advance of this audience. Listracht made sure the Khan’s spies reported his esteemed northern neighbor had come into baubles.

While waiting, the Stámöe had more hard looks at Nag Kath’s map and talked about ways to use the property. They were as stunned as everyone else that someone had the wealth, not to mention audacity, to buy noble property for their use. The place was perfect with buildings already where they ought to be. It would need a bridge. The Elf knew about bridges.

Merchant Solvanth and dutiful Torlurn arrived early and were shown to a better reception area than the usual supplicants. They waited an hour but a steward fetched them directly into the smaller throne-room of his Excellency. The Khanate satrapies in Khand had a great deal of autonomy. The Khagan had plenty of spies, acknowledged and secret, but did not maintain line troops except to reinforce fiefs along the Southron border. As Nag Kath already knew, the family had lands that were theirs and the rest officially belonged to the Khagan in Ûbésêsh.

Both men bowed at the instructed distance and awaited his Lordship’s pleasure. The man was not as decrepit as claims against long travel. That was probably his excuse. He was said to like his wife which kept him from needing to visit places he would rather not. Some of these fellows were completely formal in dealings, speaking of themselves as ‘we’ or ‘his Excellency’. Khan Feddigh-Hoh III may lord-it most of the time, but this was a private embassy to the benefit of his house. He stood from his elevated cushion and gestured for the men to follow him to a small, private chamber quite amiably.

When they were seated, Nag Kath was invited to explain his purpose. As always, he began slowly and softly. “Your Excellency, I am a merchant of the far north and would like to discuss purchasing your lodge in Nennûrad. My stock-in-trade is precious gems from Elves now departed this world. Please excuse my presumption but discretion seemed appropriate.”

The man granted, “That is wise. Please explain your interest in the property.”

“It seems ideal for a school for those who study lore and healing methods, close to a city yet capable of raising their own food and making things for sale. My grandmother was of that land and I have fond associations.”

His Excellency had a fine Dukks-face and mulled that for a moment before continuing, “Your activities would need to be in keeping with our high Khagan’s directives on comportment, and also not in league with your own Bror’s interests in these blessed southern lands.”

“That is understood, Noble Lord. My family’s interests are trending away from Kugavod to the Rightful Bror’s more stable southern regions. Managers will be Khandians.”

The hook was set. The Khan twirled his beard in his fingers and said, “That is a valuable property, much beloved by my extended family.”

“I can appreciate that, sir.” 

A price had to be reached. Feddigh-Hoh also knew that the right number of the right rocks would settle old accounts, perhaps gaining enough favor to be rid of the Khagan’s brother-in-law in the bargain. It was more than money. He would not have to conscript farmers for the upcoming levy either. “You may continue, Mr. Solvanth.”

The merchant and his servant would have been searched thoroughly before admittance but Nag Kath nodded to Torlurn who very slowly produced a purple worm-wool pouch for his master. The trader removed the contents, laying them on the cloth before the Khan. Included among them was a very fine fire-glass. The Khan already had one but this was better so he used it to examine four small diamonds, four larger ones and one the size of a grape. It was more than enough. There would be no negotiation. The merchant had made his best offer and they both knew it.

Khan Feddigh-Hoh III rang a small bell and was instantly attended by his handman and a jeweler who quickly examined the diamonds and nodded. Torlurn put the gems back in the bag and his Excellency said, “These gentlemen are to be made comfortable in the Winter Victory room with food. Send my scribe in as you leave.”

With that the man nodded and his will was done. Torlurn had never eaten a meal like this. The lamb cut with his fork. Wheat, not gureeq, loaves were steaming, prepared every few hours against just such a need. No alcohol was offered but there was hot or cold tea along with sweets. When they were recalled to the same room, a short, slight man with a pair of Gondoran spectacles was sitting with his Lord. The trader and his assistant took their cushions after bowing.

The scribe said, “This, gentlemen, is a contract of sale for the property you outright from his Excellency to …?”

“Kathen Properties, best of sirs.”

After checking the spelling it was written on three pages. He went on, “This assumes the High Khagan’s approval and that all of that Lord’s instructions will be done, including taxes or levies for fighting, just as with all property in his realm. This is in exchange for unspecified consideration taken in hand by his Excellency. Are there any other conditions to contemplate, Mr. Solvanth?”

“Just one, sir. I would like to build a bridge over the first river so that travelers may visit in comfort. I expect I will need an easement from the road on the property to the north.”

The Khan nodded to the scribe and it was written on all three pages. It only took a few minutes. The scribe then said, “Then Excellency, Mr. Solvanth, I will need you to sign these identical documents, one for his Lordship, one for the files and one for you to keep, best of sirs.”

Khan Feddigh-Hoh III signed first for his scribe to sand and chop. Torlurn poured the contents of the purple bag back on the outside of the cloth and the man confirmed they were the same stones as agreed. Finally, Nag Kath signed the contracts with the name; ‘Nag Kath Solvanth’ and added, ‘agent for Kathen Properties’ and then added his drawn chop with the Sindarin initials he used for art. Those signatures were sanded as well. The scribe took two and gave the satisfied buyer the third.

It might not have been necessary but Nag Kath added, “A worthy exchange, your Excellency. In my own country, all taxes will be handled from other funds. I saw no need to mention my intentions in coming here.”

The Khan said, “A wise decision, Mr. Solvanth. I hope we meet again as you travel here from your home lands.”

“That would be a pleasure, sir.”

____________------____________

Dismissed, the scribe followed them out and asked for a few minutes. They sat in yet another vestibule and the man said, “A satisfactory conclusion, best of sirs. I have included a letter of instruction from his Excellency when you present your proofs at the office in Nennûrad. This will be unexpected. Here is yet another letter from the Marshal of the Guard to present to the soldiers at the property saying much the same thing. If sir does not think it unfair, they may be open to a gift after long service.” There was a twinkle in the scribe’s eye. Nag Kath nodded, the clerk rose and bowed and the Righters made their way back to the inn. Turlurn never said one word until they left the gates.

“Never met a Khan, before. He seemed more reasonable than I was expecting.”

Nag Kath grinned, “That is because we knew exactly what he wanted and when.” The stones were calculated so he could show respect to his Lord and ruler with enough to release or widow his daughter and adorn his wife and daughters in the highest style for a hopefully better wedding in the fall. It would also cover next year’s levy without creating rancor among those who grew the food. 

The old man never once smiled, but he did have an ale that night. Mrs. Feldishda did both. The old man didn’t give his name either but the younger Stámöe was Mr. Bengarath and he was very glad to see what he hoped would be a long life not spent waiting. 

As usual, Nag Kath poured a little water on the fire, “Sirs, ma’am, we need to remember that except for Mr. Torlurn here, no one in Nennûrad knows this is coming. He thinks it will be a good idea. This will be the first retreat established in daylight. We will need workers and farmers and craftsmen who do not know, and do not need to know, the full purpose. I hope the story that it is a retreat for scholars of the most boring subjects on earth will serve for now. 

“Subject to Stámöe’s approval, I nominate Mr. Pedrigs as head of security for a good, hard look at the grounds and defenses. It seems a secure place against attack, but putting in a bridge is an invitation. That will take a long time. I will pay for all of it. It is up to you how to tell your friends on the other side of the mountain.”

Young Mr. Bengarath would ride there along with a supporter who was also a builder. Heubrandz could help make sense of the work needed and make the best use of trees towards the mountains. Pedrigs spent his time with his wife and young daughter. Before long, he would be back for them to go to their new home. 

The trip was the same as the last with them arriving in four days. Nag Kath and the men of Pashir took rooms at two different inns as Torlurn made straight for the bosom of his family. The Righters didn’t expect to see him for a couple days and tomorrow was the day of rest so they amused themselves going over the views from the city. 

This was an ambitious undertaking, but as Nag Kath said, the real work was already done. A Khan’s mansion and grounds on the best land gave them a good start. In the shadow of the mountains they would not get as full a day’s sun as further east, but crops were proven and the deep channels of both little rivers would keep it from flooding. It seldom snowed in the flats. Three thousand feet higher it would be white all winter.

As asked, Torlurn organized a meeting of the local officials and guests from headquarters at Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj's home. The first session was all Stámoe business without the Elf. For the second, Nag Kath laid out his maps, contract and Khanate instructions to take possession of a parcel that seemed a shade over twelve square miles as drawn. He outlined his proposal in less than ten minutes. Primary responsibility fell to the people in the room with help from the north pledged. 

Now was when men who chew Halfling leaf say they couldn’t ‘choke the plug’. If they did, the vegetarian owned a hunting lodge. 

Pedrigs and Mr. Bengarath had not been here before but were known as senior men of the council. The builder was at the inn enjoying a better grade of ale than in the plains. There would be time for him later. A letter was presented from the Ghurate of Hanvas Tûr, not identifying them for obvious reasons, expressing support and best wishes.

It was time for someone else to say something. Mr. Dourdhan, who with Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj co-chaired the district said, “I, for one, would like to see this through. Mr. Kath, friends of Nennûrad and friends new to this lake, this may take longer than I have. How do we proceed?”

This part of the presentation was planned too but would take a lot longer. Nag Kath started with, “First, Mr Bengarath and I present the contract and the Khan’s letter to County Administrator, the honorable Mr. Brigeth. I will include a contribution to his favorite charity making it his job to take care of his folk. Then some of us ford the river and present another letter to the house guard and more donations in honor of long service. They will probably report back here to Mr. Brigeth for reassignment but we want to keep a few who know the grounds. With a builder’s eye, I will make preliminary drawings of the entire parcel. Another man from Pashir is along for that as well. Lesser jobs will go to local folk as soon as they are ready.

“So, in answer to your question, best of sirs, you really don’t have to do anything for a while. Rumors will spread like wildfire. We douse them with tidings this is a school for subjects of interest to noble persons. The Khan’s blessing is already implied. Spread the news there will be work for townsmen by fall. To do that, we will need to have an office here for hiring, purchasing and transportation. I recommend those people not be of Stámoe. We are the scholars who arrive later. For now, everyone is just working for a living.

“And with that, who feels like a refreshing trip to the country two days hence?”

The trip to the administrator was the same place Nag Kath went for the city map. The same helpful man showed him in. Mr. Brigeth was a typical provincial officer sent from the Khan’s capital. He was competent, smart and practical. The man read the letter twice after verifying the stamps and said, “Nice property, Mr. Solvanth. Its care falls to the Marshal but I expect you have that in order as well. His Excellency asks that I make my office available to you in furtherance of building a retreat and school for the study of lore and healing. Is that correct?”

“It is, best of sirs. His Excellency’s capable scribe explained that the property is subject to taxes and administrative charges, as are all in your lord’s and the great Khagan’s lands.” 

The scribe hadn’t said anything about administrative charges. This began the dance to assure the civil authority knew this project was friendly to a modest retirement. The tall, blonde man continued, “I assume your office will let us know how to stay in compliance with appropriate regulations.” Not many people summed the situation as concisely as Mr. Solvanth. But everyone else was trying to pay as little as possible. That was third on the tall man’s agenda. First came having friends, from the Khan down.

Mr. Brigeth smiled a professional smile, “I will see to that when we have a better idea of your needs.” What he meant was a letter there and back that confirming local fees were a local business. This Solvanth seemed to know his oats. Perhaps they could enjoy a civilized cup of tea when schedules weren’t so unsettled. Unexpectedly the man added, "What are your plans for the smaller parcel just outside the city?"

Neither the Khan nor his scribe mentioned anything on this side of the river. "I need to give that more thought, best of sirs. Perhaps you could lend me a man to walk the boundaries?"

"Of course."

As with the aqueduct, there are advantages to the driving force not needing sleep. The local Stámöe would have no trouble staying out of the way. They had no one in high office or positions to influence except for Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj and Mr. Dourdhan. Both were gratified they had not carried the banner alone.

______________------______________

The next morning, Nag Kath, Pedrigs, Torlorn, builder Heubrandz, Mr. Bengarath and Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj’s daughter Helvadis rode out to the lodge. Snow in the lower heights had already started melting so it was a cold ford about knee-high on the riders but with a flat rock bottom. On the way home the Elf would sketch where the bridge footings would have to go.

They presented the Marshal’s orders to the senior man, a Lieutenant. He read it twice too. He might have gotten shirty but this was not the career path it seemed when the Khan’s children were single. The new owners were shown inside. It was quite grand and only needed a little upkeep. They sat at the dining table and the officer summarized, “There are twelve people here who tend the property, home and grounds, not including the tenant farmers nearer the lake. They contract through my office every year. Some have done so for a decade. Then there are ten soldiers under my command. Whenever his Excellency or members of his esteemed family come, they bring their own contingent of guards and personal retainers according to their stations, along with cooks. Foods are brought from town in advance and during the stay. 

“You would not have seen it but closer to the lake there is a ferry for when we need to keep delicate feet dry.” He allowed himself a chuckle. This was his chance to make for Pashir earlier than his five-year commitment.

The signal for the others to wander about was the Elf saying, “Mr. Pedrigs, could you see to the kitchen area, please?”

Everyone got up leaving Nag Kath and the Lieutenant at the table. The Elf said, “His Excellency’s secretary hoped the new owner, Kathen Properties, would appreciate the soldiers’ dedication.” Nag Kath handed him a purse with two Florin in convenient local denominations. “Would you be so kind as to share this with them as a token of our combined thanks?”

As much as the man tried not to guess the weight of the coin in the leather sack, he couldn’t. The tall man continued, “Lieutenant, we would like to retain the civilians for a time. In addition, do you have a sergeant or corporal who might be interested in keeping an eye on things while we prepare?”

“I do indeed.”

The Lieutenant walked towards the wing housing the soldiers, only stopping to pour the purse on a table for a true count. They were already there wondering what in the world was occurring. Without preamble he said, “We are going home. I was given a Florin to give you in thanks for fine service. He doled those out three parts for his sergeant, two for two corporals and one part to the troopers. Even pocketing one Florin for himself, that was a very nice gift from the new owners and the men were generally glad to be leaving the dull assignment. 

On the way out, the Lieutenant said, “Menigarn, a moment.”

“Sir.”

“You are from Nennûrad, yes?”

“Close enough, sir.”

“These greenbottoms are looking for someone who knows which end of a sword to hold. Are you interested?”

“Yes sir. Not much work chasing pickpockets in Nennûrad.”

“Talk with the tall one.”

Menigarn, corporal for another two weeks, found the tallest visitor standing on the front porch overlooking the lake. He reported in military fashion, “Pardon, sir. I was told you might need a hand.”

Nag Kath turned and said in his own military voice, “What’s your name, Corporal?”

“Bruth Menigarn, sir.”

“When your archers face horse coming the next day, what is the first thing you do?”

“Dig and spike the trenches, see to the supply lines and dougsh, sir.”

“You’re hired. Starts at a silver a month. Lieutenant give you a little something to tide you over?”

“He did indeed, sir.”

“You married, Menigarn?”

“No sir.”

“Find a fellow named Pedrigs, about your height, bald, walks like a soldier. Tell him you know the place. I want to see all the staff here in a bell, you too. That’s all Menigarn.”

“Sir.”

It took longer than that because several of the groundsmen were up the hill tending grape vines. Only Pedrigs of the city folk joined them. The others were inspecting and wondering what they would do with this place. None of the staff had ever sat at this table. They would have been caned for it this morning. Nag Kath said, “Any of you who want to stay at your current wages, remain here.” Two men went to their quarters to pack. “Going around the table, give me your name and what you do.”

Pedrigs took notes. They had three of four groundsmen, a carpenter, two of three cleaners who also did handiwork, two cooks for the soldiers, a man who replaced candles and the majordomo who kept them occupied until a contingent came out with their own staff. The Elf asked, “Which of you gets supplies from the town?”

Majordomo Hulviesh said, “That is me sir. I send an order into town once a week and things are either floated across the river here or using the ferry for heavier things. We have an account in the city through the administration office.”

Mr. Hulviesh, please continue doing that but give your requisition to Mr Pedrigs here. Who knows the forest above us?”

“Me sir. I am the hunt-keeper so those grounds fall to me.” 

“Good man. Are there any horses here?”

The last man to get here said, “We have one nag and a donkey, mostly to bring supplies up from the lake.”

“Thank you, now when do you get paid?”

Steward Hulviesh said, “Last day of the month, sir. I fear we are in arrears.” It was the sixth, which might explain why the two civilians took their leave.

“If you would let me know what is owed, we will handle that today. Now, we are making a school using the existing buildings and will add to them as we can. You have a problem, talk to Mr. Pedrigs. Any questions?”

The senior cook, a woman in the Rosas mold, asked, “Sir, how many are we cooking for?”

Pedrigs said, “Yourselves and at most six others for now. We will let Steward Hulviesh know when more are coming.”

Nag Kath left so Pedrigs could explain the rules and went outside to join builder Heubrandz on the front porch. The man said, “Good timber in back, can float it down too. Soil is deep, better for farming than posts, but it will do. All the stones in the buildings are from a quarry behind us.”

The Elf added, “I am going to make some sketches. I’ll cross the ford but you can take the rest down to the ferry. 

Mr. Bengarath and Miss Helvadis had explored the mansion together the whole time, never out of sight of the rest. The Elf chuckled to himself as Tal would have done and prepared to leave. Pedrigs would stay two days to get the feel of the place. 

__________------_________

At the next Stámöe meeting, the Elf had a confession, “That was interesting. I admit I have approached this incorrectly. I have been thinking of people who visit the northern retreats. Mr. Bengarath, when the Khan or his son came with a full hunting party, how many people were brought?”

The man held his short beard and said, “Well, twelve to fifteen people of name and twice that many support plus a company of soldiers. Sixty or seventy people all told.”

Nag Kath said, “That is what I thought. Add ten at least who are already there and say eighty people, many of who had high standards. My friends, we really don’t have to do much to the place at all. We couldn’t get that many people here unless we paid them. The place is ready. Let us consider what to do there and folk will find us. 

“Mr. Dourdhan. We will need an office in town with room for three people and several horses. In it we need a manager with a clacker and a lad to run errands to start. Can you attend that, sir?”

“I can, Mr. Kath.”

“Thank you. Tomorrow I will go to the women healers of Nûrad to ask their counsel.”

Things slowly came together. Nag Kath found he had to stop thinking of the King of Gondor ordering five hundred men for his purpose. This was a small town. It had wrights and craftsmen and tailors, but not a lot of them and they were busy. 

Walking through the mansion and buildings, it was rather grander than right-living scholars needed. They would not need escort rider barracks or room for sixty horses at a time. The servants who lived here were used to doing for themselves. A blacksmith was added to the staff. When planting season arrived, the tenant farmers were offered a program to pay in crops they grew or cash with a list of different vegetables for variety and to have something to harvest at more times of the year.

The trip to the Nûradi healers was curious. He had a very hard time convincing the Thourah that they could come live and learn there for free. No, they only had to bring themselves and their things. No, they didn’t have to abandon this place. No, they didn’t need to pay rent. The woman said she would discuss it with their council but the Elf was never sure he made his point. The healer in town understood well enough but she would understandably stay where her customers were. 

Nag Kath worked on bridge designs, he improved the ferry. It was easier to bring supplies by boat and use a wagon from the lake edge to the lodge so they did that too. 

Their big break came when Mr. Bengarath went back to Pashir with the builder. He seemed very sweet on the chaste Miss Helvadis but that was none of the Elf’s business. When the man returned home, he began telling scholars and retired folk with interest in lore about Nennûrad Tujd, a blessing in Variag. He also told people with aches and illnesses that had not healed. 

Most people would rather suffer than travel, but there were a few. Scholars made the easy trip. One enterprising fellow built an inn at a scenic brook halfway between. The Nûradi healers grudgingly sent two women who had little to do until seven folk from the Khanate capital arrived in carts to take care. Those women were famous but very shy about putting themselves forward. 

The retreat was not billed for right-living, per se. That was a northern approach. The Stámöe adopted some of those concepts that one should not take and must prevent others from taking. The next step was when two men from Yhammâs Fruhir and four from Hanvas Tûr took the pilgrimage to the third retreat. One from each party was a Ghur. Another was a masterful Poet/Sayer. There were still more employees than guests but in the late summer, Poet Seduathû sat in the fading light and recited the epic poem Banghir in its entirety. Activities were arranged so people could listen. Those who worked here were encouraged to attend. Everyone was mesmerized. There were traveling minstrels and Sayers all over Khand but that revered poem was over two thousand years old. Word would get out that this was the place to hear such majesty!

A Ghur Nag Kath met briefly in reporting the Kugavad ward was also a Lorist and he held both lectures and discussions on right living principles of the past, avoiding the political for good reasons. One of the men who came from Pashir for healing his neck spent all his time looking at the books the folk of Lhûg brought, most copies of the things the comedic scholars stole from the real scholar’s estate when Nag Kath brought Chûr back. When he finally left, he started telling friends in the capital too. A group coming out in August brought Pedrigs wife and daughter. She was seven and liked to draw. 

By winter, the Nûradi healers accepted the offer to come, live and train there gaining a great deal more practical information on taking their skills where they were needed. 

____________-------___________

The year 99 started with a serious snow storm that left four inches in Nennûrad. They had no notion of how to remove it. Nothing moved in the city. The retreat had food. Small flocks of sheep and goats picked through the back pastures with lads and dogs to keep them from the crops in front. It melted in a week. Children learned about snowballs.

For travelers from Pashir and now further cities in the realm, winter was the time to travel. Some were snowed-in, which is enjoyable if it doesn’t last too long. It was also the time to start the long-awaited bridge from the main road a mile away. The north bank was solid rock for several hundred feet with a number of tie-points. The south bank would have to be built with stones brought there from the quarry. Men dug a ramp for wagons to pull even with the stone floor and rocks were loaded for the slow trip down the grade. There weren’t any large stones and they could not have moved them if there were. Fortunately there were mines of the soil that hardens when wet less than twenty leagues away. That had been ordered and supplies were building.

The Nennûradi are not Dwarf masons. A skilled builder from the town accepted a contract to live there over the summer to help build the south foundation. It took several tries before his laborers understood that they have to use the drying soil right after they add the water. It was not a big job. Nag Kath showed them how to make the wooden support to grout-in the rocks, just like hundreds across the flood-plain of Osgiliath. This was a span of about eighty feet with a stone center support. In Gondor, supervisors would have been cursing and extolling the men. Right-livers can’t do that. They worked slowly, took breaks and ate well. The wood frame was up before Gelansor and the bridge was done two months later. It was no thing of Elvish beauty, but a small wagon would fit. 

That fall came another signal event. Khan Urgrid of Alagoth’s oldest son and heir had hurt his neck and shoulder riding ten years before. He was a strong man from a strong family but was wearing down. Friends made in the wedding between the two Khanates told him of the care available no further from him than Pashir. He finally relented to visit after his aide came for an inspection. Lord Urgrid arrived with staff, retainers, friends and his younger son.

The man was made comfortable in a suite built for such as him. Branool, one of the Nûradi healers’ best, attended his Lordship with treatments. His bones had grown new bone where it shouldn’t be and those were gradually worn down. The curious blonde man attended to care personally. Nag Kath knew that was cheating, but if he didn’t tell anyone it was sorcery, they wouldn’t know. Fixing-up a Khan’s heir would open new interest.

The man would never be entirely restored, but a month later, he could swing a sword. During that time, a woman wise in herbs and remedies came to stay as well. She did not have the inductive powers but knew at least as much as Nag Kath and which of those healing plants grew around the lake. Folk came at first for healing of the body but often left soothed in mind too. More books arrived. A young Sayer from Lhûg came and decided to stay. He was green but had potential with a nice voice. Others learned to sing the old songs. Some of the Alagoth nobles, where public singing was honored, lent their voices. 

Before they knew it, it was harvest season. Pedrigs and Menigarn formed up a haphazard militia to defend the bridge. If anyone attacked by boat from the lake, they would win. Grains were fair. Fruits were better. More fruit and nut trees were planted in the deepest loam. It would be ten years before they bore but this was a place of growing. At the end of the year, they had the sense that it would work. Folk coming, donations, selling what they grew all added up. They had no debt and could afford both the regular tax and the levy tax. 

People kept coming. Not much of it was for right-living but some seeped into everything they did. With friends in both Khanates to their west and no threats to the east, folk were at ease, the first step to peace. Another group of representatives came from Hanvas brought both Lorists and Sayers. They also had practical ideas for running a place that might eventually get as large as theirs. Folk who worked the fields and made crafts moved there. Pedrig’s girl had children her own age to play with. 

Nag Kath finally got around to seeing the property near the city. It was about fifty acres originally intended for quartering troops well away from the market square. The city had grown that direction over the centuries. Of course, no one here would have dared ask the Khans to use it and they had forgotten they owned it. Kathen Properties gave it to the newly chartered Stámöe Partners so they could sell-off bits and pieces for operating money.

If only the first century of the Fourth Age didn’t have to end.

__________------_________

King Elessar stared across the table. Only Chancellor Derenbar remained seated as the council filed out. They had prepared. They were ever vigilant. Militias trained.

Similar reports; enemies of the Dead Marshes were more visible, roaming, straying from the water encasing them. Slain Angmari and Algraig mercenaries had been seen in the Mournshaws the same way. The ghost stories had always been whispered, but reliable folk had seen apparitions of warriors. No one on earth knew the destructive force of undead soldiers as well as the King of the Reunified Kingdom. They decided the battle of Pelennor Fields for the alliance. 

Why this? Why now? 

What was it Nag Kath said all those years ago; those two places and others had never been at peace? Somehow the changeling could tell. The one thing all sites had in common was that they buried soldiers or fell creatures at one time under the command of the Witch-King of Angmar. No western king had supported a probe-in-force to the northern wastes yet. 

What happened to Nag Kath? Had he given up on the Witch-King? Had the west given-up on him? Had his King? The Elf spent long years looking for an eastern sorcerer. Did he look still? Was he healing? It was not unusual for him to disappear for years at a time. 

Derenbar saw the concern in his Lord’s face and needed to know; “Sire, this is before my time but what do we face here?”

“I cannot yet say. Right now; phantoms, men who died opposing our forebearers.”

The King knew that if they had the power of the Oathbreakers he summoned, no blade could harm them. So far it was mist. The King made a decision, “Do you know Nag Kath?”

“I have heard the name, a soldier, a painter, yes?”

“Oh yes. I need him found and brought to me, very gently, he is a friend. If told I need him, he will come. Send as many men as it takes.”

The healer had friends here. Some of them may still be alive. One of his grandchildren was the noted architect who designed the façade near the fountain but he died four years ago. Nag Kath said they had children. When found, they had not heard in years but thought east. He told his great, great granddaughter, wife of Lord Barahir, he was returning east, but east was a big, unknown place.

Riders were sent forth. One went to Rohan and was to make for Dale afterwards. Others went to Lindon and Arnor. Two men took the ferry to Pelargir and then to the river mouth before sailing to Dol Amroth. A friendly merchant would ask in Rhûn. Each of them carried a letter, signed and sealed by the King, asking Nag Kath to help him attend old friends.

Aragorn told the Lady Arwen after the working day. She was his north-star in all matters and this hearkened to her experience. Not old as Elves go, she still had three thousand years experience in a world nothing like the one they had now. 

“They were moving?”

“Yes.” The King touched his gray beard and added, “I have sent men to find Nag Kath. He felt their presence all those years ago.” 

“I think that wise, beloved husband. What were these soldiers doing?”

“Reports said they seemed lost, as if looking for a commander.”

The Queen said, “I shudder to think who that might be.” In her heart she added; 'please, let it not be the changeling'.

___________-------___________

There were no such risings on Lake Nennûrad. Many of the same breed died here as in the Dead Marshes but they were not led in battle by the Angmarach. The dead were dead. 

Nennûrad Tudj prospered. Four children were born here. It was a place of healing and thought. It also had little to do with the traveling Righters who still patrolled for those who did not heal or think. 

Nag Kath felt it was time to go west again. This place did not need him anymore. Some men would be angry at losing their mandate. He saw one more successful grandchild standing on two feet. Eniecia was getting old. In the fall he would hand over the reins to Pedrigs and look back in pride. 

That April he began feeling pain in his chest. It was not the known sensation of a failing heart. This was coming from outside. It was coming from darkness. It went away after a few hours but was back two weeks later, stronger. In another two weeks it was worse. That was the night the palace in Nennûrad burst into flames. 

They had not told the people there of the ward. Watchers said no one stayed there except for occasional traveling nobles, sometimes headed for the retreat or going home, certainly no one with sledges to smash two-inch thick granite floors. It was a clear night with a good moon. Nemren would have to trust him like Charlo had in Pelargir. He had his bow and scabby sword. With the bridge, it was only a twenty minute sprint to the western edge of town.

The grand hall had been torn to rubble. Crews of volunteers and soldiers stationed there were already putting out fires. Astonishingly, very few people were hurt and only one woman killed from falling stones. Witnesses reported hearing terrible screams as if the very heavens were wailing in anger and vengeance. 

It was just the palace. Nag Kath did not smell trolls. There was another smell, but not trolls. He saw Mr. Brigeth a block from the palace. The man said everyone for two blocks from the place was ordered to leave. Some didn’t. His men weren’t going to go get them. Nag Kath asked him a guilty question, “Sir, was there a group of nobles or building work being done?”

“Not that I know, and I would have. Just a few night watchmen playing dice . They got out and told me. It is as if the terrors of old have returned. I must see to these folk. Be careful.”

In the wee-hours the fires were out. Nennûrad was mostly stone so a few roofs caught fire but burned themselves out. Nag Kath crept towards the wall nearest the hall and hopped the fence. He heard the breathing; long, impossibly long, breaths ending the exhale with a growl. When he rounded the antechamber to the reception hall, he saw it sitting on a balcony.

A drake; silver in color and very small for their kind. In Dale he heard no end of the size of Smaug. This fellow was no more than forty feet from toes to snout. Its wings were folded against its body and it seemed to be waiting. As silently as possible, Nag Kath crept to see around the corner of the hall. The roof was ripped off, open to the stars and moon to see by. The creature broke out of the pit. No man prized it free.

What was it waiting for, sitting still as a statue, not really looking at anything?

The Elf felt bad. Telling anyone would have only set it free sooner. That wasn’t the same as giving people the chance to move if they believed him. As the sun rose, he left his bow and quiver against a wall and pulled his sword, creeping along a corridor so if the drake tried to burn him, he could dash behind a stone barrier. 

Only fifty feet away, he called in the Black Speech, **_“Why are you called to do this harm?_**

The dragon slowly opened its eyes and moved its head to identify the sound. Then he said in a voice lower than any yet,**_ “I am called from old and away. Long years have I waited.”_**

A troop of foot soldiers had slipped in the gate and stood by the main entrance at the other end of the hall from the beast. Nag Kath saw them and held out his hand not to approach. They saw him before the drake and then froze in their tracks. 

The Elf called, **_“Who summons you at this late hour?”_**

** _“The Angmarach_** **_, always the Angmarach. He made me, placed me here and told me to wait.”_ **

Nag Kath said,**_ “He is now long dead. Another must have called to you.”_**

** _“I was given the call. If not from him, from his servant.”_ **

The Elf wanted to find a way out of this. People had been hurt, but not nearly as many as the trolls killed. This creature was capable of that. Now bathed in rising light, it threatened more than a single night of bloodshed. Nag Kath called,**_ “You were given a false command to kill a man who lived here a thousand years ago. You were left in slumber too long, my friend. What will you do now?”_**

**_“There was never an ending. I came forth.” _**The creature flapped its wings slightly, like a duck drying its feathers . At first the men in the entry thought it would leave but were not prepared to shoot harmless arrows at the armored beast. It saw them but paid no heed.

** _“I must ask you not to harm the folk of this city. They are dear to me. Is there a place you can go for respite after restless waiting and toil?”_ **

In sadness the creature asked,**_ “What is that to you?”_**

** _“I did the same. Now I am restored. The dark lords are gone after failing. If you must return to your home, I will help, as others helped me.”_ **

The dragon hopped down from the balcony with a single flap of its long wings and approached the Elf unsteadily. Nag Kath heard the command to nock arrows and yelled in Variag, “Stay! We parlay!”

Watching the dragon step closer he dared not look at the soldiers but they seemed to be holding. The monster craned its neck so its head was level with the Elf’s and said, **_“I was not meant to live in this or any other world. That is my sadness. You can do nothing for me.”_**

** _“Perhaps you can do something for me. If the servant is dead, do you know who called you to this doom?”_ **

The creature said,**_ “I do not. It was no great summons, barely enough to wake the spiders, almost as if unintended. I will leave now. Thank you for your kindness.” _**

With that he hopped back up to the balcony and then the remaining lip of the roof. With a huge flap of its wings, it soared east and then righted, making north. One man shot his arrow but missed. It was gone. Nag Kath sheathed his sword and walked to the men saying, “What has the beast wrought?”

The Lieutenant, a different one than relieved at the lodge, said, “One dead, several injured or burned.”

The Elf said, “I will attend them. It is the least I can do.”

______________-------_____________

The last rider was back in the White City after five months in the north looking for the healer. There was no sign of him in the west. He could only be in the east, if alive, unless he had sailed to Valinor. The next day, the Minister was summoned back to the King’s office for the queerest command. Aragorn said, “There is a supply of Syndolan powders somewhere in storage. If they cannot be found, have a new supply readied. I want rockets made that will go high in the sky and explode.”

“How many, Sire?”

“Use all of the powder. I want them taken to the pass in the Ephel Duath above the Poros and shot into the sky, one every week. Save one for utmost need.”

“At once, Sire.”

** _____________-------_____________ **

** **

The Elf stayed in town healing the injured. Donations for the hurt and killed were very strong from contributors who did not leave their names. Almost everyone in Nennûrad saw the fell but beautiful silver creature lift into the sky and fly high away. Folk wanted to know why and if there were others. They were also curious why a dragon would destroy an empty palace. The administrator had questions too. Nag Kath was instructed to visit the man. Wasting no time Mr. Brigeth said, “Troopers saw you conversing with the beast. Would you care to explain that?”

“In my travels I have heard of other ancient traps being tripped. There was one on the Anduin long years ago. Learned men said they were pits laid by Sauron left unopened when he was destroyed. And like when a storm pulls a forgotten rabbit snare, they come to life for one day to destroy where they were hidden.”

Brigeth said, “Plausible, but that does not explain how you spoke with the dragon and it left.”

“Oh, yes, I am come from the lands near where the Great Smaug long sat on a treasure of Dwarf gold, where it is said the other great dragons were created in stealth.”

The administrator was sorry for the injured but if this beast was sitting on another pile of gold, that signified. Nag Kath saw the reaction and added, “The trap beasts were merely buried, though it would not hurt to examine its lair.” Back to the original thought, “I spoke to him in that tongue saying that he had been called to life too late for Sauron’s service, hoping he would not take vengeance on our friends here in Nennûrad. His work done, he flew away. I do not know the direction.”

The administrator said, “North, he flew north.”

For a little extra credibility, Nag Kath added, “It seems he broke through the floor of the palace. Was it an ancient place of fierce rulers?”

“Yes and no. The building was quite old but destroyed several hundred years ago and rebuilt after the war, including a stout stone floor over the old.”

The scholar of Nennûrad Tudj, which was contributing nicely to the local economy, held his chin, “Perhaps that was kept him from escaping sooner. I am just glad it was not worse.”

Brigeth accepted that at face value and said, “Thank you for your courage. Not many are the men who would have told a dragon to leave like a drunken guest.”

“We all want to be heroes once in our lives.”

Nag Kath went back to the retreat in mid-May. Folk there were sorry for the trouble and glad it was no worse than if the building had fallen in from neglect. People who saw him thought he was deeply troubled by the fell creature even though he had talked with it in his strange, northern tongue. Thankfully, they did not know Westron from the Black Speech. He was more concerned with why it snapped under two inches of massive floor stones on top of that much old stone. No mortal let him loose. And what of the ward in Kugavod? That only had six inches of dirt over it. 

_______________--------_____________

As things were getting back to normal, Sergeant Menigarn looked at the Elf and said softly, “You seem lost in thought, Nag Kath.”

The Elf brought his eyes back to the man and said, “Sorry, I was. I should check on Mrs. Sorrech. That leg poultice needs changing.”

Nag Kath took his bag from the table on the porch and walked down to one of the converted barrack huts where lay a very grouchy old woman. He knocked on the door and entered without permission. The patient shouted, “About time!”

“It usually is. Let me look at that burn.”

This was not from the dragon attack. The woman lived in town and dropped a fire poker on her calf a week before. He unwrapped a bandage exposing an infected sore that was far from healed. The Elf looked for a minute and felt around the edges. Mrs. Sorrech winced and scolded, “Be careful!”

Nag Kath gave her a lordly stare and she added, “Please.”

He kept the same face and scolded, “You have not drunk your tea.”

“It tastes like privy-ale.”

“Such is the nature of things that are good for you. I am going to give you a fresh poultice but if you do not drink your tea, I will treat the wound with honey and leave you on an anthill.”

The silence of contrition was only disturbed by crickets. The healer re-dressed the burn and gave the woman another supply of truly foul medicine. As he was leaving, her daughter-in-law blanched at the tongue-lashing sure to come for steeping the next batch.

Nag Kath walked back for the evening meal at peace. There were still people he loved in many places of the west, and now here. But they did not need him. When they met, they were glad and shared stories. He kissed their children. It would be time to return home soon. 

Pedrigs was still at the mess hall when the Elf returned. The man took a pull of his tea and said fulsomely, “After helping her, no dragon could stand before you.”

A middle-aged couple joined them at the first dinner bell and they started a gentle conversation about the Poet who had just left for Lhûg. He was very good. The last had been only fair but welcomed and celebrated just the same. All felt that was a vocation deserving encouragement. 

Somewhat unexpectedly, forest-keeper Bvred-Chousan walked in and announced, “The most curious event! A comet was seen in Mordor, a great red thing said to explode over the Duath!” 

Sergeant Menigarn proclaimed, “No doubt a terrible omen for the misbegotten Nûrns!” He looked around the table and asked, “What became of Ghur Kath?”

____________--------____________

If the weather held, Nemren could reach the pass at Khûr-Khand in eight days. It would take four more to pick their way through to the grasslands of Mordor, Nûrn nowadays. He said quick goodbyes. They knew this was coming in fall. It just happened sooner. He might be gone a month or forever, but he would love them always.

There was good road for the first half through Pashir following the river to the Temple of Kondri Hochi. From there it was only fair. Nag Kath took this path long ago inciting the Nûrnen Alignment, as it was called now. It was tricky footing in places but not high or foreboding. Two weeks after leaving Tudj he was in the land of Culduin, realm of Hurm Urghbad. The comet was unreliably said to be seen at high-night, the twelve-bell in most places. When it was too dark to push Nemren, the Elf scampered up a rock and fixed his gaze at the mountains bordering Gondor until Tillion had nearly completed guiding the moon. There he rested.

They took their leisure to the capital since he could now see the mountain range. Urghbad was a cousin of Rhorzah, ally of Rydovosh in the Alignment. His elevation was said to not be entirely smooth but he had ruled for seven years and did not seem any worse than the rest of the Hurms lining the Nûrnen. Nat Kath paid his respects but camped outside and shared in neither their food nor their women.

He did share their information. Comets were not the harbingers of doom as in Khand or, especially, Rhûn. A century after Sauron, shooting stars could still not compete with the Dark Lord’s brutal legacy. They were interested and Urghbad’s second counselor explained that the red one was seen almost four weeks ago. A week and two weeks later, silver comets flew across the sky at the same time of night. Folk waited outside last week but saw nothing in the rain. If it happened on the same day again, that was two days hence. 

There is not a lot to do in Mordor. Nag Kath cautiously made his way west to Nûrnen, catching fish making for the lake and spending warm nights watching the sky. Men of Mistrand came here to make fishing boats a few years back. Lake water was still undrinkable but the bigger fish caught further from the bank lost more of that taste. He sketched children brave enough to approach. 

That was Gandalf’s green! No other fire-maker had the tail that stretched like a cock-plume. It was shot from the gap below the beast-pool they used on their embassy here so long ago.

He stopped in Emyn Arnen. Elboron and Angalaca were their usual merry selves. The children were in Dol Amroth for a short trip but their little grandchildren were causing mayhem in a corridor just down the hall. They did not know him but were not afraid. He kissed them goodbye in the morning. 

Osgiliath was hot. Taverns were busy. Being two nights before the Feast of Tellarian, folk were getting an early start. Nag Kath stopped at Tumfred’s house as the sun went down.

“My stars! Look who wandered in! Fred, Nag Kath is back!”

The round little woman with rosy cheeks pulled him close for a hug and kiss. The grandson of Tumlen and his wife were now in their early sixties. The city was climbing back after the flood of 98 and most of their space was rented. The Dunlending statue had been spared. They had a quiet evening. Daughter Tumlier was cooking for a friend whose mother was not expected to last the week. Business was fair. Nag Kath did not even ask what his share was worth. It was more than he needed since Nennûrad Tujd was built with a spoon-full of rocks.

As blandly as possible, the Elf asked the local situation. In Osgiliath things were fine. White City customers said the same. The King was still hale and Eldarion was taking on more of the formalities. Tumfred looked at the ceiling and remembered, “Oh, along your former line; a troll tore through the capital of the Bror.” 


	50. Angmarach

** _Chapter 50_ **

** _Angmarach_ **

Maps of Angmar really help here: <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8>

At dawn Nag Kath made for the capital at speed. New guards at the sixth did not know him. Nag Kath showed the worn ruby pass producing a Lieutenant with standing orders to admit the Elf at any hour of the day.

Soft Khandian boots did not click like the guard heels on their way to the private office. The Elf waited about half a bell until the Ruler of the Reunited Kingdom stepped in. Nag Kath stood, bowed and waited. They hadn’t seen each other in five years. Aragorn’s hair was white and his face lined but he stood unbowed. His smile and handshake were the same.

Cold tea was waiting. When they were alone, Aragorn took a sip and asked softly, “Have you traveled long?”

“Yes, My Lord. Eight weeks ago I was told of a comet in the west, a little early for Syndolan.” His natural speaking voice was his Elf-Lord tone now. He did not notice. “I was in Eastern Khand.”

Nag Kath showed no signs of impatience, he never had, but the King did not think it fair to reminisce after what would have been a hard ride. Aragorn put his hands together and looked at them before saying, “Long ago, you said you thought there were lingering sorceries from the Third Age. Do you still think so?”

“I do, Sire. Just before I left a fire-drake destroyed a palace in Khand. Tumfred of Osgiliath told me a troll escaped in Kugavod. Both were in known pits just like Pelargir. There are probably more. Something is waking them.”

King Elessar spoke very deliberately, “Specters of enemies in the Dead Marshes have been seen above the water near the banks. It was said they seemed confused, like soldiers in the fog of battle. I get the same reports from the Mournshaws, Lich Bluffs. We have been looking for you almost a year now.”

“The Barrow Downs, Sire?”

“Not yet.”

“Angmar?”

“We have no reliable eyes there.”

“Forgive me, sir. The orcs above Erebor?”

Aragorn considered before saying, “It had been some time since they were sent fish, but a small party of them came to the border and said they were concerned about Gundabad.”

Nag Kath drank about half of his mug and said, “Sire, I should like to greet my family for a few days. Then do you suppose Lord Elboron could spare me half a troop to visit the marshes?”

Nemren needed shoes. He needed a rest too so Nag Kath requisitioned another horse for the trip to the Brown Lands. They weren’t as brown as they used to be but still a miserable place. No one from here or Rohan ever found them tempting. Before leaving, the Elf spoke with one of the men who reported ghosts floating on the water. He was ex-militia and not a man given to vapors. Calmly and plainly, he described orcs, hillmen and other Sauronic allies seeming to look about as if woken after long sleep. They did not sense each other or him.

Lieutenant Kieperd led a full troop of the King’s own guard. They were all too young to remember Nag Kath as anything but a citizen, except one who knew of worm-wool. Kieperd told the men the Elf’s word was law, even if it sounded absurd. 

It was not a long trip, three days on a good road. Merchants would just turn the corner at the Black Gate and make for the winelands. Their company veered left and came to the southern edge of the vast bogs that stretched as far west as the Anduin. Kieperd called the halt and ordered camp made on high ground well away from the stagnant water. Dusk was coming. The Elf let the men unpack and squatted on a knoll overlooking the swamp. 

Nothing seemed different. Elves, just as dead as the others, lay where they fell. Some stared up, no widow to shut her poor husband’s eyes. Nag Kath neither slept nor took his rest that night or the next. The soldiers were good men but had absolutely nothing to do. Some were joking with each other until Kieperd glanced at his Sarn't who ordered them to lay face down and push themselves up and down with their arms many times. 

The Elf turned to watch but was facing the marsh again before he smiled. Men were unnerved watching him sit like a rain-gutter demon. With morning came mist. It might rain this afternoon as clouds built from the west. 

Nag Kath was not the first to see them. A trooper caught a glimpse of movement on the other side of the rank-grass from Nag Kath’s perch. Sarn't whistled and jerked his head northeast. The Elf hopped down and crept quickly around the reeds. There were dozens of figures walking as if on the surface of the shallow pools, like the skaters when the lakes of Dale froze. Three were very close. Two seemed men, though one was missing his face. The nearest was an orc carrying his curved scimitar. Nag Kath held his palms towards the troopers, as if they needed any more reason not to join him. Then he worked his way to the bank, some fifty feet from the yrch (Sindarin for the big soldier orcs of the far northeast).

He could see through the creature, just like the Oath-breaker ghosts. It did not seem aware of him or the two soldiers further away. There was a dead Elf face-down in the mud in plain sight. The only prowlers were enemies. Nag Kath watched the orc for quite a while as he paced a small oval, facing outwards. 

Standing on the bank, Nag Kath projected a command in the Black Speech. The creature heard nothing. Then he shot a confusion spell at the orc. It sensed that and turned towards him but those only last a few seconds. The bringing spell had no effect and the casualty began pacing his oval again.

Radagast once told him the bodies in the water were only ghosts of the dead but not physical. Nag Kath thought he had better be sure so he stepped about knee-deep in the mud to grab the Elf’s ankle. His hand closed on nothing but water. The dead Elf was just another figment. 

Company was coming. The orc definitely sensed him and ran with sword raised. Soldiers yelled for him to defend himself. Nag Kath pulled his sword in time to deflect his attacker’s slash. The swords passed through each other and then through their bodies with no effect. Before the orc could hack again, Nag Kath hopped back on the bank. The orc jabbed his sword at the air probing. Men at the camp saw the blonde man drop his weapon and open a little pocket knife, holding it near the dazed specter before it eventually wandered back to its small circle.

The mist of the morning was giving way to a sunny day. The dead faded with it. Nag Kath walked back to the camp and poured the water out of his boot in front of the slack-jawed troopers. No one uttered a word until the Elf said, “Please, gather around. Tell me what you saw. Do not rely on each others’ accounts.”

There was general agreement that until his foot hit the water, the orc had no sense of his presence. Nag Kath asked what the others did.

Corporal Felligath had deputized himself as Atlier and answered, “The one with a face turned your way but the other kept circling his little area. I wondered if they patrol their place of unrest, like a dog tethered to a peg.”

Trooper Jin added, “That orc heard you right enough!”

To great relief, their own demon grinned at that and said, “They can be relied on to attack. I did not look closely at the men, could you tell anything about them from their dress or weapons?”

Lieutenant Kieperd took that one; “Neither carried sword nor shield. The one with a head wore a helmet. I cannot be sure but it looked from the north, perhaps Arnor. I am sorry I cannot be more helpful than that.”

Nag Kath put his boots back on and stood, “Let us see if we can find a man close to the edge.” Half went left and half right. Within ten minutes they found two candidates. One seemed a Hillman with a spear hole through his ribs. The other was a more promising. His clothes gave nothing away but a helmet next to his feet was eastern. Nag Kath wondered if he might have been one of the Wain-riders from his old haunts slaughtered here by Eärnil. He only knew the story because the King reigned long and a lot of nippers bore his profile. 

Kieperd had a man try to drag the helmet out with his lance but it was only an illusion. The blade passed through the corpse too. They really had rotted, leaving only remembrance ... remembrance driven by power unknown. Both groups returned to camp to hear more madness, “If there is mist tomorrow, I will see if I can speak to him.”

That night around the fire the troopers agreed that only ale could take the taste of this rotten place from their mouths. If they stayed more than two days, they would have to get fresh water from the east. Few of them slept well. Sentries shivered watching the Elf crouched on a mound above the dead mercenary in the moonlight.

At dawn there were mists and soldiers began rising and pacing. Nag Kath reached his hand in the pool not six feet from the casualty. He felt nothing for a while but then the soldier’s eyes opened. Part of him lay exactly as it had been as an apparition within it rose to sit. After a minute, the soldier’s bloodless head was above the surface. He seemed muddled but not afraid. Nag Kath applied his confusion spell to no effect. The head still turned his way. The Elf spoke gently in Khandian, “Who are you?”

“Ureg, son of Ugreg.” The voice floated, not made by mouth.

As if asking a lost child, “Do you wait for Ar-Balkumagân?”

“Yes, the Angmarach.”

Nag Kath finished, “Rest now. Wait for him.”

He was glad the two horrified guards protecting him did not speak Khandian as the head slipped below without a ripple.

_______________-------______________

Nag Kath explained his trip to the council. Minister Edenthread, advisor on war, asked most of the questions. Prince Eldarion chaired. The King largely watched. Chancellor Derenbar was there. There was no minister of fell remaining sorcery, unless it was Nag Kath. Derenbar asked, “What impressions beyond what you have told us?”

The Elf sipped his tea and licked his lips. “The question is whether the spells over these forsaken men are diminishing and freeing them to the halls of their peoples or if they are being slowly revived to complete their task. I fear the latter since our allies do not join them.”

Edenthread was fifty one. Sorcery had no effect in his rise to rank. He fought men; rebels, border skirmishes – folk he could see. But he was also a patient and learned man. His great grandfather stood at the gates. The veteran told his children and they told theirs. The soldier watched trolls roll terrible engines of war to the walls while fell-beasts swiped men from the ramparts. Before father died, he taught his children there had always been magic, foul magic. It would raise its head and then sleep over many lifetimes of good people.

The war minister asked, “What remedy, Lord Kath?”

“Look in Angmar. I keep returning to the Witch-King. This poor creature seemed to recognize his leader. He should not recognize anything.”

The Elf sat back in his chair with his fingertips together and gathered himself to say, “King Elessar, please do not think me blind to all else. Sauron’s greatest servant Ar-Balkumagân was long a powerful sorcerer before he was enslaved by the ring, and even that took centuries. I believe he retained his own interests, if only to keep his flock under-thumb, like an employed man who retains hometown property. Even if the Dark Lord’s gifts died with him, I would know who inherited the rest.”

Edenthread’s aid was Mynard Thomald. He was young but not rash, “Sirs, if sorceries remain in those distant lands, is our concern the orcs or men?”

When no one else answered, Nag Kath said, “Men. Orcs cannot wield magic. They fear it, knowing they can be easily bent to its will.”

Thomald took the risk that another question would not overstep his bounds, “And the men, sir?”

Nag Kath said distantly, as if a Lorist, “I spoke to the dragon. He was confused, saying that his summons was weak, almost as if by accident, perhaps incomplete. He destroyed the building to break free but did not stalk anyone like the trolls. That pit was warded by a master sorcerer and the spell still broke it. Scions have not yet learned to wield their inheritance, but someone is closer. In time, the wrong man will. My Lord Elessar has seen this. So have I. Time works against us.”

The King had his elbows on the table, fingertips touching as well. He chose. “It is September now. The heir will go to Annúminas in spring. I need to know what force will be needed. Nag Kath?”

Against the gravity of the meeting, the grim Elf smiled, “I hope the lake has whisker-fish.”

To everyone’s astonishment, Aragorn smiled back, “Big ones.”

The Elf and King walked out together, the only two there who understood that this craft was not the misty lore of the ancients. It was the hard business of those who ruled only a century before. Aragorn asked, “You go to Dol Amroth now?”

“Yes Sire, my granddaughter is very dear to me but now elderly. I will visit her over the winter and be back before the spring melt.”

“Yes, the water blossom. And dear to Barahir as well.”

“A fine man, sir. They are there now. I hope to see them all.”

“I think … a moment …” The King turned to two women walking through long shadows in the corridor. “Daughter, come and meet my old friend.”

They approached and bowed. One was middle-aged and conservatively dressed in the garb of a high domestic. The other was very fair with flowing dark hair and gray eyes. Both bowed to the King and the young one gave him a kiss on the cheek. Aragorn said, “Nag Kath, may I present my daughter Inariel? Inara, this is Nag Kath.”

They both bowed. She appeared quite taken with the tall fellow and the name rang a faint bell. Nag Kath said, “It is good to see you, My Lady. It has been some time.”

She curtsied, “A pleasure, sir.”

The King added, “Lord Kath has been away in eastern lands where he knows much of lore and customs.”

The Princess smiled brightly, “I hope we meet again, My Lord.”

They both bowed again and she withdrew with her maid.

The Elf said, “I can see both you and Her Ladyship in the Princess’ face. She is a well-favored child.”

Aragorn smiled, “And a handful. I fear I spoil her. Now, be sure to return by April. Eldarion sets as firm a pace as his old father and it will be a sizeable troop. Oh, how are you set for a horse?”

“Old Nemren is probably good for one more campaign. He will be here over the winter with a lad to keep him fit.”

“Go then, with all my hopes and blessings, sir knight.”

___________------___________

Strolling through the city, he felt the history. Had it been so long? A century after the war. Signs and faces had changed but the buildings were almost all still ancient. He recognized Shurran’s hand on a few new ones and repairs to the old. 

Shurran and Penni’s children were glad to see him, except Feuril. Reyaldar just retired and Fieldar had the reins now. The Elf was Uncle Nag but the next generation did not know him well, nor should they. This was the age of men. Everyone else was gone. It had to happen. For the longest time, he was Kath of this or that. The soldiers going to the Dead Marshes had never heard of him, despite the Dunlending at the water pavilion. 

Two weeks later he booked passage to Dol Amroth. Nemren would stay here with Field’s son riding him on the plain. The horse would like that. As he always tried to do, Nag Kath gave himself a day in Pelargir to see Helien’s and Phylless’ graves and clean the stones. He had left so many people behind. He honored them.

Eniecia had just turned 81 and was still a dancing blossom to her Uncle Nag. Cal was a few years older. He might live into his hundreds as so many people here did. Legorn was one hundred and eleven, finally slowing down. After a career putting him as high as someone not in the Princely family could go, Caladrion retired in high honor. They sat on the front porch and watched the ships sail into the harbor. It brought peace. New babies needed burping. Two days after arriving he saw Barahir and Talienne. They were only here for another two weeks but managed dinner twice. He enjoyed the Princely City until mid-February to stay ahead of the spring melt with plans to return after unspecified work in the north, although everyone in the family knew the King had been looking for him. 

March in Minas Tirith was warm with two heavy snows to remind everyone not to be complacent. Nag Kath spent most of his time reading his old books. He visited the archives, although the golden days of red-caps beetling through those volumes seemed over. Men now wrote books to sell; and not tedious histories either. One could get scandal or old campfire tales or imagined adventures of magnificent champions borrowed loosely from courtly lore. If it was popular, or authors paid someone to say so, Khandians were employed to copy them for sale to a wider audience. Nag Kath was still not tempted to write his own history. No one would ever believe it.

______________-------_____________

The meeting ran long. It was agreed they would bypass the Shire and make directly for Annúminas after the Gap had cleared. The King left most of the presentation to Prince Eldarion since he would command, the first joint Arnor/Gondor foray since Aragorn combined them with the Rohirrim against Easterlings almost sixty years ago. 

The heir collected his things and left with the soldiers. As Nag Kath rose, Aragorn said, “A moment, my friend. Have you considered if what you face is beyond the use of steel?”

“I think I will know. Whether that is soon enough I cannot say. I told your heir, I will have to be in the van, probably in stealth before the army. We shall see how the ground lays.”

“Good answer.” King Elessar rose and the two walked out of the council room together towards the private apartments. Before Nag Kath veered off to the main entrance, Princess Inariel and her duenna emerged from the royal suites. Seeing her da, she approached and bowed saying, “Good afternoon, Father. Mother says not to forget we have dinner with the Ambassador tonight.”

“It is full in my memory. Daughter Inariel, do you remember Lord Kath?”

Lord Kath bowed again, “Inariel looked him up and down and said coolly, “Yes, the orc.”

Nag Kath kept his usual bland smile. It appeared the young woman had been talking with her mother. It took more than spoiled princesses to put Orc Six off his feed. He bowed again, “At your service in any form, My Lady.”

What servant would be so bold! Inariel was incensed and spat, “Think your service in any manner would not be loathsome and disdained?!”

Aragorn had heard quite enough, “Silence, daughter! This person is a guest in my house which is all you need know. Apologize now and go to your quarters until I decide where I have failed in your upbringing.”

Blush in her cheeks turned to ash. Her father had never scolded her thusly.

The Princess looked at her shoes and mumbled, “Forgive me, good sir. I spoke thoughtlessly.”

Both she and her attendant bowed deeply and returned to the royal apartments, almost hitting the slowly opened door.

The King turned to his guest and said, “I am sorry, Nag Kath. That is unlike her. Perhaps the stress of her brother in harm’s way has clouded her sense of propriety.”

Nag Kath put his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “If you will see to her manners, the Lord Prince and I will see to Angmar.”

Both men smiled and shook hands before the Elf bowed and went to make his preparations.

Princess Inariel threw herself on her bed sobbing. Miss Kurtish closed her door from the outside. How could father take the side of that, that creature?! It was so unfair. Why had he not slain them all?!

The tantrum became the realization she had shamed her beloved father with her petulance and contumely. The best man who ever lived, embarrassed by his churlish daughter even as he fights fierce enemies! She could not remember ever crying like that before. Please, oh please, by all the powers that smile on our family, let this not harm his noble work!

The King himself walked back to his office collecting his scribe to answer the note from Minister Helling. Now, what about Inariel? Had she asked Arwen about the comely guest last fall? The Queen would not have disparaged him so the girl must have done some digging on her own. Nag Kath was an old but poorly-kept secret anywhere in Middle-earth. The Princess could miss a dinner and explain herself in the morning. Even though she appeared grown, he knew her mixed Elvish and Dunedain blood was only now giving her womanly cycles, with all those attendant difficulties.

________________-------_______________

The Prince was the leader of men. His party of five hundred made brisk time through Rohan and across the Gap towards Tharbad. Restoration there had been dashed by another flood. It was simply a bad place to put a city. With only normal snow-melt this year, the ferries were pummeled by the current and it took a week to get the men across. Eldarion went straight north to Bree and bypassed the Shire making for Fornost, a five day ride without pushing the pack animals too hard. His Lordship traveled light. He commandeered what they needed, paid good cash and saw to the welfare of his future subjects. No one complained.

Annúminas was the model for Bozisha-Kantû, one of the magnificent cities of the early Third Age, Elendil’s capital. Aragorn chose it for his northern realm right after the war and probably had it in mind as a Ranger of these lands long before. It sat on the third blue jewel; Lake Evendim.

The city was now functional. Built from the astonishingly hard local stone, many structures had survived two millennia of neglect and were still usable. Always working against the great old citadels; there weren’t nearly enough people. One doesn’t build grand monuments unless the granary is at least half full. Without enough defenders, outer walls are merely shields for enemy archers.

The city was the typical confusion of quartering a huge influx of men and horses. They were expected, but that is not the same as knowing where to cook the food. Nag Kath had his Lembas and joined a conference of Eldarion and his captains at a large oval table. After bowing to the Lords, his Prince announced, “Gentlemen, this is Nag Kath. He is a special counselor on matters of lore.”

He knew the Gondor contingent well, but better than half the room was officers of Arnor. Nag Kath listened for close to an hour. Most of the discussion was about assembling the army. Authors of popular ladies’ books praise muscular heroes slaying hosts of villains. That is fine when you get there, but soldiers eat a lot first. Wagons get stuck in the mud. When it rains, everything gets soaked unless you have enough tents. You need socks and swords and bandages. These men were not ready to march just yet. 

There was a large map on the table so the men stood for Colonel Gheras-lithend’s presentation. Like Mordor, Angmar is surrounded on three sides by mountains. In this case, the ranges are shaped like a crab claw open to the west with the shorter pincer to the south. The tall soldier used a stick to tap positions starting with, “We count about a thousand orcs along the southern hills and another fifteen hundred from about half the length to the tip of the northern claw. They do not like each other.

“The men are nearer the closed end where the water is better. We do not have a count on them but fair estimates are two thousand swords. They grow grain, vegetables and sheep. They also fashion their own weapons from iron in the hills behind them. They always did know how to make swords here.” 

One of the Gondorans asked, “Do they have more than scouting-strength horse?”

Governor Commündith answered, “We have seen raiding parties of as many as thirty. If have more than that, they keep it to themselves. Infantry are mostly pikemen but they carry swords as well. They also have very good light ballista that can be moved quickly by horse.” The soldiers discussed cavalry defenses, water quality, roads and all the things pure military men must know.

The Governor added, “Big place; Angmar. Men and orcs, each to their own areas. Men trade at Shedûn on the lower tip but only local drovers take goods into the interior. There is a good pass twenty leagues closer to the capital but that puts us among the lower orc tribes. A third pass behind the city would be perfect except it is only suitable for infantry.”

Nag Kath was quiet throughout. While listening he looked to the Prince who gave the slightest nod. Waiting for a lull, the Elf asked, “Colonel Gheras-lithend, do you have any maps of their capital city?”

“We do not.”

The Elf asked, “Do you know if there are any temples or places of large gatherings or worship?”

Gheraslithend seemed slightly annoyed by the pretty Gondoran civilian. He answered, “No, their habits do not concern us.”

The Elf nodded in thanks.

Colonel Ionthand of Arnor asked the Prince, “Sir, may I ask the purpose of this campaign?”

Eldarion said gravely, “You may. Nag Kath believes there are remaining sorceries causing disturbances in a number of places to the south. We purpose to be quit of them.”

Gheras-lithend looked at the Elf and asked, “And you know where they are?”

“Not yet.”

The Gondorans knew who and what the youthful-looking officer was. Arnoran officer Dephusal, a great, great nephew of Legatorn from Orthanc, wondered if the blonde might put a sword through the staff Colonel’s foot. Before he did, the heir closed, “I have every confidence we can bring this to a successful conclusion. Please continue your preparations.”

As the meeting adjourned Nag Kath whispered to the Prince, “We need spies. Do we know who here works for Angmar?”

_____________-------____________-

Diervunn had not been in the meeting. His purview was the city proper. The man was background. He found Nag Kath sitting on a bench sketching a ramp between towers and invited himself to join. “I understand you are curious about visitors in Annúminas.”

The Elf put his backing-board down and smiled at the innocent use of ‘visitors’. He replied, “Especially ones who think they are unnoticed.”

“That culls the list to one.”

“A soldier?”

Diervunnan thought a moment and answered, “At one time. He is a merchant now.”

“I know the type. Does he report back as far as the capital?”

“That we do not know, but he seems to take a long time between trips.”

Nag Kath looked the guardi in the eye, “I don’t suppose he is here now?”

Angmari were a different breed than the men of the northwest wilds. They were generally shorter and darker haired with slate-gray eyes. There were a number of them here. They stayed together. Most escaped the fell claw and had no loyalties at home, but they were also poor, which made them receptive. 

Merchant Querishoul used those conditions to his advantage. He kept modest quarters in the city and brought goods to Annúminas twice a year. Few of his wares were from Angmar because they were hard to sell, but he needed to maintain appearances. Captain Diervunn explained his travels were subsidized by information he brought back to the claw. The guardi could have arrested him any time, but like many in his profession, Diervunn felt it was better to know your enemy. Information always escaped. This way they could add their own tidings to the mix.

The merchant had planned to leave in two days but the arrival of the heir and five hundred horse, far more than ever brought before, made him remember chores he should do here. A few of the refugee population spoke to him discreetly. They were folk who tended horses, prepared food and did things for lack of Arnorans. Querishoul didn’t mind the wait. Here and Fornost were the nicest places on his route. He could attend personal needs from the local women for a groat if he wasn’t too picky.

One of his informants told him an officer of the council dropped a folio in a corridor near the palace. The merchant growled, “Why didn’t you bring it here?”

The nervous man stammered, “I tried, but a soldier approached. I drew his attention so he did not notice. If it has value, I hope you will remember your good friend.”

The merchant knew the man did not read. “Perhaps. Where is it?”

The papers inside were written in a language Querishoul did not know. A waste of time! As he left, he felt oddly confused, even more so than after eating the spiced fish last night. Someone told him to follow. He did not want to. He did not need to be seen. But he went because he must.

The merchant was led to a small room with a glass window and seated across from a man he did not know. The tall one asked him queer questions about Litash. Yes, there are stone buildings. No, none look like that one. He drifted through describing the streets of the capital and soldiers and their revered ruler, known only as the Seer. The Seer has powers and so do his Kieresh servants. No, I do not know where he gets his powers. Querishoul had no sense of time. 

The trader also explained how men travel to Litash nearer the middle of the crescent to avoid orcs cleaving to the leeward side of the near crab-claw. Northern orcs had dealings with the Seer but he knew nothing of their society. 

Then he forgot everything that happened today.

No; not everything. He did remember his informant telling him the Elessar Prince brought troops to put down a rebellion with the troublesome Arthedains to the west. Local troops might be in league and therefore untrustworthy. There was a traitor among them; tall, blonde, a Prince of the south grown weary of his uncle’s rule. 

The day Querishoul left with information about the Prince’s purpose, the Prince called another war council.

____________-------____________

Nag Kath needed to know more about how the two orc clans dealt with each other. As arranged, the Prince gave him the floor towards the end of the meeting.

Starting slowly, as he did when addressing groups, Nag Kath said, “Sirs, I see the main army having to turn the corner at Shedûn and being no surprise when we get to Litash. I propose taking a small force through the low pass and making a bargain with the southern orcs to keep out of the way. That force will go through the orc lines and intercept riders with tidings from the claw tip. From there we make for Litash as advance scouts or wait for the troops if the way is closed. 

Ionthand asked in earnest, “Mr. Kath, what manner of bargain?”

I have dealt with similar orcs on the other side of Gundabad. They are easy to bribe with food, not to fight, mind, but they will stay put. That was useful in Dale too.”

Staff Colonel Gheraslithend had still not been told about the mysterious blonde and asked as he might of a rash junior officer, “And just what makes you think you can parlay with these?”

The Elf said in the same voice Gandalf used at the Council of Elrond,**_ “Doosht nach vien ohulgran.”_**

While everyone else’s hair was standing on end, Eldarion said with the slightest pinch of a smile, “Lord Kath has certain … skills.”

It was mid-May. If they were going this year, they had to be out of the crescent before the snows. That meant making the turn at Shedûn by September at the latest. They would provision for twelve hundred cavalry with another two hundred pack horses capable of the same speed. Some of that was already in hand but if they weren’t ready, they would wait until spring. Sorcery was a slow threat and they attacking entrenched positions. Arnor’s small infantry would secure the home defenses. 

Colonel Ionthand’s Third Arnoran Rangers would lead one hundred eighty of those horses in Nag Kath’s probe over the low pass but they would travel most of the way with the main army. Merchant traffic along the route would be diverted, especially going in. A full company would camp in the footpath pass to the capital to strangle tidings. Before the army moved, three wagons would take dried fish and grain to the near side of the low pass at Gram as soon as it could be gathered. They would leave it hidden under tarps, cheap insurance against coming to terms with the southern orcs. Advance men would quietly secure fodder and livestock along the main route.

The Prince took most of his Gondorans west for a few days and brought them back filthy in case anyone was wondering about his reason for coming north with such a force. Then they drilled with the local levies using spears and swords. Nag Kath participated or observed exercises but spent most of his time studying every scrap of paper and speaking with refugees about the Seer. Most of them escaped as the man came to rule nine years before and were not much help on current affairs. Few had left since and none in the last three years, at least; not that came here. One fellow had been a builder and helped the Elf sketch a much better layout of Litash as it stood a decade ago. There was a central hall from antiquity but gatherings had been banned under the new ruler.

He still wracked his brain for what sort of vessel the Witch-King might have imbued with his power. Was it part of him like Sauron’s ring? Was it a store of energy left like a savings jar? Of what size and nature? Nag Kath was fairly sure he could sense it if he got close. He spoke often with the Colonel and some of his senior men about his own colorful background. They would have to keep their wits for more than just Angmari. One officer asked to be reassigned, better now than in the fray.

The Prince led. The train lurched forward and made Fornost in five days, a day slower than a good pace with riders only. Adding more men and horses, the main army turned northeast and followed the road skirting the jagged ridges pointing at the crescent.

Colonel Ionthand’s company made due east for the Ettenmoors; famous troll country. It was a dull ride over fair ground with good water so they did not need to carry heavy water skins. As always; they lost a few horses to lameness but arrived at the Sin Marve River and turned north after day 21 on the road.

The trail was good but narrow so they rode no wider than double-file for another seven days along the river until crossing an east/west road where the fish and wheat were stashed. They took the food with them for Mt. Gram another two days almost due north. Reaching a rather pretty lake, the battalion camped as six scouts and Nag Kath picked their way up the pass for a look on the other side.

This was orc country and no error. The men set a fire-less camp just over the ridge after checking for caves. Those were likely much nearer the valley floor but no one wanted surprises. Nag Kath took the forward watch looking for activity but without much of a moon and clouds, he didn’t see anything. Just before dawn, he did hear orcs yelling at each other, too far to understand but it was not a call that men were camped above them.

The plan was to take four of the pack horses and two dozen riders down to the valley and leave food samples along with a note using the same variety of languages and symbols Nag Kath left above Erebor. If they wanted to talk, they should leave a large red banner behind. The delivery went smoothly although one of the trooper’s horses was uncontrollable and the rider had to take him back. The party wasn’t more than two hours behind him and a full company took positions at the crest now that they had played their hand.

If the orcs responded, negotiations would be more subtle than the neutrality of the eastern bands. The main difference was that this lot might already be in-league with or even servants of the men inside the horn. If so, this overture shouldn’t betray the Prince's intent. Hopefully the story of a blonde traitor added a feint. Failing that; they would threaten force down the pass and keep the orcs busy while the main army slipped around.

It took two days but a bloody blanket draped over a bush was as good a signal as they would get. Another complication was that even Nag Kath would not go down to the valley. If the orcs played them false, he would be the appetizer before the whisker-fish. A party of no more than twelve orcs was to come to the mountain pass. They would be soldiers their Lugnash could spare, so probably not the lads to cut a deal. Their Sarn't could take a message back and, if needed, could be shown the food wagons just downhill. 

On schedule, a few more than a dozen of the brutes trudged up the slope, swords drawn; the bravest, most expendable or most ambitious of the soldiery below. They didn’t expect what they got.

Men were gathered around a campfire spitting two halves of a pig to perfection. The wind was blowing west or the orcs would have already been drooling. Nag Kath walked up to within twenty feet of the leader with a slight bow and said in the Black Speech, **_“Ah, you are just in time for dinner!”_**

Two troopers took half of the swine on a tarp near the befuddled orcs and returned to their meals. Archers waited behind the rocks if things went wrong but there were no whistles or hoots that reinforcements were creeping behind this first lot.

As if he was the Sayer in a Catanard, Nag Kath continued, **_“Eat, is good. We will talk.”_** His own men were wary, but after a month of hard biscuits and porridge, they could eat pork as part of their duties. The officer told his orcs to sit where they stood except for two who tore hunks off the carcass and passed them around. 

When they were seated and eating in a fashion it was fortunate not to see, Nag Kath walked over to the leader and sat five feet away saying, **_“I am Solvanth. We come as friends.”_**

No matter his orders, no one said the orc couldn’t eat cooked pig first. It wasn’t until he had wiped his hands on his coat that the creature said, **_“Sergeant Brishnug. What do you want?”_**

He spoke a different mix of black and orcish but was understandable. The Elf appeared to consider that in the firelight and replied, **_“We travel to Litash.”_**

That was the blandest thing he could say. It did not identify them as being with or against anyone, particularly leadership in the capital. The orc was unimpressed. **_“Go around.”_**

Again, the Elf gave long deliberation to that good advice before saying, **_“Northern orcs are not trouble?”_**

That was sure to get a rise. They were separated for a reason, even if they couldn’t say so. Less forcefully than Nag Kath expected, the Sergeant said, **_“Felshuu band serves Seer. They stay north.”_**

Nag Kath said gregariously to a trooper watching for the signal, “Why don’t you bring over more for the Sergeant.” If the man could have stretched his arm another three feet he would have. The orc took it without lunging and had a bite. Not quite stroking his chin the Elf added, **_“You do not speak for Felshuu band?”_**

**_“Mehaaa!”_** Bits of swine landed on the Elf’s trousers. **_“They are schukkk!”_**

** _“They are not here?”_ **

This time the orc swallowed enough to say, **_“Where sun comes up. Litash.”_**

Nag Kath was getting somewhere. These orcs are hostile to the band directly above the capital who work for the Seer. That would give the King a free path directly east to Litash if he could convince these lads it was in their interest not to interfere. 

Nag Kath said, **_“Far from you!”_**

With an orcish grin, **_“Good! Felshuu schukkk!”_**

Nag Kath probed, **_“Seer commands Felshuu?”_**

_ **"Of course."** _

_ **"How many?"** _

Even an orc can have enough pig and it was time to see what the men wanted. **_“Hard to say.”_**

Nag Kath had to hope the Felshuu didn’t have a spy in their midst. The Elf said, **_“You want more fish?”_**

** _“More fish?”_ **

** _“Much more fish.”_ **

** _“For what?”_ **

** _“Nothing. Soldiers come through pass. You stay in your caves. More fish.”_ **

The orc snorted, **_“You kill us!”_**

** _“We are just passing through. Two wagons fish. One wagon wheat.”_ **

** _“You lie.”_ **

** _“Will show you. We bring with us.”_ **

Brishnug was told to barter, **_“Five!”_**

** _“We only brought three.”_ **

** _“Four!”_ **

The Elf was firm, **_“Three.”_**

** _“You give, you go to Litash?”_ **

Nag Kath said as if the orc had driven a hard bargain, **_“We go to road. Do not see you.”_**

He had gathered this fellow was more than a Sergeant. The orc said, **_“When?”_**

** _“Two days. Food is guarded now. You take food when we go.”_ **

This was the first time men had offered them anything, much less to stay home and eat. He growled, **_“Do! Two days you come. We see fish now!”_**

It may have been the strangest scene in Middle-earth. Two very stuffed orcs followed two well-fed troopers down the hill by torchlight to inspect the goods, neither pair sure who was guarding whom. It was about a two hour walk. The troopers could make their way to the Colonel's main camp rather than come back up in the dark. The orcs might have a cave down there or return. That was their business.

Brishnug ordered the rest back down the hill after settling an argument over the pig’s spine. Nag Kath told them to take the other carcass too. Sentries above the gap on either side whistled all-clear about half an hour after the orcs left.

When he heard that, Lieutenant Borgan drawled, “After I issue new underwear, do you want to tell me what in the name of Eru just happened?”

Nag Kath helped himself to a plate of vegetables and sat down with the men. Some of them had eaten too much and regretted it. The Elf considered a lennas green and said, “Same as the lot above Erebor. We have a deal. These southern orcs don’t work with the northern ones. If he told any truth, the others are all just north of Litash and in league with the Seer. This lot will let us our brigade through to the main road and they get the food when we go.”

The Elf wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “The road is open for the Prince.”

________________--------________________

The orcs looked at the food and scampered back up the hill. It would take a lot of them to get it home and would take these two all night from the wagons to their caves. When they were gone, one of the troopers who escorted the orcs down the hill walked over to Colonel Ionthand’s tent and reported, “Excuse me sir, the officer said to shoot the rocket.” 

They were committed. King Elessar's last firework was fired into the northwest sky. By the time Eldarion’s main army reached the road even with the orc pass, Ionthand’s men would have a three day head-start and either be waiting or scouting ahead. The Prince was prepared to fight the whole way but now he knew he could drive at speed.

Three days after the pig dinner, the main army rounded the bend in sight of Shedûn. Townsmen came out to watch. Three riders left in a hurry towards the capital. As expected, two days later they rode into a dozen archers from the Second Rhudahr cavalry who had orders to keep one alive if possible as long as no one got through. One rider made it to the command tent.

The most annoying way to try evading an interrogator is pretending you don’t understand the language. Angmari used a pigeon Black Speech but spies listening to trading-post gossip would know some Westron. The Colonel asked the man basic questions about his hurry and what to expect in the capital. When he got nowhere, a tall, blonde man was asked inside. 

The rider wasn’t more than twenty three, a messenger, like his interrogator had been. Nag Kath asked a few of the same questions the Colonel had in Westron with the same result. Then he asked one in the Black Speech. The young man’s face contorted. He was not told about this. He tried bluster, _**“You have no right! This is the Seer’s land. I order you to release me!”**_

A beam of yellow light shone on his face as the Elf said gently, _**“Tell me of your home.”**_

The Prince’s men were uncomfortable with that. Other than speaking orcish, the tall one seemed an ordinary man. The messenger tried to resist at first then started to speak. Then he started to choke. Blood dripped out of his nose and his eyes were bloodshot. His head shook for a few seconds and he fell face-first on the table.

Nag Kath growled, “Dougsh!” and rose to put his hand on the dead captive’s neck. The men saw his hand change color for a moment. He flopped back into the folding chair and said nothing.

It was the King’s policy not to torture prisoners. They had during the war and hadn’t had much reason to since, but the men in the tent just watched the blonde officer slay the messenger with devilry. Ionthand didn’t care, but would give him the benefit of the doubt. “Nag Kath?”

The changeling’s brows were knitted staring at the young man. He looked to the Colonel and said softly, “It was his master’s spell. I cannot be sure of the exact thought, but the Seer made sure he wasn’t going to talk. That makes the Seer a sorcerer of more power than I thought.”

They had waited for any riders where they emerged from orc lands on the road. It was not an ideal camp so the Colonel ordered them slowly east towards Litash with scouts well ahead and fanned to the north. The terrain was rolling hills in grassland so the advance-riders rode from ridge to ridge and then signaled the main company up. They saw no one. If the Prince was on schedule, he was fully two days behind and would catch them as Ionthand’s men cautiously followed their scouts.

______________-------_____________

“Good morning Your Lordship.”

“Good morning, Sarn’t Jesskellan.”

“Sir, the van found Colonel Ionthand’s first camp three miles ahead. The orcs were persuaded to stay home. They left the message that the company was moving behind his advance scouts. Three riders bound for Shedûn were slain. At this rate we will join them two days hence.

Eldarion pulled on his second boot, “Two days? That’s two thirds of the way. I want to be long past this pass by night. Keep a weather-eye on orcs to our south.” 

Nearing the bowl of the claw, the ground flattened to the point where there was no hiding. The advance group started to see small farms along the creeks leading north from the mountains, evidence that this was further east than the local orcs roamed. Farmers hid for their lives at the sound of soldiers. Nothing good ever came of soldiers. Two days later the advance party came to a flat where the ground fell away towards the capital river-valley. They could go no further without being observed so they waited for the main army whose dust was already rising behind them. Scouts reported the city was un-walled. Nag Kath went with the next team and saw outlines of cavalry defenses using spiked trenches but only in front and south of the capital. Presumably the orcs defended from the north. After another day of the advance company being as still as possible, the main column arrived. 

___________------____________

In Litash, a runner knocked the correct four times and was admitted to the Seer’s council. “Your pardon, Most High, sentries report a large army is massing ten leagues to the west on the main road.”

“Ten … how did they get that close?!” Silently he wondered why the orcs had not sent word.

“I cannot say, Most High. We know they are cavalry. Riders have been dispatched to learn their strength.”

“Call my generals to me.”

The Seer started life as Varsiig. Like most in Angmar after the Witch-King perished, his ancestors were more concerned with eating than magic. About the same number of men and orcs returned from the war and after years of fighting came to a grudging accommodation over control of the scant water flowing into the claw. Varsiig was now forty. His faction overthrew Drenald’s adherents nine years ago and fed them to the orcs’ wargs after tiring of their begging.

Like Nulvanash to the south, Varsiig had small powers, but no ancient sect carried the Witch-King’s torch. Varsiig had learned that by spending time in the frozen cavern on the road to Gundabad he could control men. It spoke to him. Unlike many of the old orc caves around the perimeter, it was always covered in ice, just as the land was during the long winters. Angmar knew cold.

Varsiig built his own following. The northern orcs attacked not long after he seized control and were defeated. He brought them to his will, a weak and pitiful race; orcs. Let them think themselves allies! Varsiig learned that with his touch he could make men bleed or cry or do anything to avoid that. He could keep them from telling secrets. Woe betide any who challenged his authority. Was it only two years ago that men who died besieged in the ice caverns centuries ago began to show themselves? He could not speak to them yet, but it was coming. Varsiig was a patient man.

He aged slowly. His wife had been younger than him. Now she was barren and old so he took women from the town. One officer had the temerity to defend his own wife. His scars reminded all others. Now the Seer ruled five thousand fortunate souls. The permanent army stood at nine hundred with another nine hundred militia and as many as two thousand orcs in thrall. With so many grateful subjects, how did an army arrive on his doorstep?! The generals hastened.

“Xhrandosh, why have your defenders not slain these men, let alone not seen them?”

Xhrandosh knew his life was over. He hoped it would be quick. His wife would slit their son’s throat if the Seer’s elite approached their quarters. He came here to give her time. The man said with dignity, “I do not know, Most High. All word from the gap is smothered.”

The Seer asked, “How many men do you have astraddle the west road?”

“Four hundred sixty in three companies, Most High.”

“Then you will have the honor of being the first to engage. Position them on either side of the defile with yourself in the front.”

Xhrandosh stiffened and said, “I obey, Most High.” The Seer could have just loosed the blood in his brain. Like all officers, Xhrandosh had submitted to hands aside his head for his Lord’s judgment. It was better to die by the sword. The man turned on his heels and called for his horse.

Varsiig turned to the orc. “You know what to do. All of your troops and warags flank the invaders from the north. Drive them to the caves. What are you waiting for?” The creature was gone. Eighty horse were already harrying scouts from the north ahead of the orcs. Similar orders were given to the city militia and his elite troops. It was every soldier he had except one hundred palace guards ... 

______________-------______________

... Every soldier the seer commanded, but not every weapon. Officers dismissed, his steward took him down the long hall to a room that was both suite and gaol. The retainer unlocked the door and a woman inside was quickly on her knees, head lowered. Last time she hadn’t done it quickly enough so her Seer burned a hand-print in her scalp. He let her grovel for a moment and told her to leave.

She was tending a fat child of perhaps nine who continued playing with his toy soldiers. Varsiig approached with a smile, “Hello Ulig.”

“Hello Uncle.”

“Have you been well?”

“Yes, Uncle. The woman and I have been playing. You are right, she is tedious.”

“We are going to have a new game now. You will make Uncle very proud. Come, we will go to the cave.”

“Must we, Uncle? It is so cold there.”

Varsiig enticed, “Your soldiers will be there.”

“Yes Uncle, but it is still so cold.”

The Seer had to play his real game. Two years ago this peasant child was discovered to have sorcery. In time, he would be far more powerful than the Seer. Before then the brat must die. Patient Varsiig did not waste in his northern Kingdom. Ulig had been held against need. Now it was time for him to be realized. The Seer cajoled, “Oh, but we must. Special sweets are waiting there for you.”

Sweets! How Ulig loved sweets. His wretched governess never had sweets. His parents did not. Uncle punished them. His sister never gave him sweets. Now she was handed from soldier to soldier. It was foolish for them not to give Ulig sweets!

The lad brightened, “Yes, Uncle. Can we go now?”

“Of course, Ulig. Of course.”

Eight miles from Litash, Eldarion could see troops running into position. His captains had been too pessimistic. If every man this Seer had was falling-in, they would hardly slow the Prince’s lead column. The unknown was the northern orcs. Eldarion’s first urge was to charge now with the enemy in complete disarray. No, he would wait for the dawn or risk being exposed to orcish legions tonight and forced into those gullies. Bonfires were lit along the ravines leading to the plateau where they camped with every archer at the ready.

Ulig rode on the horse with the large man who was always by his Uncle. It was uncomfortable. He had his heavy coat for the cold and his warm lambskin boots. Four other men rode alongside. His Uncle was an important man! Ulig would be important too. His important Uncle was counting his chickens. Reports before he left were that better than a thousand horsemen were ready to ride above him. It could only be the Elessar. They would easily crush his men, until night. He must drive them here and keep them here longer than they planned.

They rode to the little settlement of servants below the second ice cavern, the small, powerful cave. Perhaps fifty women and children were left now that every man hastened to the road. All bowed in fear. They understood. As he learned the secrets of the cave, all of the north would bow. It was said a great sorcerer had lived here and made Angmar his capital. His symbols still adorned buildings and shields. 

Leaving his hulking bodyguard with the horses, Varsiig took little Ulig up the rocks and around the boulder that kept any sun from reaching inside. The outriders lit torches and went in first, followed by the Seer and his protégée. As always, the boy’s presence raised the ghosts that prowled in the rising mist, surrounded by ice and darkness. Silly that their breath didn’t smoke like his and Uncle’s. The guards’ breath froze too, but what did they matter? 

The spoiled child whined, “Uncle, you said we would have sweets!”

The Seer smiled in the flickering light, “Yes, of course. I have them here.” 

Usually servants carried everything the Seer needed but for Ulig, he had a special bag. As Varsiig looked through it, Ulig saw the ghosts prowling in their little circles as he imagined them on his first visit. He could bring them forth from confinement. He could make them hunt. Not afraid, he walked towards one and said, “Stop! Bow your head before The Most High!”

The specter looked their way. Everyone in the cave saw it. Far to the south, other specters stalking their graveyards became that much more aware of the world around them. Yes, it was time for the Seer to be rid of Little Ulig. The tyrant leaned over to his ward and soothed, “See, Uncle did not forget. It is a new flavor. This is all for you.”

Having had no sweets all day, the child quickly chewed the delicious treats. In them was Varsiig’s fell brain-bleeding pox; contagious and fatal. The little monster breathed hard he was eating so fast, absorbing the air of this evil place to increase the potency of a wicked spell the Seer poured into him through an avuncular hand on his shoulder.

It did not take long. The three torchbearers began retching and convulsing on the cavern floor. The man posted outside did the same as they passed by. Now alone, the two sorcerers walked back to the settlement where Uncle said, “Bad men are coming. You must stay here tonight until Uncle can punish them and bring more sweets. Will you do that for your dear Uncle?”

“Yes Uncle. I am tired now. Do you promise to return?”

“Of course, Ulig.”

The Seer pointed the round child towards a woman who had been told to wait for him. Outdoors, the invisible swirl of disease took a little longer. She showed him to his bed, walked back to the garden and doubled in pain. Neighbors who came to her aid joined her.

______________-------_____________

The Prince’s camp was well guarded. Archers were positioned where they could shoot into ravines lit by bonfires. It would be a good moon tonight. If the orcs insisted on tasting steel, they would. Almost involuntarily, Eldarion looked to the undefended north access. That was the easiest way for cavalry to skirt the primary defenses. The heir rightly smelled a rat. Somewhere out there, Nag Kath and twenty four men worked their way into the northern approach trying to find what they came all this way to destroy.

The Elf felt a surge, something much more terrible than he had ever felt in Khand. It came from just north of the city. They walked their horses through the frightened farm wives and picked up the pace as the valley opened before them. It would be dark in a few hours. Nag Kath kept in front. They were relying on his ability to track the sorcery. The source was a clarion horn of evil in the last few hours. All twenty four troopers dismounted at a small village on the path up to the base of the cliffs. Bodies lay by a garden gate. As the men got closer, they could see other corpses scattered throughout the huts. 

A warning in Nag Kath’s brain screamed it was a trap. Corporal Bollanger bent in agony and groaned as blood dripped from his nose and mouth. Within seconds, the rest of the men did the same. Nag Kath ran to the nearest trooper on his knees and pulled his face up as the soldier’s eyes reddened. The Elf tried to absorb the disease. It had sunk too deep. There was no saving his men.

Frantically he looked at them and to the villagers lying where they fell. Among them stood a portly child with dark curly hair, watching Nag Kath’s despair with seeming satisfaction. Why hadn’t he died? Nag Kath's healing sorcery for the dying trooper colored his vision and he saw the boy for what he was, disease swirling around him like thousands of flies.

Nag Kath used his bringing spell sending the shocked youngster flying across the courtyard. Uncle said nothing about this! The Elf had him by the throat in one hand and placed his other against the monster’s face. Nag Kath knew the drawing would surely kill him but if he didn’t get it, the Prince’s army would die here too. 

It took nearly a minute. With his powers, the lad might have resisted but was too spoiled to have built any defenses. He flailed and peed himself. When Nag Kath removed the last of the plague, he snapped the child’s neck in time to watch the dirt rise to his face.

__________--------__________

Templagk Ghurbagh slipped in the troll cave at first dark and reported to Anglachor Khuul. The Colonel of one hundred orcs and ten tsitsi warags looked up from where he was squatting and growled, “What tidings from Lugnach Tevshguuul?” It was not asked in reverence.

The orc messenger reported, “A change of plans, sir. The enemy is Elessar. He holds position and does not chase the Seer's rabble. Our ruler waits to learn their strength. I am ordered to tell you to stay here tonight.”

Khuul of the Felshuu was not pleased. This was the advance group to scout ambush points. They had traveled hard and were hungry. “I don’t suppose you brought food for us?!”

The Templagk had been trained to be accurate, not servile. “Spitted pigs are on their way from the south band.”

“I do not care for your humor, messenger!”

“How do you think we learned of the Elessar?”

The Colonel knew the Templagk was doing as told and would have risked burning sunlight to get here this fast. “Very well. Tell our Lugnach your tidings are received."

That was the protocol, but he also didn’t want the little spy around when the company went out tonight for dinner. They would be back by morning. If a great battle was coming, who would miss a few villagers? He gave the Templagk half an hour to scamper back up the hill. Then all of the orcs and wargs descended the narrow path past the Seer’s ice caves and into the defenseless village. 

This was too good to be true! Women and soldiers were freshly piled for the taking. Varsiig's curse did not affect his supposed servants. Only men foolish enough to defy him would die. The Anglachor shouted, “Drag ten of the dead into the near cave for tomorrow. Then return here for the feast!” 

In the night, the Templagk messenger crept back telling them to withdraw to their strongholds in the north. The Elessar had twelve times ten times ten horse and would crush the Seer. The Seer could see to Elessar himself. They left sated.

_____________-------_____________

The Angmari were no match for western cavalry. Without orc support forcing them to the trap, Eldarion drove a wedge into their thin line along the road far enough to reach the reserves and then sent his flankers to roll-up the support militias guarding the gullies into the capital. They weren’t on the field three hours. Bodies of the officers were placed in a row. The Seer was much better dressed than the rest. A badly scarred militiaman put a spear through his ribs before they surrendered.

Further north, Prince Eldarion Telcontar walked through the pile of bones and flesh torn to shreds by orcs and wargs. Hardened men puked. They picked through what was left of uniforms and weapons. The disease died with its carrier who, to all eyes, seemed a poor child whose head rolled into a ditch next to an Elvish sword. Any other lord of Middle-earth would have burned the grain fields behind him. 

Bodies still stared at the stars in the Dead Marshes but no longer prowled trying to get out. Seer Varsiig could not have done that. It took the imagination of youth to raise his toy soldiers. 


	51. The Gift of Color

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last three images in IMGUR are the family trees from Nag Kath's Dalish line through Eniece and Ardatha https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8

** **

** _Chapter 51_ **

** _The Gift of Color_ **

He thought he saw a candle. It was faint. 

Moments later, a different candle. This time, it lit a face like Gandalf’s, a younger Gandalf perhaps. He wanted to ask him so many things but nothing would come. Dreams were sour and tinged with green. 

A new candle, but this time Orlo was beside it peering down at his face. “You are awake now? Good. Remember this. You will need it next time.”

It was not the voice of the garden but the man seemed no older. Nag Kath tried to speak. He had no sense of his body, nor could he move to change his line of sight. 

Orlo said, “You have been several years coming back to me. It took long to find you. To speak you only need think your words.”

The Elf tried. “Where are we, Orlo?”

“In a wretched ice cave in Angmar. I miss the warmth of Mistrand.”

“But you were never there.”

“Yes, I was, but not as you saw, never as you saw.”

Nag Kath thought, “I saw Gandalf.”

Orlo seemed surprised, “Gandalf? How do you know Gandalf?”

“He was my teacher. He came in my dream, only minutes ago.”

Orlo whispered, “Was it he who gave you the gift of color? It was the tiniest spark of life to rekindle you.”

“That was the Huntsman.”

“Oromë?”

Nag Kath willed, “Wild Huntsman, his Maia. I remember him.” 

“I remember him too. Nag Kath, I do not have much time. I was sent to do good also. To avoid destruction, I became a spirit, to return only three days each year.”

Nat Kath imagined whispering; “Gelansor. I saw candles too.”

“Just so, young man. I have been with you four years. We had been waiting almost two thousand. Our work is nearly complete. You will sleep one more time. When you wake, there is evil in the corner of the cave. Destroy it. I cannot take form or I would myself. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Do I see you again?”

“I do not know if I can manage this, but when you see the candle, look for a single seed. You will know when to plant it. Goodbye, Nag Kath. Thank you.”

A new candle awoke in his mind. But this time, it came with pain; searing, unimaginable pain. It was the smack on a baby’s butt to draw first breath. Nag Kath opened his eyes. He tried to turn his head but it was too stiff. Another attempt brought the slightest movement. He was so cold. Renewed life energy was thawing him. Hours later, he was able to look around.

He was lying in a pile of frozen bodies. Some were his soldiers. Others were the dead women from the tiny village, all grimacing in agony. His leg was tangled in solid limbs. It took days to warm as the power of the color slowly brought him back. Sitting up, something tiny fell from his chest and landed in his lap. Slipping it in a pocket seemed to take an age. So did standing. 

Nag Kath felt power, fell power, permeating the cave, coursing through him, the power that brought them here who knew how long ago? Remembering Gandalf … why Gandalf? ... he lit his hand and shined silver in the darkness until it found the source under frozen rivulets. With a weak fire spell he melted the ice to collapse a pile of rocks. True to form, Mr. Yvsuldor was not very original. In the rubble was the Witch-stone, much like the one on the Celduin but alive with menace. The light of his hand turned sickly green when it seized the stone and he groped his way out of the cavern into the first sunlight he had seen in seventeen years.

_____________------____________

Litash was six miles away, what was left of it. The sun felt like high noon. He was still cold, so cold. No right-minded person came to the cave, although the little village at the foot of the cliff had been looted. With no one between here and Litash, he put one foot in front of the other until he reached a hut with smoke streaming from a mud-brick chimney. 

He was unexpected. A woman screamed in the low light and a lad of ten, perhaps a small twelve, grabbed a much larger sword than he could swing and stood between the Elf and his mother. Nag Kath sat on the dirt floor and said in Westron, “Food.”

Something jabbed his thigh. He reached in his trouser pocket to reposition his quill-knife. There was money too. Nag Kath held a silver coin towards the motionless defender. That was fortune in Litash. The child snatched it before retreating. Again, the Elf rasped, “Food.” He tried in the Black Speech. Silver to the good, the woman recovered her wits and fetched a bowl of stew off the clay oven. If he had thought to worry, there was no meat in this hovel. He ate, fell backwards and slept. This time he dreamed real dreams.

His hosts let him lay three days. The coin earned him peace. Neither of them cut his throat. Hopefully he would give them more. A household noise woke him. Staring at the ceiling for several minutes, he slowly rose and went outside to relieve himself. Fields had wheat about thigh-high. It was summer, just after Gelansor.

Nag Kath did not remember much of his life. He was sure those memories were waiting for him. Two others memories jumped to mind. He reached in his inside pocket for the bit that fell from his chest; a grain of gureeq. That was a southern crop, never found here, capable of long storage if kept dry. In the large pocket of his tunic was a hard, heavy stone. Removing it brought back all the bad. It glowed green in his hand again, even in the sun and quarter moon. The Dwarf Ring had called to him, soothed him, offered him greatness. This rock just seethed with malice. Nag Kath unsteadily carried the glyph past the wheat field and set it on a flat boulder. Raising another stone over his head, he smashed the Witch-stone between them.

A burst of energy not felt in a hundred years flew to every corner of Middle-earth. Nag Kath was knocked thirty feet away with the pulse of green-light radiating across the land in all directions. Rock shards buried in his shins. No structures were damaged. His hosts were watching from their doorway and a few other brave souls in the scantily populated former capital came out to see the devilry. They felt it in Dale and the plains of Rohan, in Khand, Dol Amroth and the White City. Hundreds of thousands of people felt the pulse travel right through them with no harm. Remaining servants were slain. 

Nag Kath staggered back to the hut and asked for more food.

_______________------_______________

Mother and son were the richest farmers in Litash by the time he was fit to travel. Nag Kath had almost two Florin in nippers, silvers and coppers but if he had a thousand, he could not have bought a horse. Leaving meant walking. He could get a cheap sword. Eldarion left them where they lay. Some of his groats secured a supply of hard biscuits and skins for water. 

Every day he grew a little stronger, walked a little faster, remembered little bits of someone’s past, he thought his. When he found rivulets coming from the mountains he recalled water flows downhill. Occasional travelers gave the disheveled soldier a wide berth. Twelve days later he reached the forest before Shedûn. There was a brook large enough for fish to swim back and forth in the eddy. He remembered them too.

Shedûn was not more than a village but the grandest thing he had seen in this new life. Two bored Arnoran troopers on the trading post porch bench drew their own weapons when they saw the pale, towering man carrying an Angmari sword. They asked his business. He wasn’t sure. He was just trying to go home. Battle was coming. He was sick. They asked him about the green surge from the way he came and he answered as he sat on their bench, “It was the stone.”

The other four men of the half troop arrived at a trot and beheld the blond man in rags clutching the enemy sword. Corporal Ulimb thought to get it from him safely and said affably, “Fine weapon you have there.”

Nag Kath considered it a moment and handed it to the soldier. He had other swords somewhere. His sense of time was returning, “What year is it?”

One of the troopers looked at his mates in silent confirmation that this poor soul was truly simple. He said gently, “It is year 118 of the Fourth Age.”

The vagabond counted on his fingers but said nothing. 

These fellows’ hitch in this forsaken place was up when their replacements arrived in a week or two. The nameless stranger pottered about the station talking with people in whatever language they spoke and gradually got his tongue to match his thoughts. Sometimes he just sat and stared. Groats bought bread. His sword in safekeeping, no one paid the half-wit much attention until the relief troop arrived with traders. As they spoke among themselves, he wandered up and said he would give a gold coin for a horse. It was a slight dereliction of duty but an impossible sum of money for the man who accepted. In the end, Trooper Graydollan decided he could stay another three months and Nag Kath was on his way to Fornost with the soldiers.

Ten days later the quiet man remembered his name. The troopers called him a liar. Nag Kath died seventeen years ago in the Angmari war! A man should respect the dead! At campfires on the way back he said that several times. Finally, Corporal Ulimb had enough and was going to set him straight when a beam of silver light hit him in the chest. It did not flatten him, but he did stop. They rode the rest of the way faster.

Ulimb took the curious traveler to his Sarn't and both men walked him to the Provost office. Colonel Prayveshorn of the Fornost garrison had been a Lieutenant of lancers in 101. One look at the threadbare survivor was all he needed to cry, “Lord Kath! How is this possible?!”

The Elf said thoughtfully, “I am not sure, and it may be some time in the telling. I remember this place too.”

Prayveshorn blurted, “Sir, you rode with the Heir!”

Nag Kath opened his mouth but nothing came out. He shook his head and mumbled, “Yes, yes I did. Where is the King?”

“In Minas Tirith, My Lord.”

“Then I must go there.”

_____________--------_____________

The Elf had to take his time. He was given food and clothes. Small things were coming back to him. He saw images but could not associate them with others. He clearly remembered the fat child with poison swirling about him, his last living thought before the blackness. Nag Kath was sure that was real.

After a week of slowly collecting his wits, he told the Commander he was going to leave by way of the High Pass and down the eastern side of the Misty Mountains. There were two stops he needed to make on the way to the White City. A woman of the town who was said to know ancient lore baked him fair way-bread. The Colonel found him a saber. Someone, he could not remember who, gave him a warm coat for the mountains.

Nag Kath stopped at Rivendell. If there were Elf Keepers still there, he would be kept. 

Elrond’s homely house was a little the worse for neglect but still a marvel when viewed across the Imladris Valley. His beast was Trailblazer, a decent mount in his day now long past, extra incentive for his owner to trade for the nipper in Shedûn. Trailblazer had no trouble with the narrow path over the defiles. Nag Kath tied him in front of the main entrance and made better time than he expected trotting up the long stairs.

Nothing had changed. The Elf walked over to the Quenya section, pulling a volume he remembered because it had pictures. After a while, he was so absorbed he didn’t hear the gnome, but then, he never had.

“Orc Six. Welcome back.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Fencïl. I hope you and the missus are well.”

“Hughmmmm.”

“I thought as much. Are the Elves all gone?”

“The last left here seventy of your years ago. Will you join them?”

“I have never been invited, Mr. Fencïl, that little matter about having been an Uruk-hai.”

“Hughmmm. Will you be here for some time?”

Nag Kath looked at the book rack, “I am here to heal after long confinement in Angmar.”

“Hughmmm. Yes, you were eaten by wargs. Are you flesh or spirit?"

"Flesh, I think."

"Then I will tell Mrs. Fencïl you will join us for dinner.”

The Elf stayed a month, leaving when he was almost himself again. He knew that could not be complete until he had an emotional grounding for the facts spinning in his head. He remembered the sorcery. He remembered his wives, but not their order. He had picked grapes and sailed. Understanding must wait until Minas Tirith.

His reason for the detour was just over the mountains. Trailblazer was very slow up on the climb but kept his feet. He knew his limits. Oats from Fornost were almost gone when they made the Anduin.

______________-------_____________

One wall had finally collapsed with the roof dumped to the ground on that side. The other side was drunkenly standing so the Elf slipped in the crack of a doorway.

Radagast’s chair was now entirely thick roots attached to every living thing in the forest. Only brown threads too embedded in the grain hadn’t been taken to make nests. The wizard was absorbed by his woods. He no longer needed to travel among his birds and trees. He was of them.

In good light, Nag Kath looked for other clues to the gentle wizard’s long legacy. He left his sparrow pictures on the shelf. The roof crushed a bewildering array of pots and jars on the other side of the room. Radagast’s staff was now part of the living forest but the little crystal had separated from the gnarled root head. He slipped it in the pocket with the seed.

Nag Kath had a lot to think about on the ride south. Radagast chose this and he wished him well. But the Elf would dearly like to have asked the brown wizard why he had seen Gandalf in the five years of his awakening. Had some element of his spirit remained here as Radagast’s had done? Orlo left behind a little seed. Now there was the bulb of Radagast’s staff. Were they both Maiar? Did they think the changeling might someday be invited to the Undying Lands and bring them home? Wards around the wizard’s house would keep mortal men away for a thousand years. Nag Kath would take them or no one would.

_______________-------______________

Trailblazer trundled past the Mithril Gate to Reyaldar’s home on the fourth. He asked himself many times on the ride south if he wanted to know who would open the door. The man would be seventy or so by now. He decided he did and knocked loudly. 

A woman of about thirty-five answered and was told, “My name is Nag Kath and I would like to see Reyaldar Conath.”

She gave the threadbare vagabond a long look before saying, “He is right here. Please come in.”

Rey was sitting on the couch in the main room reading by the mid-day light. He looked over his spectacles and froze stock still. The Elf finally blurted, “Someone told me there was a big Northman living here.”

“By the …” The big Northman rose with a stretch and walked over slowly for his bear hug. Reyaldar put his hand alongside Uncle Nag’s face with wonder in his eyes and said softly, “How is this …” Changing to his usual hearty voice he called, “Heuris, come see what showed at our door!” Back to the Elf, “This has to be your best story yet. Come, sit down.”

The Elf waited until dear Heuris came from the back room. All the blood in her face drained away. A ghost! When he seemed real she got her more delicate hug. Nag Kath told them of the attack, being frozen, the return of Orlo and dragging his way back. At times he faded into recollection. Neither great grandchild interrupted.

Rey was officially the manager of Kathen but his son Fieldar had the reins now. Heuris was holding-up well too. Their three children, five grandchildren and four great-grandchildren were all fine, although Heuris thought a couple of the grandchildren were quite spoiled. Dear Penni made it to 91.

Reyaldar said, “Nag, when you were eaten by wargs, we divided your estate. I’ll make sure you get it back.”

Nag Kath considered that for a moment and replied absently, “No; that is yours now. I have enough.” He was quiet again, finally saying, “I must see the King.”

Heuris put her foot down, “You aren’t seeing anyone, let alone royal persons, smelling like a swamp wearing clothes folk can see through.” She turned to the younger maid, “Mairn, find Dorach to fetch bath water. Then take two silvers and get ready-clothes in his size.” She thought the unhemmed full-length trousers might be long enough. Turning to old cook; “Miss Mandis, be a dear and get some fresh fish to go with the chicken tonight. Off you go. And both of you, not a word!” 

Nag Kath murmured, “Thank you for looking after your old Uncle Nag. I might be a while regaining my wits.”

A bath and clean clothes helped. His hair had not grown in the ice cave but it was almost Elvish length now. He walked back into the main room barefoot and flopped on the couch next to Rey asking, “Is anyone in my old house?”

“It is rented, well, the top two floors. There are a few boxes left on the first.”

Nag Kath said, “Good. I should get some things. Do you have the key?”

Rey thought a moment, “It is at the office. I need to write you a note. Nessa won’t know you, likely call the guardi if you dance in and ask for it.” Reyaldar dashed-off a quick message for his office girl. Nag Kath took Trailblazer to the stable on the third and walked back up to the office.

Rey was right. The young woman anchoring the desk at Kathen Properties knew the name but the was owner dead as Durok and she had no idea who this creature was. She read her employer’s note twice and gave the blonde stranger a key and a scowl.

Memory flooded his frozen mind. All the life, parties, Phylless, Flor – he had to include her – dragging home many times after some impossible adventure like the last, it was all there. He stared so long the tenant walked out the main entrance on the second floor and asked if he was lost.

“Nay, sir. I used to live here.”

“It must have been when you were a child.”

Nag Kath did not remember having said this before but replied haltingly, “I was never a child, but it does seem ages ago. I have come to get some things from the first floor so if you hear trolls in your basement, do not be alarmed.”

The fellow was friendly but wanted to be sure the tall man wasn’t a burglar, “It is locked behind a stout door.”

The Elf produced the key from his pocket. Now concerned about his lodgings, the tenant reminded him, “We have a lease with Kathen until next June.”

Nag Kath shook his head and smiled, “Please, do not fret. I am staying with family. I shouldn’t be long.”

The man called down, “Can I help?”

“I do not think so. On second thought, tea would go down very smoothly right now. Please, do not put yourself out.”

The man went back inside as the landlord turned the old-fashioned key in the lock. Both large windows facing east were closed with heavy shutters on the inside. Nag Kath fought the latches and opened them to a mist of dust. About that time, his tenant brought down two hot mugs and handed one to the Elf saying, “Fredithorn.”

“Nag Kath, pleased to meet you." The tenant did a double-take but said nothing, "Ah, this comes first.” He walked over to the picture folio rack and gently slid the dust cover off the hanging files. They did not smell of mold or mice. He hauled it to the open door and looked at the first file, handing an aqueduct rendering to Fredithorn saying, “Not too much the worse for time.”

His luck was not so good with the clothes. Moth grubs found that crate. When he tried to pull one of his sweaters from the pile, it came out like a bird's nest. The worm-wool was intact. Nag Kath closed the top and looked at a smaller crate he thought would have books. They seemed undamaged. Taking two of them and a small box from Phylless’ things in another crate, he dropped them in the folio before dragging it to the switchback to wait for a man-cart.

Tenant and landlord sat on the rock fence by the path, Nag Kath took a long pull of the tea and said, “Thank you for this. I thought it would be dusty.”

Fredithorn replied, “I’ve been here three years and you are the first person to come.”

That was good. A quick look at the stove showed the grout around the base had not been disturbed. No one would have climbed the beams for the diamonds either. He would decide what to do about them later. “I might be back as I get settled-in. Most of those boxes should be thrown away or given to the needy.” With a conspiratorial smile, “I expect my family got the good things.”

It took a quarter-bell for a man-carter to lope by and load the file rack. In that time, Fredithorn told him who he might know from twenty years ago. Nag Kath remembered quite a few folk and most of the businesses. Some were the next generation of owners but often the same families. Nag Kath thanked the man for his help and followed the carter over to Rey and Heuris’.

Dinner was leisurely. They rehashed his horrifying tale. Maid and cook strained their ears for every word, enough that Heuris repeated after the meal they were to keep their tongues in their mouths until high Lords were consulted. Easygoing Rey was like his da Shurran and let his wife manage staff in this household.

By lamplight, the elderly great grandchildren sat to either side of Uncle Nag as he paged through the folio. Reyaldar had seen them many times but Heuris looked in wide-eyed wonder. Like with almost everyone else familiar with the curious Elf; they mostly believed his outlandish exploits if told by reliable sources. Seeing his own renderings of events confirmed both the inspiring and frightening. He spent extra time gazing at the Wild Huntsman, terrifying to Heuris, but giver of the gift that brought him back from death. Had he met Mandos in his sleep?

Since Rivendell, Nag Kath knew he needed these images. This was not sentimental. He had to reclaim the emotional context behind disjointed memories swirling in his head. His brain was repairing itself from both the freezing and the bleeding-pox. But just as when he became an Elf, the thoughts inside were more than flesh and blood. Pictures glued them in place. At times he would stop, lost in remembrance, and then take comfort knowing they were in order of time. He saw them in as much awe as the children had, lingering on some longer than others. When he shut the last binder, he knew he was home.

________________------________________

There was a throng at the sixth gate the next morning. He lost the pass and could not remember the secret name so Nag Kath lined-up with the other supplicants. When called, he walked to the clerk, saying he was there to see King Elessar. As if it was of no moment, she wrote a note on one of their official forms and told him to have a seat not a dozen feet from where he and the portly gaoler sat over a century before.

Two hours later, a page brought him to a long table of higher clerks on the other side of the wall from the Provin. Under-Magister Groathan looked at the sheet and up at the looming blonde saying, “Mr. Regnieu, I cannot make heads from tails of your petition.”

“I make no petition. I have come to see the King.”

“Name?”

“Nag Kath.”

The functionary wondered who would have named him after the slaughtered Elf. Flipping the sheet face-down, he sorted through the pile finally saying, “Mr. Kath. One does not simply walk in and see the King.” 

“Would you take him a note?”

Under-Magister Groathan would not play that game. “I can give it to my superiors.”

The Elf took a pencil from his jacket and drew the symbol Fûl on one side of the form and Orlo on the other. After being handed the note, Groathan sniffed, “And the secretaries will know what to make of this?”

One adjustment the wizard made, at first unwittingly, was that he wouldn't mind showing power as much he had. The unctuous clerk got a powerful and public blast of yellow light before the Elf Lord order; “You will take this to the King’s personal secretary yourself. I will watch your station until you return.”

Like a puppet on strings, the Under-Magister unwillingly jerked up from his chair and forced himself down the corridor towards the stairs. Nag Kath slid across the table taking the seat between two startled clerks and read something from the battered little bag. It wasn’t twenty minutes later when two large guards in palace livery brought the confused Groathan back and told Nag Kath, “Sir, please come with us.”

King Elessar Telcontar was sitting in his garden in a wheeled-chair with a blanket over his knees to help the warm autumn sun. His hair and beard were completely white and the wrinkles of being over two hundred years old had finally caught him. Lady Arwen was by his side. For a face that never changed, he thought she showed strain. He did. 

Nag Kath bowed to both and the Queen motioned for him to take the chair across from them. Aragorn said in a thin voice, “An impossible tale, soldier of Gondor.”

“I missed most of it Sire, My Lady." He gave them a halting recollection of the advance group, the sorcerous child, Orlo, as much as he could remember. Arwen was almost a statue. Aragorn was animated a few times, asking questions as a warrior would of the engagement. Eldarion was on his way to the summer capital when the changeling returned on the other side of the Misty Mountains. 

As he wrapped his presentation, Nag Kath asked, “Did you feel a surge, a gust of power to raise the hair on your neck?”

Arwen whispered, “Yes, a feeling to chill the soul.”

The King added, “I was only a few miles away from Barad Dûr. Not as strong as that but yes, the same pulse. 

“That was when I smashed the Witch-stone, the real one.”

Arwen said grimly, “On that day, the bodies in the Dead Marshes vanished.”

Nag Kath grinned a tired grin, which the Queen did not mind as much as she had. “Then, sir, ma’am, I think we finally got him.”

“Indeed, Nag Kath. Indeed.”

The Elf continued, “We lost another soldier, in a manner of speaking. Radagast has become one with the forest. Years ago, he began slowly melding into the roots of his beloved woods. Now he has joined with them in body as well as spirit. It is certainly by design. I thought you should know. He was my friend and I ..." The changeling was lost for a moment; "... I will honor him.”

Arwen excused herself to speak with a retainer who appeared near the door. When she was out of Elf hearing, the King asked, “Will you do more sailing, my friend?”

“I will visit Dol Amroth to see all those kin. Then, a longer trip east to mend body and soul from Angmar. The sea will beckon in its own time.”

Aragorn reached over and gripped the Elf's wrist with surprising force saying, “Please, remember the sea, for my sake. Go for my sake. Remember the beckoning!”

The Queen returned and the King loosed his hand. Aragorn told her, “Our Nag Kath has yet plans for more adventure, my dear.”

Arwen offered her enigmatic smile, “Go always with our best wishes, sir knight.”

______________-------______________

Back on the third-level, Nag Kath saddled old Trailblazer and took him to the main cavalry stables on the first. The Lieutenant was not at hand so the Master Sarn't spit something yellow and walked over to the tall greenbottom. “How can I help you sir?”

He meant ‘sir’ as a slight, an inside-gibe for a city gentleman rather than a superior officer. The White City was well past the age of warrior/merchants. Nag Kath knew that but said cheerfully, “I came here to purchase a Lossarnach stallion, four to six years old with line training. Are you the man to see?”

The Sergeant would have some fun with him, “Did you think to exchange this fine animal?”

“No, I bring him for you to give a trooper who might be short on the ready; horse, saddle and tack.”

That was a generous gift but nowhere near the price of the King’s best. Sarnt Greshamn had been reprimanded before for insulting a rich-man’s son so he asked solicitously, “And where might we call if such a horse is available?”

Nag Kath gave him one of his old cards with Rey’s address crabbed in the corner. His name was on it and every soldier of Gondor would have heard it. The unlettered Sergeant Greshamn looked as if reading and then slipped it in his pocket. He promised to give it to his stable-officer and spit something yellow watching the tall man walk towards the prow.

The next stop would be less public. The Elf peered in the windows of the healing shops. Most of the windows were filthy so he put his head inside the first to find two Haradrim who were sure they had whatever he needed, no matter what it was. 

It took three more shops before he saw a woman inside who might qualify. She was nearing forty and not hard to look at, probably not surly enough for inductive healing. Always starting with the least upsetting need he asked, “Excuse me, I seek someone who can pull a mild infection.”

She appraised him for a few moments before replying, “Those are rare skills, sir. Are you asking for yourself?”

“Yes, but not in the way you think. Call this research.”

She snapped tartly, “You will have to ask elsewhere.”

When courtesy doesn’t work, bribe. Nag Kath laid two silvers on the counter, “These are for the man or woman who can answer my questions.”

Man? That was unnerving. The only known male sorcerer in her lifetime was buried one bone at a time in Angmar. On the other hand; two dented kings were two more than she had in the till. She walked to the door and locked it before returning to the counter and saying, “I can draw an infection.”

The tall man asked, “Four months ago there was a surge. Did you feel it?”

“Dougsh yeah! About doubled me over.”

“Did it change your powers?”

“I am stronger now in cures of womenfolk.”

Nag Kath questioned her about that healing; things a man should not even know to ask. He was looking for tells to witchcraft. Getting none, he asked, “How about applied maladies?”

The woman recoiled, “Sir, however would I know of such things?!”

He raised his eyebrow.

“I pulled a hangover from a lout who refused to pay, so I gave it back.”

“After the green pulse?”

“Two weeks ago, he had it coming.”

Nag Kath prompted, “Was that stronger too?”

“Yes! I mean, it might have been if I had ever done something like that before.”

The Elf put the two silvers on the table along with a third saying, “No need to mention this to the guild. That extra is for you to deliver this list of herbs and roots to this address on the fourth, name of Solvanth.”

________________-------________________

Nag Kath took a few minutes to pick at the yellows on the garden mural below the switchback and then wound his way up to the second-level shop of master bowyer Augustor. He was an old codger from Dale who offered bows in the Northman style. Reyaldar met him ten years before. A direct descendent of Bard the Bowman and Kath of the Celduin was worth meeting and Augustor enjoyed talking with him. The man heard the bell over the door and came out looking over his half-spectacles. “Good morning, sir. How can I help?”

“Good day, sir. I want to order a Dun Breathen pull in my height. I am told you are the man.”

Augustor gave him the same look the stable Sarn't did earlier. It was the bowyer’s policy not to make weapons in the two top tensions for anyone who wandered in the door wearing moldy boots, except those who overpaid in cash. Still, he was the picture of attention. “Here, sir, let us have a look.”

The man strung the test bow at the notches second closest to the grip and handed it to the young archer. Nag Kath pulled it several times in the right posture without straining. He handed it back saying, “It has been a while but yes, that is the pull I’ve always used. My first was by Fridth in Dale and the second by Tunverid after he took the shop.”

Augustor was intrigued. Tunverid’s grandson taught young Augustor the bowyer’s craft. When the next generation took mastership, it was time to try southern pastures. “I am sorry sir. I did not catch your name.”

“Nag Kath. My kin Reyaldar Conath sent me.”

This was the Elf that shot Frûnzar at a gallop. “Forgive my suspicions Lord Kath. You are considerably less dead than described.” 

That earned him a wan grin. “It is a curious story, but I have returned, and in no hurry for the weapon. What is your charge, Mr. Augustar?”

Famous or not; “Two silvers.”

“Good, and eight dozen arrows, half target, half game heads. Goose quills on the gamers.”

Augustar calculated, “Add another two silvers. I’ll include extra strings.”

“And a wrist-guard.” 

There was one more stop. The Royal Bank of Gondor was on the sixth astraddle the wall, open to the public but very secure in the vault. He said who he was and signed the card so the assistant manager could compare it to the files. The man returned a bit shaken. He started, “Sir, our records show that your heirs were paid your estate fifteen years ago after you were eaten by wargs.”

Like the banker in Dale, Mr. Juestigsh was bracing for the explosion of this man’s money being gone. What he got was, “As it should be. There was also a trust entailed to charity if I did not claim it some years hence. Can you tell me the balance there?”

Assistant Manager Juestigsh, who did not look all that Khandian, left the Elf at his desk and went back to the vaults. A quarter-bell later he emerged with a note pad and said, “According to our records, that account has one hundred eighty Florin and twenty six. It receives regular rents from Osgiliath, and it received payments for jewelry until the stones in the vault were all sold.”

“Ah, good. Let that stand for now.”

“Sir, there is also a smaller account that once paid a pension for a woman also named Kath. It still has a Florin and twelve.”

He didn't want to know when those ended. “Hmmm ... forgot that one. I’ll take that in nippers now.” He would need some for the horse and saddlery. The Colonel in Fornost said the advance scouts’ horses scattered when the orcs came. Nemren was found and given to a trooper who lost his. Ten Florin and several diamonds were sewn into the saddle. A fine work, the saddle would find its way down in owners’ affluence until scrapped for usable parts, making the last owner the richest man in his county.

Reyaldar was lying on the couch and called, “Get what you needed?”

“Mostly. I had to buy another bow.”

Rey slapped his forehead as he always did when he forgot something. Shuffling to a closet next to the kitchen, he rummaged noisily among neglected things, returning with his great grand-da’s sword. “The soldiers brought this back with them.”

Nag Kath drew the weapon and marveled at its balance. Even with the stone troll scratches, it was a masterwork of form and grace. 

On the third day back, Nag Kath went to Suldath and Leotulden for fitted clothes. None of the garments in the basement were salvageable. Suldath junior remembered him and saw that his measurements had not changed in forty years, very considerate of clients to keep their figures. The Elf also ordered new boots and shoes at a newer establishment next door. 

While he was being the same size, Mairn answered a bold knock to see a King’s trooper with two horses behind him. “Mr. Rey? Someone to see you.”

The Northman ambled over to hear the horseman say, “The bay is courtesy of a friend, Lord Kath.” Before Rey could correct him, the young trooper saluted and climbed on his own mount. It had been nine years since Conath had owned a horse, but as Thain-kin of Buhr Austar, fine mounts were in his blood. Reyaldar was still scratching behind the horse’s ear when Heuris returned from the lacemakers with granddaughter Kathlie who was overawed by the beast. 

Nag Kath walked inside ten minutes later nodding his approval, “Nice horse, Rey. Your back must be feeling better.”

With his wife and bairn in earshot, Reyaldar bit back his initial comment saying, “We thought he could pull ale casks up the Celduin.”

Someone in high places must have read his note. After a century of owning horses, Nag Kath had only paid for four of them, including Trailblazer. He looked at Rey and asked, “Does he have a name?”

Scampering from the hallway, four-year old Kathlie shouted, “Daisy!” Nag Kath decided on Orlon, except when Kathlie was in the room. Then he introduced himself to the little girl whose ear grew groats.

The Conaths had several small dinners with their children’s families so folk could meet the celebrated, and deceased, Uncle Nag. Those separately included the boy and girl Heuris thought were indolent. They seemed bored.

________________-------_______________

The Elf bowed to Prince Barahir and Princess Talienne. They had not aged as quickly as the rest. He was fifty six, she forty seven. Barahir inherited both the Principality and Stewardship a year ago after the good Prince Elboron made it to 91, joining his beloved Angalica with their ancestors.

Formalities completed, dear Talienne ran to his embrace while Barahir settled for a handshake. Talienne kissed him on the cheek and drew away saying, “We heard from the seventh. It is still impossible to believe. You must tell us all!”

He did. For two hours he went through everything he could remember, which was about all of it now. The couple had three children and a grandchild was on the way. Things had gone just as they hoped. Ithilien was strong. The old Elvish colony was run by men, and run well. The last of his little Coloma seeds had sprouted to fertilize themselves and make more. Those delicacies were very popular. 

Talienne quietly spoke of her beloved granna Eniecia. Nag Kath was heartsick to have missed her. The quiet Elf would miss Legorn too. He made it to one hundred-eighteen. The trip to Angmar was supposed to be two years, not almost twenty. Cal was still well. The Elf said he would go there and then return to the retreat to restore himself. They hoped not for long. 

He stayed a week, thumbing through the library, meeting children who did not remember him, sitting on the porch with tea like he had with Faramir when the aqueduct was only a dream. At times, Nag Kath would drift off with remembrance like he had at the Conaths. Everyone knew not to speak. Memories continued seeping in, good memories. The bad ones came with temperance. They had been overcome. 

______________-------______________

Caladrion was much like his father. His hair was white but he had most of it. Now one hundred and two, he had moved from the large family home to smaller quarters in the same building as daughter Callistra, now widowed. Neither of them had lost their spark and still saw Catanards. The box seats gained with the Elf ship plans had been a family tradition ever since. There was one more show in the season, now extended to seven. It was a comedy.

Dinners were arranged with family. All three of Cal and Eniecia’s grandchildren living here were well with broods nearing marriage age of their own. Derissa married later than her brother and cousins with a boy of eleven and daughter of eight who were the babies of the family. The lad introduced himself with a bow and handshake, well on his way to the Prince’s service. Raniece lived in Nag and Phylless' old house. There was regular trade with Thân zîrân, Umbar too. Cal suggested a statue for the late Lord Kath some years back but never got enough votes. That got the family their first belly-laugh from thoughtful Uncle Nag.

For the show, Raniece, her husband Borond, Menalgir and his wife Halita along with Cal and Nag Kath enjoyed a performance the Elf had not seen. As with all last-of-the-season Catanards, it was short and sweet. They had wine afterwards. 

Nag Kath stayed with Cal. Neither was sleepy. They sat on the small porch with tea listening to the crickets. Cal said to the night, “Necia was sorry to have missed you. She never really recovered when we heard you were lost in battle, but she had been failing. It was time. Do not hold yourself to blame. I had her for the very best years of my life.” A tear dripped down his cheek. 

Nag Kath had his cry. There was joy in it too, joy for her and the good life she led, her brother and everyone who came before them. There was joy that he could still feel it. His greatest risk was coming. Cal was a grandchild too. Then there were all the children that came and kept coming from those fragile beginnings. He loved them in their way. He was not turning from the men and women even if they were forgetting him by the generation. A dark lord or selfish creature would, until they had nothing in common with those they subjugated. He still felt for the woman with more laundry than time in a day, her husband taking pride in mending a gate. It was all those thousands of tiny things that made a life. 

Nag Kath told Cal he had to leave for the east before long. The freezing still needed healing and rest. Proximity to that stone gave him dark dreams. He might be forgotten in Khand too, but that was the way of things. With luck, which he hoped he still had, he would be back for more Catanards before too many years. Caladrion would have to love all of his children for him until then.


	52. Healing the Healer

** **

** _Chapter 52_ **

** _Healing the Healer_ **

** **

Waking rest sometimes brought hints of violence, hints of green. Not always, not even most of the time. Something was waiting. He hoped there might be surcease. That might be easier where few knew him or of him. In the west he was avoided, not believed, a reminder of a past better forgotten. Displays of power might change the murmurs, but that was not his way.

The Dead Marshes were still a putrid bog of flies and scum, but no one stared out lifelessly. Even with his lifespan, he might never see anyone desperate enough to live here. Dagorlad was a waste too, but there was no sense that one was trespassing on bones. 

The Elf made directly for Yhammâs Fruhir. There was a clear trail now. Whoever was Bror didn’t care. The southern district of Rhûn had always governed itself better than the northern Balchoth lands and paid their taxes on time. The immortal crested the ridge he loved so well and looked down on the complex. It was little changed. He rode to the office and hitched Orlon to the rail, always having to keep himself from thinking of the noble charger as Daisy.

A woman at the desk welcomed him to the facility. He asked if any of the Ghurs were in residence. She said they were but at a Saying just now. Would he like tea? It was warm and satisfying. Nag Kath sat on the bench while the woman stayed busy, occasionally sneaking glimpses at the tall man with his elbows on his knees thinking about who-knew-what. People came here to replenish themselves. 

Half a bell later, a man wearing the robes of office returned and spoke to the woman. She nodded towards the guest and he walked over to ask how he could help. The Elf stood, an intimidating thing, and said he had been here before. His name was Nag Kath and would like a word with the Ghurate at their convenience. The man blinked and said their convenience was now. He showed the guest into the same conference room and told the woman to attend that at once.

As the other elders straggled in, the first man stayed in the lobby waiting. Ghur Lhioneg was the second to turn the corner and said, “My heavens! How is this possible? No, no don’t tell me. I will wait until the others come.”

Four of the five made it within half a bell and heard the whole story. An hour in with questions and answers, Nag Kath said, “I have come to take healing in Hanvas and Nennûrad but I wanted to tell you of the Witch-King. I know you felt the surge a year ago. That was the end of his power. The Dead Marshes are truly dead. The pits are disabled. The Yvsuldor are no more. That is not to say men with hearts just as black will not use earthly powers with the same aims, they just won’t get aid from the Witch-stone.”

There was finality in that. Those threats were no longer important but now they were finally put to legend. He listened to the Poets and Lorists for two weeks. Things flooded back. When he left, he wished them well from the bottom of his heart, thanks for making him feel a little less lonely. He did not mention Orlo's seed. The Elf thought him better remembered as a spirit than a kernel of gureeq. That story had more to come.

Further south in Khand, Hanvas Tur kept to about two hundred and fifty people with the same learning and rest of Rhûn plus healing. Ventuub died a few years ago but a new woman of the Nennûrad retreat came two years before that as her understudy. He had her care for his back, stiff after being frozen so long, quietly testing his own color for black and green as she wrung the body's own poisons away. Several Ghurs remembered him fondly. He stayed a month. 

Listracht was nearing seventy and still lived in the old school building. The good habits Nag Kath taught him about not neglecting house-cleaning held. The man shuffled to the door after the persistent stranger hollered something about flowers. His hearing was not what it was.

It was like he had never left. They limped to dinner. The old Righter got the less lordly details on the battle and stone. Listracht had a long pull of the improving local ale and said, “I always thought you would come back. You haven’t met the warg that could take you. Now the dragon; that is a different story!”

“Did anyone ever see him again?”

“Nope. Maybe when you get to Nennûrad. If he flew over here, it was at night.”

Chûr and Shaindre both made it to eighty nine. The family kept producing heartbreaking women who married well, one in the Khan’s family. Scholar Nennambuul went to Hanvas twice but could never get his niece to go. She was around and the little boy wasn’t so little. Listracht had his large circle of friends who he didn’t have to spy on anymore. He never told them he did so nothing had changed. He did sell a diamond. The Righter was always frugal.

Listracht had never been to the southernmost retreat. It was a three-week trip on a game leg. They had things in hand. Occasional folk came through here with tidings. There was not much of a right-living component except for ancient lore and poems. Folk there were more concerned with healing. That was Nag Kath’s vision. It seemed he got his way.

The Elf was not sure if he would ever be here again. Listracht would have to protect the virgins of Lhûg by himself. This was a hard parting. They had sailed uncharted seas and returned a forgotten nation to the world. No one would ever remember, mostly because those stories had only been told in courtly language, absent saddles sores or nubiles in gauze serving sweetened grain. Barahir might get to it someday.

________________-------_______________

Nag Kath took the Pashir route. The rocks where they were ambushed stood sentinel to the slaughter. He realized his sense of humor was returning as he recalled the bandit with red pants tip-toeing up that hill. The rest of the trip was uneventful. The Elf took two days of leisure in the Khanate capital but did not go out of his way to see anyone. Four days later, he crossed the bridge into Nennûrad-Tujd. He had built the place for people like he had become, never thinking he would need it himself. 

The wood lodge had been stained and new buildings added where he drew them but it was like home. The fruit and nut trees were being harvested as he watched from the saddle. What could only be the Nûradi healers' area was two hundred paces south. Elf eyes could see the maidens had not gotten any smaller.

Nag Kath tied Orlon/Daisy to the entrance rail and walked up the steps built for a great Khan of Khand. A striking young woman walked over with a bow and said, “Welcome back, best of sirs. Your room has been prepared.”

He looked in her eyes and said, “I am sorry, I come unannounced.”

She put her hand over her mouth the way Talereth used to and scurried back over to a desk asking, “Mr. Piers?”

“No, perhaps he is on his way.”

“I apologize. How may we help?”

The Elf said, “Is there a Mr. Pedrigs here?”

“No sir. He moved back to Pashir some years ago so his wife could be with her mother.”

“I see. Who is in charge now?”

The woman might not have volunteered that information if he hadn’t known the former manager and she hadn’t mistaken his identity. She stated, “Mrs. Runcith is head of the council.”

The northerling ranger who spoke their tongue asked with impeccable manners, “Could you take her a note, please?” The woman would go find her, though she could be anywhere on the grounds. He said he would wait on the front porch.

Nag Kath loved this view. The fields were larger and better tended. There was a road from the water’s edge along the south creek that turned to what looked like a storage building. It was half a bell before the receptionist returned with the head of the complex, Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj’s daughter. The woman bowed deeply and said, “I do not know how this is possible, but you are most welcome, best of sirs. You may not remember me. I am Helvadis Runcith. My mother …”

“Oh, but I do remember you. It is always a dangerous business asking after people long left, but how is your mother?”

“Old and feisty as ever. She stays in town. This is Miss Nhat-Khiel who will see to your accommodations. Will you be staying a while, Mr. Kath?”

“Yes, I think some time. I was much injured in war and am come to rebuild.”

Mrs. Runcith said, “Yes, we heard, though you look fitter than described. Perhaps we can have dinner tonight?”

“Charmed.”

With a bow she was gone and the younger woman said, “Mrs. Runcith said you stayed here long ago. You will not find it much changed. She recommended quarters for you. Please come with me.”

Miss Nhat-Khiel took him to a newer cottage of several rooms that was further south, a bit away from the others ... larger too. This might be where the lower-lordly came to replenish. Leading Orlon to the building, he hoisted the big bag, art tube and satchel off along with the saddle. The woman said he could leave that for the grooms but he assured her it was fine in the room. The last time he came, diamonds stuffed in a different saddle paid for the place. She bowed and left saying the horse would be taken to the stable shortly.

His lodgings were built behind a rocky outcropping not unlike his house in Dol Amroth with Phylless. It wasn’t much of a bump but it gave more of a view down to the lake. Around the back he could see into the forest. They didn’t need to clear much timber twenty years ago and it had grown back, no Hourns in this lot! In lulls building the retreat, he used to walk back among the trees as Elves of old had done. Guests kept to the lodge or lower so he was almost always alone. Nag Kath would visit them again.

Dinner was pleasant. Nennûrad did not have much to do with the Stámöe, mostly because the Stámöe did not have much to do. He told her that the Witch-stone was destroyed. They all felt it. Orlo had succeeded after long, painful fighting. Like the northern Ghurates in their unique ways, this haven was for what came next. He liked that. She agreed he was not to be celebrated. Who he was would slip out, but he was just another regular. Mrs. Runcith said the place was solvent and current with the authorities. That method of governance was older than Sauron in Khand. 

Nag Kath wasn’t going to ask but she said, “If you remembered me, you probably remember Mr. Bengarath?”

“Vaguely.”

“We thought to form an attachment but he was there and I was here. He married and so did I. Alas, my husband took a wasting and even our ladies here could not save him. Mr. Courdhan is no longer with us as well, though he was eighty three when his spirit joined the others, in a good place I am sure.”

Nag Kath would be forthcoming too, “I was injured in battle when I left here, a foe I knew I was returning to face. That was the Witch-stone. I was left frozen in a cave with it for seventeen years with the witch-stone until Stámo restored me to life. The stone is destroyed, but I am not what I was. My return is to regain that which I had and learn that which I forgot.”

“You really were dead?”

“I think so. If I am immortal again I have the time to recover. This is my place to do that. Tomorrow I will visit the women of Nûrad for what I am sure will be a painful encounter.”

“Yes, they are very good, but do not spare nerves to reach their purpose.”

The very next morning, he was down at the semi-circle of buildings. The new Thourah seemed sharper than the last. He told her of his history, leaving nothing out, and was assigned to Hierhul. She was shorter and broader than usual and spoke with the rough Khandian heard further into the plains of Nûrad. 

One might think that families produced these ladies by blood but they seemed to just come in an ordinary brood. With a deformity or malady, their prospects would have been poor. Strong females were prized if eligible for the further training in this school or the smaller one in Viersh. Nag Kath repeated what he had told her superior and she had him lay face down on the table with no clothing at all. The woman gently probed the area around the troll-break for quite a while before saying, “This place here. How did it rejoin?”

“Sorcery. It was severed. Someone like you held it in place and I joined it with my own powers.”

That horrified Nenwula. This woman smiled with a large gap between her top front teeth and said with glee, “I wish I could do that! No one has been born in ever so long who could bring that healing. I will loosen this today and then we will rebuild strength. That is good?”

“Yes, Hierhul, that is good.”

_____________-------_____________

His back grew stronger. He caught fish. He helped with the harvests and he walked the woods. Dreams of the cave lessened. Some days he listened to the poets and Sayers. Lorists spoke and referred to a good library of texts, some of them donated as spares from the Khagan himself! One of his grandsons had been here eight years ago and returned home with a good report.

After six weeks, he sought Torlurn in the city. Miss Nhat-Khiel knew the man was still in the dye business with his family and as good a sort as one could want to meet. The door was answered by a shy lass expecting someone her own size. Her eyes grew large as Florin and she looked around for someone to deal with the towering stranger. Finally she ran off and was replaced by a woman nearing sixty who smiled as if she remembered him. He was shown inside and asked to wait for the man of the house.

Torlurn came around from the kitchen and stopped still. Then he beamed a smile and cried, “I hardly believe my eyes, best of sirs! We heard you came to a bad end!”

“Bad; yes. End; no. I am back for a while and wanted to pay my respects.”

“Oh it is good to see you, Mr. Solv … Kath.”

“Just Nag Kath now.”

“By any name you are welcome. Can you join us for the high meal?”

For working-class Khandians that was the equivalent of Hobbit tea, around the four-bell. Nag Kath said he would be honored.

Hemid Torlurn no longer had the constantly stained hands of his trade. Children and nephews did the mixing and sorting these days. Hemid kept the books and sought buyers for their special blues and pinks. He insisted on showing Nag Kath, and most others, the matching arrow scars on his neck.

The man was a right-liver in the northern sense of the term and had a lot to do with making Nennûrad Tujd what it had become. Couples did not go there to cheat. Language was cordial. Young people were encouraged to gain wisdom through learning and patience. He was all that. His personal reward was even greater. The fight was over. Untold years, family and blood were spent in making theirs a better world. His children's children might never appreciate that, but they had a better chance than their great grandparents.

Dinner was a noisy, merry affair with several children, grandchildren and a niece whose parents were gathering plants to the east. The ride to Lhûg was relived and confirmed to skeptical grandchildren. Afterwards it was just the Elf, Hemid and his wife Halah. Hemid said softly, “I worried long about the palace and what lay beneath. There was nothing we could do, but, there is always something one can do. It has never been rebuilt. Will you tell them there will be no more?”

The Elf pondered, “I had not considered that, but it seems only right. Tell me the name of the administrator and I will go in the morning.”

“First you will stay here tonight as our guest!”

He gladly accepted their hospitality. This was healing too. Nag Kath had to remind himself that the trudge to Lhûg and back with a bandit attack was the journey of Hemid’s life. He could let the man savor it. The Elf said, “We must keep a few more secrets. I will tell the administrator that the object calling fell beasts is destroyed, but not that we knew the dragon was down there.”

“Oh no, I have kept that to myself. Your contribution to those harmed helped them. I worried that folk might have left, but who would have believed us?”

With deep bows and offers to visit either way, Nag Kath strolled off to visit Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj. She knew he was here and glad to see him. When tea was served, he told her of the Witch-stone. She clapped her hands together and said, “You put us out of business well before that, Mr. Kath. With the dark ones gone we had to look inward. You intended that, and so did the wise ones from the north. It worked. I cannot travel to the retreat now, but my dear Helva visits me often.”

“Hemid asked me to tell Administrator Phemgeri that the stone is destroyed if they want to put something in the ruin.”

“That is wise. Brave children dare each other to look down that hole until their parents learn and punish them. It was trolls in Rhûn?”

“Just one, two in Pelargir.”

“One is enough. Our dragon was safer. I would not have thought that.”

After tea he thought he would be a brave child himself. The Elf inched to the hole in the stout floor and looked down. About ten feet across, it wasn’t as smelly as a troll-hole. Nag Kath walked to the market and brought several pitch-torches back to the pit. Lighting one torch with his fire-glass, he let it fully glow and dropped it in the hole. It landed about thirty feet down and sizzled in a puddle. The next hit dryer ground and showed where water drained but there was no system of caves where others could be lurking. He didn’t want to tell the local man it was safe if it wasn’t. With no one around, for good reasons, he lowered himself into the pit for a better look around. No gold.

Satisfied, he went to the same office as before and asked for a private word with Mr. Phemgeri. It wasn’t long until he was shown back, cutting in front of irritated supplicants who had been waiting since eight. The fellow could have been the son of the last man. He folded his hands on the northern-style desk and said, “My assistant said you have information about the palace, yes?”

“Along those lines, sir. Did you feel a terrible surge of power here a long year ago?”

“Certainly, we all did. People were frightened.”

“That was the destruction of the talisman that called the dragon from his slumber. There had been others hidden by Sauron as well but they are now gone.”

Why do you tell me this, Mr. Kath?”

I am visiting the retreat for healing and thought if the Lord Khan has use for the property, he can now proceed with confidence.”

“You have no interest in that restoration?”

“No, best of sirs. I am telling you because I can.”

____________------____________

Nag Kath grew stronger. His thoughts were more ordered. In the forest he tested his magic -- more potent than before the ice cave. His sense of color was returning. He settled into life in Nennûrad Tujd and worked simple tasks. In what others took as a wild gesture, he began training with slow swords again. Folk joined him, often former warriors who could not find peace after the Southron border. The retreat shop made stout beater swords from the dense wood found towards Alagoth. Women watched and could join, but never did. Khandian sword movements are taught differently than for straight-bladed western weapons but this was not a course in battle. As many as eight attended, enough to need a different time so they weren’t clacking their beaters during meditative Sayings.

Autumn came and went. Nag Kath was tempted with women here, especially the alluring Miss Nhat-Khiel who was very much in the model of flawless Khandian ladies. He waited. He knew he would not be here long. That seemed Elvish.

The winter of Fourth Age 120 was cold and wet. Huge avalanches from the peaks above would rumble in terrible thunder but never got this far. One happened in daylight as white upon white rolled down in a cloud and was silent minutes later. 

Nag Kath started swimming again. The lake was cold in any season and folk thought him mad. It was a pure exercise for him. As he grew healthy, he realized that times of stress or concern may well have been the Witch-stone. The chest pains before the dragon and in Angmar showed he was not immune to its pull. In his original form, he could not have been that different than the beasts waiting for the servant’s call. He had felt none since.

Nor had he felt the pull to Valinor. The Woodland Elves who chose to stay described it was as if pieces of them too small to imagine were taken from the body. It was not painful. Frodo wrote that Galadriel called it diminishment. He looked an Elf. Perhaps the parts were reassembled incorrectly in the dungeon.

_______________-------_______________

That spring, a train of merchants came up from deep in Nûrad carrying loot from the great Chey city, perhaps of Nennambuul’s lore. They tried the Middle Pass of the Ered Harmal but heavy snow closed it and they had to take the long way around. Three men, two women and two youngsters were offered rest after having to eat one of their donkeys above the pass. 

As they regained their health, Nag Kath talked to them about faraway places. He thought he would go into Nûrad until the clue stopped short here in Nennûrad. The traders were of mixed blood from Khand and the original Cheyans who lived along the eastern Harmals, the only place with water now. The greatest of the mountains in this range were nearly a hundred miles across, creating the massive river that was the only water for eastern Harad. On the opposite side, another flowed to the ancient cities through hundreds of leagues of sand. 

When the winter was miserable in the southern mountains, it was cool enough to raid the old city for trinkets. The good things were long gone but with so little rain, iron did not rust quickly. They had copper bracelets and beads or combs that ladies would wear in their long hair. In one bag was a dirk with etchings of some fierce god known only to those who lived there. They sold to collectors in the cities of Khand

The women would only speak to other women. They always wore scarves over their hair. The older one had permanently tattooed a fine black line into her eyelashes. Sometimes Khandian pleasure ladies used a fine ink but it wore off, a lesson he learned as the black-braided Dunedain scholar.

After a week, the folk were feeling better and nervous about getting a bill they couldn’t pay. They paid it in full when the annoying tall one kept asking questions. The oldest journeyer, an uncle of some sort, said when they had to eat the donkey, they abandoned writings. Pressed, he explained they were loose sheets of different colors and sizes, about two inches thick, some with pictures. None of them could read so they didn’t know what they meant, but those were left just above the middle pass.

The Elf asked forcefully, “How much for everything you carry?”

That required a combination of counting, inflating and wondering what the market would bear. The man came up with a number, doubled it and said, “Twenty silver coins.”

Nag Kath said, “I will give you that and a Florin more if you will go get those papers when you are well.”

His sister, the woman long past effective eye adornment, waddled over and spoke sharply to the worn trader in their tongue. The fellow explained the offer, seemed unsure and she gave him everything short of a slap on the ear explaining that they would certainly go get that and everything else the donkey had. Since she couldn’t tell the tall blonde busybody, uncle said laconically, “That will be acceptable.”

The old man, the children and their mother would stay. The rest would go in another week after provisioning and getting a fresh donkey. One of the higher staff people softly complained that the northerner was conducting business here, a violation of policy. Mrs. Runcith implied they had an understanding, which was easier than explaining that the blonde northerling owned the retreat and everything on it.

A made-man, now free of his beloved sister, Mr. Fanug-kûk, started enjoying life. The young woman and children kept to themselves for a week and then the little ones played with other children under eagle-eyed supervision. Fanug-kûk liked a taste of ale after his meal. Sipping slowly, he and the curious tall man talked at length about the lands these people were saving their coppers to leave for good. 

In his rooms, Nag Kath made a large map of all the places he had been. It was a collection of smaller maps he remembered but had never put them together. Allowing vast slop for estimates, the seas claimed to be east of Thân zîrân would be about four hundred leagues south of here. The traders had to backtrack about a hundred of those to get what they left. It seemed a spurious notion to go there just to find water one couldn’t drink, but the Elf also realized that with immortality, he might eventually think a fifty year trip was better than baking Lembas every day.

Fanug-kûk had heard stories of lands like here with trees and growing things long past where the two great rivers of Nûrad met. He had never been even near the confluence, but traders talk with traders. They lie about prices and quality but stay close to truth about distance and water. Good as his word, the ranger gave him two little gold coins as the down payment for the trip and twenty silver coins for the goods piled in his storage room. Fanug-kûk could see uses for soft paper but not stiff, sandy paper.

A hundred leagues there and a hundred leagues back on foot takes a while. Fanug-kûk hoped his sister, her husband and his brother returned safely and was glad to share his payment generously. But he had taken his last long trip of shaking barbed-tailed spiders out of his boots. As far as he was concerned, he could spend the rest of his days in a village near Alagoth they visited ten years ago. If that meant talking with the stranger, he would manage.

Round-trip to the dead donkey was more like one hundred sixty leagues and the troop straggled back two and a half months after leaving. They presented the rich, stupid lordling with a box of papers and a few more odds and ends. As promised, he paid them two gold coins on the spot. They would rest three days and be on their way to Alagoth, an easy eighty miles with their new donkey.

The writing looked like a mating of Khandian and Dwarvish. He could parse-out some words. The maps were why he wanted this. There more than he thought, mostly army maps, possibly for the out-of-town Yvsuldors, showing rivers, cities and concentrations of subjects at the time. Perhaps someone in Minas Tirith or the Numenoreans could make sense of the rest. He also dumped bags of junk the traders had scavenged in the fallen city. Most was worthless to him but some pieces repeated script or symbols found in the writings or engraved daggers. He separated items into two piles and told the traders they could have the much larger one if they wanted it. They did.

By the time all this happened it was summer of F.O. 120 as he measured the years. Having a project stimulated his mind, which was what he really needed. Walking the west and having people fear or pity him, or listen to stories they did not believe was dull. Nag Kath started drawing and painting again. He did an ink sketch of the silver dragon in Nennûrad. Might he still be out there? He went to town more often. Orlon needed the work. He threw himself into building projects and healing with both the herbalist and the ladies of Nûrad. They kept the name though they were now in Khand. He showed them some of his breathing techniques for mindful rest. Humans have a terrible time purging unwished thoughts, but sometimes they could drift away for a few minutes.

Most importantly, his sense of the ice cave stopped preying on his mind. Dreams tinged with green gave way to pale silver. When winter approached and he wanted to sing Syndolan songs, he realized he was nearly restored. He would leave next summer. 

Unlike the west, there were no courts or places of adjudication other than the absolute authority of whoever ran your part of the world. They did have the equivalent of notaries, generally scribes, who drafted petitions, wills and agreements. Since so few people could read here, those documents had to be kept by reliable folk who could produce them at need.

Mr. Xub was one such notary and this morning he got an unusual request. The tall, blonde man was Nag Kath Solvanth, agent for Kathen Properties west of the Great River. In that capacity, he wanted to make over all interest in the land and chattel of Nennûrad Tudj to Stámöe Partners for the sum of five groats. The careful scribe said that presented no difficulty as long as the property was current on its taxes, which he would check as part of his service. It was. Three copies of the transfer were signed by the parties involved; one for each and one for the administrative office, proof that diamonds weren’t worth what they were.

Mrs. Runcith was preparing to retire too. Management of the retreat was going to be more in the Ghurate style with a council of elders. This was planned before Nag Kath arrived. Mrs. Runcith would move in to care for her mother. The new fellow was Mr. Yourdish who reminded the Elf of Tumlen.

Nag Kath enjoyed the spring, worked the summer and said his goodbyes in August. They were dear people here. After so many years of courage in the face of daunting odds, they had earned peace. He urged Orlon over the bridge and made for Peshir, stopping only to have an ale or two with Pedrigs.

There were rumblings of conflict in Nûrn so he took the horse-track along the northern Ered Duath range. That meant six days to the mouth of Mordor where the bandits attacked and then skirting around the Eastern Desolation to the little towns popping up in the headwaters of the Súrûbeki. It was clear at these elevations and not a hard ford. There was indeed a road but not good for wagons. It hugged the foothills from those peaks with dozens of streams that had not existed in the dry of Sauron. Those joined others heading for the rising Rhûn.

Crossing that stream he knew he was in the west. Right living had changed now that Mordor and Angmar and all the other places were free of their vestigial blights. Men would equally cruel, be they ruler or father, but they could summon no more than their own wrath.

The adherents of Orlo were glad to know they succeeded. Somehow, one soul at a time, Orlo kept many people of those lands from the service of Sauron. Most were pressed and died. Some suffered for their faith, but enough got far enough away from the Yvsuldor that their heirs did not stand at the gates or back the line when the Rohirrim were stretched near to breaking. 

It was not even a measurable contribution. It took all everyone else had; Hobbits, men of Dale, Dwarves in their thousands and, of course, the men of west. But every soldier of Khand and Chey who was not there meant one more free-person standing in the smoke when the dead army finished their scouring. Nag Kath would never think that even the smallest effort was wasted.


	53. The End of the Fellowship

** _Chapter 53_ **

** _The End of the Fellowship_ **

At the headwaters of the Lest was a growing town, verging on city, called Lhurvasagh. It was pretty, looking out over the grasslands of Gathod. He took a room at a fairly new inn and had dinner. A conversation caught his ear between two tables of western traders from the Anduin route. The inveterate eavesdropper heard, “I tell you, the son is fine. He has a lot to live up to but he is fine -- and no child either.”

His opposite number, who had swilled a few of the millet ales already, made the case; “I do not dispute that. I am just saying that the mother was part of the package and she is gone too.”

The first man said, “You make a good point. I did not think Elves died.”

Nag Kath interrupted, “Your pardon sir, do you speak of the King and Queen?”

The second man looked askance, “Well, they used to be. There’s a new King and Queen now. We think he will do a fine job, yes sir!”

His companion remarked, “You are long away if you did not know that. He is dead a year and a half and she a year after.”

The immortal, maybe the last, leaned back in his chair and said, “You are correct, best of sirs. I have been long in the east. We speak now of King Eldarion and Queen Aranthal?”

“And their young ‘uns as prince and princesses.”

Nag Kath recovered his grace and called, “Please, young lady, bring a pitcher so we may toast a long and bountiful life for our new liege.”

He did not push Orlon but they did not rest either. From here it was fifty leagues to Gates of Morannon and at least fifty more to Osgiliath. He got there in just over two weeks. Stopping only for food and rest, he rode straight to Emyn Arnen.

Talienne was the first downstairs at mid-day. He did not bow. She held him close and said, “We never know if you will return and want to chide you for having been away so long.” 

He let her go, “I returned to where I was when called to Angmar. I am now healed, but only just learned of the King and Queen.”

Talienne looked in his eyes and said, “We lost them as written. Elessar named Eldarion King a few months before the end. Arwen went to Elvish places and is said to have died there of a broken heart.”

“How are the new rulers?”

“Fine. They had long prepared for this. The King’s bier is near the mural you repainted so long ago, and the two little Hobbits were interred alongside to complete the Fellowship.”

Barahir heard the last bit coming down the stairs and accepted his bow. Nag Kath said to both, “There were two left in the Fellowship. Pray, what news of them?”

The Prince answered, “It is said that the Elf sailed to the Undying Lands and took the Dwarf with him.”

Talienne turned to her husband and said, “Uncle Nag has only just heard of their passing.”

The great lord put his hand on Nag Kath’s shoulder, “Come, we have much to tell.”

Men die. Old men always die. The shock for Nag Kath was Arwen. Was that what the King meant when he should take to the sea for him, one more time for his King? It wasn’t for the King at all. Talienne tried to bring him back. “My dear, we seem to have lost you.

Nag Kath shook his head, “I fear you did. Do you know when Legolas left for Valinor?”

Barahir answered, “One cannot be sure, but I think about six months after the King died, in the same year, certainly.”

Nag Kath was quickly lost again. Legolas left before Arwen died and took a Dwarf instead? He was the finest of Dwarves, but not the maid of Lorien. The Elf raised a glass of the fine Dorwinion, “To friends here and then, blessings be upon them.”

____________-------___________

Lorien was completely deserted. Had they gone to the Woodland Realm? Nag Kath did not hear him but was prepared for the surprise.

“Orc Six. It has been some time.”

“Hello, Master Logass. May I enquire after the excellent Mrs. Logass?”

“Same as ever. Have you come to see the mirror?”

“I tried. It seems the magic is gone with our Lady Arwen, lo, it spoke to me before of things that have yet to pass.”

Nag Kath turned to face the gnome, unchanged through the ages. Fighting tears he asked, “Did it have to be thus? Could she not have been the last of her people to cross the waves?”

Logass sat in the grass and stretched his unique legs. “Orc Six, we have enjoyed your visits, here and other forgotten places. You have an innocence both humorous and refreshing betwixt the company of those who know so much, have endured so very much. 

“No, she could not have left. Your kind can be killed in war or by injury, certainly many have been since the keepers were created to tend the places they trod, but some can take no joy in watching one more leaf fall to earth. The Lady Arwen embraced mortality. She bound herself to her man so completely that when he died, nothing that remained offered her peace.”

Nag Kath reached for his toes to loosen his back. When he pulled his knees into his arms he said, “He never told me, but I think the King wanted me to take her, me or another Elf who left recently. Perhaps the other knew it was impossible but in my ignorance, I might have managed by mishap.”

Logass considered that and said, “No, her choice was made, if not before, irrevocably when she bore her son. These things cannot be altered once put in motion. The Elessar may not have truly understood that.”

The Elf, the last and least likely Elf, looked at the thoughtful keeper, “Has her soul gone to Mandos? Will she be there alone as he joins his ancestors in lesser halls beyond the circle?”

Logass chewed on that and confessed, “It is beyond me. We were not told more than we needed to tend these hallowed places. Between us, we will not be here long now. The Wood Elves grow old, so slowly that a generation of man could not tell, but they will age and bear no children. When they are no more, we keepers will not need to remember deeds and lives with no one to hear.”

The keeper said more firmly, “But I become maudlin. What of you? You seem healthy enough.”

“I was not invited to cross, Master keeper, perhaps an orc too long to feel the Valars' call. I was a curiosity among those who look like me just as I was among your folk. But I have learned to live with men. This is their world now. I wake up curious and caring and glad of every bird and breeze. When that stops I may have to consider My Lady’s fate, but it will not be soon. You needn’t stay for me, unless it is to tell tales in fellowship.”

Logass stretched once more and rose into his crouched stance. “Come, Orc Six, let us find you some dinner. I am certain your new story is better than any before.”

As they walked the Elf asked, “I don’t suppose you knew Lúthien and Beren?”

_______________------______________

From Lorien to Minas Tirith on a good road with a good horse takes something under a month. It seemed forever on his way home. He did not stop at the Glittering Caves or Edoras there or back. They were in new hands now. 

Slowly walking up the cobblestones, Nag Kath passed by his old house and then went to Reyaldar and Heuris’ home four blocks further south. Orlon was still saddled and packed since the Elf did not want to presume on their hospitality. They would insist, but he would give them that prerogative. 

Mairn opened the door and said, “Welcome back sir. Please come in. If you will make yourself at home, I’ll let the Conaths know you are here.” Reyald was in the kitchen getting a snack and walked out with a full mouth to a hearty embrace. Heuris came downstairs for her kiss on the cheek. Since nothing ever changed here, it was up to Nag Kath to talk. He told them about the retreats and seeing old friends, Lorien and the dragon pit. 

Heuris had never been quite sure what to make of Uncle Nag. He could be off on fanciful adventures with Dwarves and dark lords one day and sipping tea on their couch the next. Talking about Elves was different. Little girls dream of being beautiful princesses, floating in light with perfect grace. Now Uncle Nag was sad because he could not save the most beautiful of them all. She died of a broken heart when her dashing prince could not stay any longer. Heuris understood that.

Rey said, “Uncle, you seem tired. Can you take your rest now?”

The Elf smiled, “I think of it as between engagements. The old evils are gone, some by my own hand. What does one do after that? Unless our new King has errands, I think I will stay much closer until inspiration strikes.”

Heuris smiled, “You are welcome to stay here.”

“Thank you. I will for a while. My Syndolan guest list has shrunk. Let me get my things off Orlon …” he looked around the room in jest, “ … Daisy, and make him comfortable after a long, hard trip.”

** _Dear King Eldarion Telcontar, _ **

** _Please accept my belated condolences on the loss of your parents. I am just back from far eastern lands with tidings that may interest you. If I can be of service, I will be here a month and then travel to Dol Amroth._ **

** _Please give my best to Queen Aranthal and all your noble family, NK_ **

** **

He needed western clothes for a royal summons, not having replaced most of the moth rags before charging off to the east. Suldath and Leotulden had his measurements so he walked in and told them to make full sets of the usual. They recommended a new boot maker. The Elf made a last stop for ready-made clothes and whatever he needed.

Heuris arranged family dinners with the various heirs of Dale. Son Fieldar was managing Kathen Properties which involved even less work than it had. He was a splendid fellow but happy with the business as it was. Most of the work involved getting a growing list of heirs their payments. His wife Mazienne gave him four lovely children who were now of marriageable age. They would be the last generation that automatically qualified for the family income. His younger sister Delandreth, mother of Kathlie, married a man of Rohan which explained the child’s wild ginger hair.

Aunt Fëuril never remarried. She had also never forgiven Nag Kath or her father Shurran for ending her wretched marriage. After two invitations to meet the family founder, no one saw the need for a third. Bettes died while Nag Kath was in Angmar and her husband remarried. Simlieo always felt a little awkward with the near-nobility of the Conath/Brand kin. Nag Kath would visit him privately. Their two children were married and would love to have dinner with the famous Uncle Nag! He showed them the dragon picture to acclaim. His big file folios were here and he added to them. When the dust settled, he would ask at the archives for someone who knew Nûradi, although a few of the sheets were ancient Elvish, probably the Black Speech. Both languages had few experts.

The royal invitation arrived the day after his new clothes so he wore them up the hill. Nag Kath had not seen his Lordship since Angmar. There was fresh news and he might have better wits explaining the old. 

King Eldarion used his father’s office with new furniture in the same places. The Elf bowed and was welcomed warmly. After they were seated, the King said softly, “Thank you for your note. Mother and father are still very much with me and my sisters.”

“I cannot think of a better example for the saying; ‘lives well-lived’, sir.”

The King nodded, “I agree. It seems our great adventure in Angmar finally came to a successful conclusion. For the longest time it was a decisive attack against a defenseless enemy. Then it was finally won with a flash. I am sorry it was so hard on you, my friend.”

The Elf replied, “I went east for healing after the ice cave. Being so close to the evil Witch-stone for all those years left me scarred in ways I could not tell. The Dwarves did not benefit from sitting on the gold they reclaimed from Smaug.”

Eldarion asked about the dragon when Queen Aranthal entered and was greeted with a deep bow. She said graciously, “Please, sir knight, be seated. Are you regaling my husband with great tales?”

“I was, My Lady. We were speaking of the little dragon that burst out of the pit to destroy a palace. I spoke with him before he flew away. Poor thing was confused and unsteady. He had waited thousands of years to ransack an empty building. To great good fortune, he was not instructed to sow death in the land. Then he did not know what to do with himself.”

She sipped her tea and asked, “And what will you do with yourself, Lord Kath?”

“I have not given myself a satisfactory answer for that question, ma’am. My grandson in Dol Amroth is elderly. I will go see that branch of the family after I have seen the ones here.”

The Queen said cheerfully, “Including the ones in Emyn Arnen. They are very dear to us. Our own children are having children now; some of them close in age to your brood.”

“You keep better track than their doddering Uncle Nag.”

Eldarion became more serious asking, “Lord Kath, please tell me more of Orlo. I do not know his role in all of this.”

“I have bits and pieces, Sire. He was a sorcerer who encouraged dissent among the subjects of the dark princes and servants of Sauron. I only met him twice, the last when he brought me back to life in the ice cave. It was then he said he had turned to spirit to avoid death at Sauron’s hands, like Sauron himself escaping Numenor. He was with me in the cave for five years, only able to speak three days each year.”

Eldarion asked, “So he was effective even reduced.”

“Just so, sir. Every man he kept off the Pelennor, and two thousand years of other battles, was one less who could have turned the tide for the enemy. My friends there are his adherents, working in shadow all those generations. They still advocate against dark spirits in the breast of man by holding true to that which is worthy in us.”

“And there is no mention of him in lore?”

“He was only of Sauron’s lands and not popular with those few who wrote for the archives. In the three retreats, they gather what they can and now write the spoken tales.”

Lady Aranthal sighed, “I hope we are quit of those who wish darkness returned.”

“I hope so too, My Lady. There will be fewer, but like the little boy in Angmar, powers find vessels.”

Eldarion wondered, "The lad who had the disease?"

Nag Kath realized he had not explained himself well after stumbling back from the ice cave, "Sire, he was the disease, a very powerful sorcerer -- though he probably didn't know it."

“More powerful than you, Nag Kath?”

“He would have been. The ruler had lesser powers and used the boy for his ends. Another year or two and one of them would have to die. I suspect he left the lad for the orcs coming that night.”

The King was surprised by that and asked, “Then you did not fight the orcs?”

“No My Lord. We arrived in the daytime and all died of the sorcerous pox. I used a spell to defeat it and killed the child sowing it. The orcs probably stashed bodies in the cave for food in the night and later betrayed the Seer.

  
The King wondered why the orcs did not fight. The Seer must have planned for Reunited forces to follow the orcs or flank the Seer’s troops through the plague village. It was a much nearer thing than they realized at the time. The Queen was a hardened lass of Arnor and understood war. She wondered, “It could not have been men who took you there?”

Against the grim subject, Nag Kath smiled, “Men would have emptied my pockets first.”

Lady Aranthal laughed, “There are no such dangers here, sir. We hope to see more of you. Princess Millicend is often here as well.”

Eldarion chimed in, “Aye, here or on the farm. Milli’s children make their way back and forth as well. Inara is mostly in Dol Amroth or at Lord Kolland’s estates in Belfalas. Perhaps you will see them there.”

Nag Kath recalled the little girl staring at him painting flowers and smiled. “Perhaps, Sire.”

  
______________------_____________

  
The Elf fell into good habits. He got to know some of the younger Conaths and tried to find someone among the scholars who could read the old Cheyan script. Friends would ask friends. He did not hold his breath.

In December Nag Kath took the ferry to Pelargir and then around the cape to Dol Amroth. Caladrion was holding strong at one hundred and five. He still lived with Callistra in a split house which was closer to the water so he could walk in town. There was a pair of new babies. Prince Imrothil was ailing. 

The Elf bought the house next to Cal’s and another little boat for sailing and fishing. There were no Nûrad scholars here. Pushing his luck, he called on the Ambassador of Thân zîrân thinking they were geographically closer than anyone else. He was a good fellow and glad to meet the Elf who started this business but did not recognize the language. They had wine occasionally to discuss the active trade between the Numenoreans and the north.

Time went by slowly. Dol Amroth had not had an inductive healer for twenty years. There were fewer everywhere. The woman he tested in Minas Tirith was still there but she was the only one. That magic was dissipating too. His own was getting stronger. He thought because it was such a mishmash of styles.

Things changed when massive snowstorms hit the windward side of the Nimrais mountains above Lamedon. This side of the range always got more snow than Rohan but weather came in wet and low and stayed. Then it got very cold. A lot of water would be coming down the Ringlo and Morthond Rivers come spring.

In April it got hot, quickly. Folk who could went to their properties inland or sailed elsewhere. Within two weeks, fevers were breaking out in Edhellond. As people fled, it reached Dol Amroth. This area seldom got fevers like the Anduin flats but they had happened. 

Having seen more than his share of these, Nag Kath appropriated a hastily abandoned warehouse between the War and Working Harbors and started healing. As water-fevers went this was on the mild side, but it was catching. He drew enough for the person to recover but would not take so much that it drained him. Each night he collapsed on a makeshift cot. A few people who had been cured stayed to brew the vile teas and roots patients should take. 

Except for the sick and those who dared to help, citizens of the Island stayed as far above the water as possible. Good folk brought food to the gates though. The fever went on for almost two weeks and then, as fevers often do, vanished. Nag Kath’s rough estimate was that over three hundred patients came to the warehouse and most left on their own two feet.

The Elf stumbled to his house and slept like a bear for the next three days but was surprised at how spry he felt waking. The owners of the warehouse were disgruntled. Most people were glad of him, from a distance. Two weeks after that, things were back to normal. Cal had stayed home since the elderly and infants were at greatest risk from these poxes. His housekeeper brought tea when Nag woke. 

The rest of the relatives had no idea what to make of him now. They had only ever heard of his wild doings elsewhere. Such things were only supposed to happen elsewhere. He was also supposed to be dead. The Prince’s second son Lord Hurmandor remained in the city and proclaimed Nag Kath a Lord of Galador, no one having looked that he already was one. The Elf accepted with good grace.

Catanard season started in a month. The first was the comedy, ‘She Never Told Me’. The six seats were to go to Grenda Conath, Cal, Nag Kath, Raniece and her husband and their younger daughter. It never occurred to anyone to find an eligible lady for Uncle Nag. He had a good time just the same and got a man-cart for Cal after two pale wine goblets in the Lion’s Beard. With so many great and great, great grandchildren of the original box seat recipient, Nag Kath wasn’t in the rotation until the fifth show, a long, dismal tragedy where almost no one lives at the end. 

_____________------_____________

The map of Southern Gondor helps here. <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8>

In the meantime, reports trickled in that flooding on the Morthond caused a great deal of damage as well as sickness. Bored and needing purpose, the Elf decided to ride that way and be of use. He had seen exotic lands far away but had not even seen most of Gondor. This seemed right-living. Nag Kath bought a Lossarnach mare in Belfalas. Lembas was baked from almost all of the necessary ingredients. Even when he could find them all, something was still missing. At least it didn't go stale.

The western bank of the Ringlo was where the flooding was the worst. With more grade than the low points on the Anduin, it was well within its banks now, but many of the little settlements here were gone. So were most of the people who successfully fled west to the foothills. They were trickling back now. Most farmers were able to get in late wheat planting with vegetables. Surviving fruit trees blossomed. 

Nag Kath spent three weeks in the area helping people recover what they could and chasing cows back to their owners. There was healing needed as well. Quite a few fever sufferers now had trouble with their lungs. Herbs were gathered and he pulled chest complaints. 

More people returned from the hills and seemed to have matters in hand so he rode another day upriver where the Ringlo and Morthond merge. The fair-sized town of Glanhir was high enough above the confluence to avoid flooding. Nag Kath took the ferry across the Ringlo and found lodging at a good inn with a stable. Of course, it had a tavern too. Two merchants from the Celenhir, some sixty miles up the Morthond, said there had been flooding where those rivers met. A royal bridge had washed-out and the Governor of Lamedon in Calembel sent a deputation to the White City to ask that it be replaced. They did not know that it would be. 

Aragorn liked bridges. Nag Kath knew because he designed and built several of them. The unwritten understanding was that a royal bridge would be funded by the crown using local laborers and then it was the province’s responsibility to maintain it. Losing a bridge in a flood wasn’t an issue of maintenance but it wasn’t the King’s obligation to build another either. This was the first such bridge washed away in the reign of Eldarion so the emissaries went with uncertain hopes. 

Far away Lamedon did not have the clout of the Principalities. From the area near Erech, it was easier to reach Anórien by using the summer passes into Rohan rather than riding all the way to Dol Amroth and sailing back almost the same way you came, that or they could take the same ride Nag Kath did across Belfalas and Lebennin. It was a bountiful region of Gondor but not close to power. These merchants thought the King would build a new bridge eventually, but it might be years before they worked their way up the list.

Nag Kath introduced himself as one of Aragorn’s architects and asked about the project saying, “I would be glad to ride there and send my assessment with your good advocates.”

The older of the two considered, “They may have already gone but it cannot hurt. Getting paid for your work will be harder. If Calembel is the back of beyond to Minas Tirith, the Celenhir is the same to Calembel. And the Magister is, shall we say, frugal.”

The other man laughed, “He still has his first two silvers to rub together.”

The older grinned, “As I said, do not go expecting a fat commission for your advocacy.”

Nag Kath said, “I will go anyway and perhaps earn an ale and a bed. Who is this parsimonious administrator?”

The younger said, “Name of Horus Delathannan. His man Kimbrand sees to the roads but not the purse. I would start with Kimbrand.”

The Elf spent a day loafing around the pleasant town and took the ferry across the Morthond the next morning. His mare, Eliesse, was better on water than Nemren and they pushed onto the bank half a bell later. The road veered away from the river on the west bank avoiding low bogs for the first two days and then followed it closely for the next two until reaching what was left of the bridge across the Celenhir. A makeshift ferry had been hastily built using a winch horse that would rather be anywhere else. Nag Kath camped on the south bank and sketched the footings in some detail before crossing the next day. He drew that side too. The town supported by this road was another five miles north after recrossing the Morthond. 

Fheren-Rhan was no great city but it had inns, stables and taverns like every other hamlet in Gondor. It might boast a thousand souls on market day. Once over the river in Glanhir, the main road all the way to Erech was on this side so losing the bridge mattered to the town and trade along the entire river. Nag Kath walked the city alone, as he usually did in new places, and inquired of Mr. Kimbrand.

For some reason, he thought the administrator would be a bright young spark moving up in the local order. Mr. Kimbrand was sixty if he was a day and moved no faster than the winch horse. Undaunted, the Elf said, “Good afternoon, sir. I am Nag Kath and wanted to offer my services to help you rebuild your bridge.”

Kimbrand saw in Nag Kath what Nag Kath expected of Kimbrand. The first thing out of his mouth was, “You’ll not see a copper! That was a royal bridge. The county has no funds for it because the province has not approved it and that’s because we don’t know if King Eldarion will pay for another. Do I make myself clear, young man?”

“Oh, I don’t need any money. I will sketch a replacement with notes your fellows can take to the White City and plead your case.”

“Are you mad or simple?”

“Both, but I know bridges and I know the King. Take it or leave it.”

“Forgive my petulance, young man. It should be me showing you patience and wisdom. Now, what did you have in mind?”

Nag Kath answered, “I have made drawings of both foundations. The south bank is good. The north will need to be rebuilt. I think the river channel needs to be dug deeper on the north bank to protect the south. Give me a few days to polish my drawings and I will return for your assessment.”

“That is the fairest offer I’ve gotten since I married-off my niece; a woman neither pleasant nor favored. Now, what do you need from me?”

“Can you recommend an inn with a good cook?”

True to his word, the Elf rode Eliesse back to the north bank and sketched what was needed. Kimbrand did not have the original plans or even a drawing of the bridge during the seventy years it stood. Like Tharbad and Osgiliath, it had a center support sunk into the riverbed that was intact but the top had been torn off when the span twisted in the flood. It could be rebuilt. By the end of the day he had his rough drawings and by the end of the next he had something for Mr. Kimbrand. The man was optimistic. They talked about where to get new stone and how many men could be retained if the Purse of the White City dribbled a few groats this way. Kimbrand suggested they have dinner the next evening with Magister Delathannan, again with the caveat that there was no budget.

As it happened, the Magister was already having dinner with a Magister Bennenthar of Rendûl, a city of about two thousand another eighty miles up the Morthond. The bridge was part-and-parcel of his business with a fellow administrator so they would all meet at the Magister’s home the next evening.

The functionary wondered if he was kin to Angmar Kath before greeting, “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kath. This is Mr. Bennenthar. Now, you are visiting from Dol Amroth, is it?”

“I am, Mr. Delathannan. As it happens, I am a bridge engineer and heard of the troubles just downstream.”

The Magister wasn’t sure of the young man’s interest but he was here and Kimbrand said he had been of service. Both Magisters’ problem was that they were on the wrong side of the province. The Cirith was no great river but that was home to the ill-placed capital. Every river here was destined for Dol Amroth. None of them were navigable the entire way because of rapids and falls, another reason replacing the bridge mattered.

They sat down and were served wine. Magister Bennenthar asked, “It is none of my concern but what did you have in mind, young sir?”

The Elf thought a moment and said, “I did a detailed sketch of how I would construct a new bridge. If it meets with your approval, I would leave it with you and write a letter to King Eldarion on your behalf. You gentlemen would have to supply the costs since I do not know the price of stone and men in this community.” He could have just given them a diamond but this needed local initiative too.

Delathannan quickly announced, “That is most generous, sir” to cut-short anything the young engineer might say about compensation.

The administrator would look at the drawings in the morning, for all the good they thought the fellow’s letter to the King of the Reunited Kingdom would do. That freed the rest of the evening for other matters. Towards the end of the meal, Kimbrand, of an age to speak his mind in any company, said to the northern Magister, “Mr. Bennenthar, we had the queerest news that ghosts seen near Erech again.”

The man scoffed, “People have always been frightened in those mountains. Womanish vapors if you ask me.”

Delethannan kept the thread going, “Come now, they certainly had been there in their thousands. Might there not be a few left?”

Since he could not get out of this by being dismissive, the man replied, “I have never seen them but I have only been to Erech the town, not the stone. It is the mountains off to the east where these wives-tales are spawned.”

Elf ears were interested, “Your pardon, gentlemen, is this the army of the dead recalled by Elessar, newly raised to lordship?”

Kimbrand answered, “The same, then freed after honoring their vows to Isuldur. Do you know those mountains, Mr. Kath?”

“I know them well from the other side. This is my first visit to the windward.”

Having shown he was not a gossip, Bennenthar was as interested as everyone else, “There is a great round stone said placed there by Elendil. I cannot imagine it coming from elsewhere but it is of different rock than those around. That is where the men of those mountains swore their oath to the ring bearer.”

The curious young fellow asked in earnest, “Did the stone have powers or was that merely the meeting place for their commitment?”

Kimbrand, who had been there when he was the age they assumed Nag Kath to be, wondered, “Who knows? I only raised the question because a company of merchants bought enough silver on our side that it was worth taking the long way on the Morthond Road. The first ferry was unstable and they grudgingly waited until another was fashioned before making for the coast. Their kinsmen said there were new sightings when the great green shock was felt, when was that, my friends?”

Delethannan finished his mouthful and answered, “Five years, there abouts.”

Magister Bennenthar was here to discuss other concerns as well as the bridge. From his city, merchants could take inland routes to bypass most of the rough ground around the Celenhir but there were fords on that side as well, none of them bridged, a hard road for wagons. As the two administrators for the western part of the province, they needed to unite their voices to make their wheels squeak loudly in councils. He was staying a few more days before the five day trip home.

Nag Kath said as offhandedly as possible, “Then, sir, if you would like the company, may I join you as an extra trooper on your journey?”

“Certainly, and welcomed. There are few troublemakers on that stretch but perhaps fewer with an armed party. You look like you can swing a sword.”

“At need, best of sirs. At need.”

With time, the Elf did more detailed sketches with copies for both sides and wrote a letter in Sindarin to King Eldarion since he knew the man spoke it and nobody between here and there would. This was not especially secret or biased one way or the other. He had done many such assessments for Aragorn on the aqueduct and other road projects. 

Still amazed they were not presented with a bill, his hosts thanked the tall engineer as he joined the Magister’s company of two outriders following the Morthond due north. Two days out they crossed the bridge on a smaller river and took rooms at an inn that brewed a heartier ale than below. The road was good and elevated from the river. Wagons still came this way and took the ferry.

They crossed another bridge at noon of the fourth day and camped just on the other side. It took that long for the escort riders to say much to the blonde rider. As bandits go, the risk was always greater that the man with them was secretly working with others. Bennenthar thought better, but it was the escorts’ job to watch for such things. Now on their home turf, they knew the bad ‘uns. 

The next morning the party crossed a toll-bridge. This had been built by the town of Nimrais Fennan before the royal bridges, which entitled them to payment from those wanting to keep their feet dry. They were not about to charge their own Magister’s party, but did not share tolls with the county either. It appeared to the engineer among them that tolls were not going into upkeep.

They arrived in Rendûl a few hours before sunset. Unusually, the river leading to the Morthond came from mountains to the east dividing the flows here or to the Ciril. Rendûl was a working market town of farmers and a few craftsmen. Like the ferry in Dunland, the eastern river broadened the stream enough for floated logs from above to be gathered and sawed into planks for use here or downstream. The no-cost extra guard had dinner with Bennenthar and his family and slept in a feather bed in their home, locking the door against a lovelorn daughter at odds with her husband.

Erech was another hundred miles north into a deep mountain valley. The lay of the land put it the same distance from the capital Calembel with a good road that not many folk had reason to use since it was easier to get ore and metal pigs down the river road. Everything ended-up at Glenhir anyway.

Climbing into the foothills there was considerably more deep forest than in the river valley leading to Rendûl. They did not feel ominous. He took his time but did not camp or travel with others because Eliesse had come into season. Even at a distance, she and would-be admirers called to each other.

That ended about the time he reached Erech, a fair town of fifteen hundred and the last place of any size in central Gondor. An inn had its own stable with a single stall against stallions still interested. Nag Kath took his leisure and lolled around the market town innocently gathering information. At two taverns there was no shortage of ghost stories. Most were old but more recent accounts bled in since the 'green shock". 

The Elf ate often, eavesdropping on four local doyens chatting publicly during lunch about the stone. It was a place to avoid for people of wisdom but many had been there in their youth, proof of bravery and for fun in full daylight. Touching the stone entitled one to opinions for life. They prattled-on about another friend’s daughter who walked there with townsfolk, properly chaperoned, mind, and felt strange humors. That could be from the excitement of a genuine and confirmed place of great magic of the last Age.

It would have been one story among the many but the girl, a comely lass nearing marriageable age, had shown other signs of being close to the spirit world. The women were aware of the handsome stranger two tables over and didn’t mind him saying, “Your pardon, ladies. I could not help but overhear your informed conversation. Do you speak of the Brelland daughter?” He used the sign on a storage depot thinking its namesake might still be here.

The largest and most opinionated of them said, “No, not her. This is Miss Clellid of a proper and esteemed family of Erech!”

“It must have been a terrible shock to be affected thusly.”

Another of the busybodies added, “Her mother did not say as much, only that the maiden seemed thoughtful and wondering of those now gone. It is said spirits remain in those hills to the east.”

A third in their group thought less; “Silly talk of old ladies, good sir. My friends return to this theme when we have nothing else to discuss.”

The first said in good cheer, “Now, Grace, you know that is both untrue and unkind. Young man, there have been reports of that region since I was a girl, longer ago than I will admit, more lately. Farmers in those mountain villages are always in confusion and arguing.”

The fourth woman finally made her case; “That is because of all the trolls in their day. Dead armies are bad enough but those trolls were the real menace!”

The Elf said affably, “Well, I hope they are long gone.”

The Clellid family had a small smithy making parts for wagons, households and whatever else someone wanted. They were blessed with three children; a girl and boy already married and the younger lass still at home. By the most fortunate coincidence, the tall traveler needed a new stirrup bolt. With previous orders they could not get to it for another day but he could count on the best craftsmanship in all of Erech!

Daughter Tulieri brought her da and brother their lunch every day. The customer just happened to be there placing his order. He bowed in city fashion to the attractive young lady. A handshake would have told him what he needed to know but that was not a country custom between men and women. Unexpectedly, the sure-handed girl dropped the breaded cutlet she was handing to her father and the customer was right there to catch it, handing it to her with the slightest touching of skin. Tulieri curtsied in thanks, kissed her da and went home.

She had it. Faint, but there. Nag Kath could not tell sorcery but she could be a healer if she knew and applied herself. That was not a vocation he would wish on anyone. Like Tal, a suitable young man would prefer a family. The Elf would arrange a conversation with her, and wouldn’t you know it, he lost his fishhooks along the river!

At lunch time the next day, he was back for his stirrup bolt and wanted to see if they could fashion new fishhooks. Brother Tuliesh said he could forge them in just a few moments if the gentleman could wait. The gentleman could. 

When lunch arrived, he bowed again as a city man and said to the smith, “Now what is this about ghosts east of town? I tell you, the tavern was nothing but yarns about demons and specters.”

Older Mr. Clellid opined, “It is as you said, yarns told over evening beverages.”

The younger man teased his blushing sister, “Not according to some I know.”

Tulieri smiled bashfully and spoke for the first time in the presence of the dashing fisherman, “Brother, you defame me before your customer.”

Her da defended too, “Aye, we are craftsmen of fair goods, not idle chatter.”

Chastened, brother begged pardon. But the hook was set. The tall fellow turned to the lass, “Forgive me if this is not for my ears …” which were covered by his hair “… but have you been to this legendary stone?”

She blushed again and held her hands together looking down, managing to say, “I was there only a month ago with a respectable group of townsmen and women. It is our only claim to fame in sleepy Erech and some have picnics there.”

Brother couldn’t hold his tongue long, “It is long said that after the great army joined the Elessar, some lingered, cowards!”

The blonde offered, “Or just late. In militia training, there are always men or even squads who arrive after they should. I don’t see why dead soldiers should be any more punctual.”

Da chuckled, “I had not considered that but you are right. I myself arrived at the nine-bell when I should have been there at eight, got to carry oats in penance for my inattention.” 

The unexplained visitor ventured, “Well, since I am here, I suppose I should say I saw this local landmark. There are those in the city who daily bless the spirits of your lands who finally earned their rest. It might get me an ale or two in the telling.”

Brother managed to break one of the hooks for lack of focus, stabbing himself in the finger. “Dougsh! My craft suffers.”

Da cried, “Hear, hear! Such language is not for your maiden sister’s or paying customer’s ears. Get thee home so your mother can heal that clumsy finger and be back here to complete your charge. Off you go. Daughter, make sure he doesn’t trip over his feet on the way!”

To the Elf the smith added, “It might be another hour before your hooks, which is my fault.”

“Please, sir, I have other business in the town and can return, if not later, tomorrow at this time. Think no more of it.”

The next day Tulieri arrived with enough lunch for all of them. The tall man was invited to join and asked of his journeys to this out-of-the-way hamlet. Having planned this he said, “I had business in Rendûl and then thought to visit family in Edoras taking the summer passes. I confess; I am a poor sailor and prefer land under my feet.”

Brother, whose finger quickly healed, offered, “Not a bad crossing this time of year. The trail is plainly marked.”

Nag Kath said, “Miss, if it is not unseemly, how does one reach this storied rock?”

“It is just east of us, five miles climbing into the mountains. For such a steed as yours, not any great distance.”

The blonde man, not a lad after Angmar, said strongly, “Now I caution myself! I shudder to imagine fell ghosts confronting me for trespass.” He looked directly at the maiden, “What would one say to these malingerers?”

“They hardly noticed one such as me.”

_______________------______________

The huge, rounded stone was sunk in the earth as if dropped from heaven. There had been picnics and campfires nearby over the years. Young men slept here at night to prove their courage. Nag Kath was the only soul near and had not passed anyone returning. For a summer day, there was a chill in the air. 

By accounts, the ghost army was in the mountains due north. This was just the place they had pledged their service and were reminded of it by Aragorn. Isuldur bound these warriors in his cause using the One Ring. They refused to fight against Sauron who they had worshiped before the Numenoreans seized these lands. They died as men, but their spirits lingered from Isuldur’s curse. 

The ring was the only sorcery used, and not by Sauron’s hand. The Angmarach had no part in this, other than to die, for the second time, as his armies were slaughtered by these spirits. One would think any of them left behind would have been released in the unmaking, but credible folk felt them here. Nag Kath approached the stone and held his palms against the pitted surface to summon them. The sensation was slow in coming. The girl said they hardly noticed her, but hardly is quite a bit. His touch was a clarion. They would arrive at night.

When the half-moon was high, shadows of men swirled, constantly reforming in the slight breeze. Nag Kath counted eight of them. Their women must have gone to their ancestors after natural lives lived in shame. He walked towards them unarmed. They would not fear steel. A voice from their direction but not attributable to any asked, “Who are you to summon the dead?”

“Ah, but you are not dead, not in the sense that you have gone to the halls of those who truly died.”

“And what keeps us from killing you, foolish man?”

“I am not a man, and I have already been dead. I would hear your plea and help if I can.”

The specters had to consider that. They were more mist than he remembered in his cell. Those ghosts wielded terrible weapons against the orcs and men storming Minas Tirith. The spirits of the Dead Marshes had not had that ability restored to them, but they were getting closer before the child sorcerer died.

While the soldiers thought, Nag Kath added, “I have put thousands of cursed spirits to rest. I will do the same for you if it is within my power.”

One of the ghosts floated towards him and demanded, “What price would you extract, were you capable of such release?” 

“None. I have already been paid in full. Come, tell me why you are still here and how many of you remain.”

Another of them came forth. He seemed an older man, not that that would matter after three thousand years of disembodiment, but he may have been an elder in the time of trust. There was no sitting over tea with this lot. They floated above where they would have stood, taller than the tall Elf.

The image said in a low, grave voice, “We could not reach our army. The vast caves under the mountain were our home without flesh. When they left, the way was resealed. We linger in torment.”

Nag Kath noted, “But you appear to me now, brave knight.”

“The spirit of a spirit. Our more potent selves are still entombed.”

The first ghost, who seemed to be the war leader, said with disdain, “Here is another tourist come to prove his manhood. In the cavern I would take his head and add it to the skulls long moldered!”

Acting the hayseed had its uses but this was the time to show what else he claimed. Using a bringing spell, not certain to work on the spirit of a spirit, Nag Kath jerked the war leader to him just as his former King had surprised another chieftain to enforce his rightful claim to the crown. 

The ghost’s throat was gripped by Nag Kath’s hand as if flesh and he heard, “If there is a chance at all, this is your last. Take me to your place of death and I will use such small powers as I have to aid. I make no warranty. I am not a King. I am the last immortal. Accept that freely or I will return to my home and leave you here to curse your sloth.”

He released the ghost who was stunned by physical force so long past. The older, wiser spirit spoke to him silently and said to Nag Kath, “We accept your offer, but cannot take you with us. It is a two day ride to our prison. Such as you will know the path. Secure your horse in the rock paddock to the left as she will flee at our nearness. We will prepare.”

They were gone. Eliesse never noticed them. Aragorn and Gimli both told the Elf that their horses, seasoned war-mounts, had bolted uncontrollably nearing the Dunharrow side of their gaol. Whatever was waiting there still had lethal power.

The road continued on the west side of the river, now fordable without swimming. There were little towns of farmers who looked at him strangely. He stayed with one of them, paying what the couple thought was a princely sum of five groats for him to rest in the straw. This was also the road to the Rohan pass so there was no presumption he was knocking on the gates of the dead. When the pass road forked off to the left, he followed his nose straight up the barest of trails into the rocks.

There was almost no life, not even the scraggly bushes of Mordor. It seemed as if crags were covered in dry mud and no plant ever pushed through. Eliesse was on guard. They picked their way over the slate and gravel until arriving at what seemed a rough arch leading into the cliff. As told, there was a natural paddock of stone to the side. Nag Kath dumped his sack of oats and tied the mare to a rock but loosened the halter-buckle behind her ear. If he never emerged, she would get free. 

Light dimmed walking down a long corridor with the last of the sun before he turned into a larger hall. He counted his slow steps while letting his eyes adapt. Forty paces in, the blackness was complete so he lit his hand silver showing steep caverns below. They had to come to him.

They did. 

Swirls of faint light gathered and dissipated around his ankles; seeming yap-dogs to his intrusion. They flared and left. An eternity of minutes passed before the wise ghost came before him, much easier to see here than by moonlight. The elder said in great sorrow, “You are braver than we have been, to our shame. Seventy-four of us remain; most late, some frozen by fear when we were called. How long ago was that? There is no time here.”

“One hundred twenty five years ago. I remember your kind in the battle. I was the enemy then but was spared. In my secret mind I wonder that it was to complete these tasks.”

Two more of the apparitions appeared. They might all be there and simply not visible. Nag Kath would speak as if to all of them. A sergeant asked, “How were our brothers released?”

“They joined in battle against the armies of Sauron. When the field was won, the King said their oath was fulfilled and they faded away, I hope to join their parents in noble halls beyond the circle.” Some of them would have been relatives of those here now.

The warrior formed and asked less harshly than at the stone, “And was their oath complete? Did our people serve as they should have long ago?”

Nag Kath considered that before saying, “Yes. It was not in victory or loss. It was that they fought, still a near thing against such terrible foes. It is not my place to say, but I think King Elessar acquitted you all.”

In sadness, the war leader said, “If so, what can you do to give us better deaths than the ones we have endured?”

The Elf raised his eyes to the vastness, calling out, “Show yourselves to me!”

Gradually, shadows of men formed, their dim light showing the cavern was quite large. There were no signs of living; no cooking or sleeping or rooms. These people simply floated after everything that made them men turned to dust.

Nag Kath walked in their midst and raised his hands with a spell he had only imagined. It was the humor to take orc from man and send it into the night. These were not former orcs. It was the good in them he wanted to pull, not the evil. Still, it was the only spell he had and their last Third Age remedy.

Both hands glowed bright silver. It became its own mist over the heads of the ghosts. The spell was painful for him to hold but in a few minutes, their own faint yellow essence drifted up to meet his silver cloud until both vanished. He fell on his backside like he had in the Angmar hut and looked into the blackness. None spoke to him. He hoped they went where they should. After an eternity rising and counting his steps in what seemed the right direction, he saw the glimpse of afternoon sun and walked outside.

Eliesse was gone. Her halter was still attached to the rope around the rock. The saddle and pack were as they lay so he stumbled to them for water and a bite of Lembas. Then he slept. 

It might have been a day later, perhaps two, but when he opened his eyes, the horse was eating what was left of the oats. No words would come until he unstuck his tongue with a sip of water. “Forgive me, old girl. I have been keeping odd company. Come; let us return to the living.” 

Nag Kath rode back to the inn in Erech. There was no use explaining. He did not tell the smithy that his daughter, and probably his wife, were healers. It would only cause them pain.


	54. Bridges

** _Chapter 54_ **

** _Bridges_ **

After the army of the dead spell, Nag Kath pushed on for several days but decided he needed one more good night’s sleep and counted himself fortunate to find a farmer offering a bed, a fine dinner and good company at his family table. The community was really an extended family with fertile ground on the western bank of the Morthond River just north of a strong tributary pouring in from the foothills. 

He woke refreshed and was talking with his host while he saddled Eliesse when one of the farmer’s many nephews called from the river’s edge, “Uncle, we found another.”

The man seemed perplexed and wandered towards the water with Nag Kath leading his horse behind. Stabbed into the bank was a huge, squared beam of hardwood. It was old and still floated so it had not been wet long. The Elf wasn’t much interested until he got a whiff. It was not so much what the beam was for but who had used it. It smelled of troll.

He called down to another nephew, “What have you got there, young man?”

The farmer, not yet twenty, shouted, “Floods upriver must have swept this away. If we can get a rope on it, someone will want it.”

The Elf was about to mention it reeked of the rankest creatures ever to live in Middle-earth when he remembered that men don’t seem to notice so much. The two young fellows left to organize the rest of the family along with a pair of mules to haul it up the bank. Nag Kath turned to his host and wondered, “Just curious. What is up that river?”

The farmer, long past hauling beams, replied, “It is farms all the way up to the mountains and a fair-sized town as the valley ends. Most of our trade here is supplies for them.”

The curious traveler said, “I would think that ground too rugged for farming.”

The host uncle thought about that a moment, “So it seems from here, but after the rise it flattens-out. It is a half-day’s ride up that canyon before the mountains. They trade carvings and metalwork in exchange. What I can't figure is; there aren't any buildings yonder of the scale for this timber.”

The guest forded the tributary and then took an unexpected detour up the river seeing fertile ground with any manner of crops as the valley narrowed. By late afternoon the river was joined by a vigorous stream from the left. The better road went that way too. Figuring the beam hadn’t come from that direction, Nag Kath took what quickly became a goat trail along the main flow as it poured down from peaks over the horizon. This was not good footing for Eliesse so he told her to stay by the last patch of grass and took the small pack with food and troll-hunting supplies. 

Trolls are not the sharpest knives in the drawer but they are very good at hiding their lairs. Shelter has to be big enough to fit them with a large entrance but not exposed to southern sun. Sometimes they appropriated Dwarf mines with bolstering like that beam to hold loose ceilings. Nag Kath had been hiking a couple bells when he saw one of the mountain faces had collapsed just like above the beast pool. That would be treacherous footing so he swung wider to the west to approach where the sunless entrance would have been.

That took another couple hours and was nearing dark so he made a fireless camp and nibbled on Lembas, waiting for dawn. When it came he craned his neck near the northern edge of the slide and saw part of a hard-rock cave that had not collapsed with the softer soil. Footing was fair and he was able to enter the hole. What had been the back of the lair was now the front but it was still protected from the rain, if not sun. A quick look around showed their weapons, captured weapons of men, a small coin box with nippers and silvers and the usual bones and filth of the breed. Under a layer of dust was a box with an inch of papers in yet another language he did not recognize. He would put it with his other unreadable documents. 

A closer look showed there were men’s tools, ancient armor and quite a few odds and ends that folk might have use for. Nag Kath didn’t so he put the paper-box in his pack. His plan was to reach the bridge where the two rivers joined and tell the folk in the town about the hoard that had been stolen from their ancestors so long ago. Turning up the better road there was a sign post with two arrows. One was carved ‘Tulan Nimrais 2 miles’ pointing on his side of a bridge over the gorge and the other arrow said the exact same thing pointing to a road across the river. It was all the same to him so he stayed on the path along the west side of the flow and made the further town half a bell later. It might have four hundred people, larger than he was expecting. Arable land continued into the foothills further than was visible from the crossing. Looking for an inn, the road took him nearer the river gorge where there was a like-sized town several hundred paces from the flow on the other side. Between them was a deep chasm and bridge footings that had collapsed well before the ring war.

A woman filling buckets from a rivulet trough told him there was lodging a hundred paces further up the hill. It wouldn’t qualify as an inn most places but there was a wing on one of the more prosperous homes that had a room to let, including dinner. Guests were scarce. A lethargic young man was sitting in front eating his lunch when Nag Kath tied the horse to a post. The fellow said his mother handled that and she was shopping. With only a dozen stores on this side of the river, that couldn’t take long so Nag Kath walked over to the cliff. It was deep in a rock lined bed about sixty feet across and at least that far down. Having seen enough rivers, he walked back and sat in the chair the indolent fellow vacated. 

A quarter of a bell later, what could only be the mother walked up with her basket and said, “Who are you?”

“I am Nag Kath. Someone told me you have rooms to let.”

“Oh, good.” She tried to open the door with one hand until the polite renter managed the latch and took her basket. She asked him to place it by the basin and said, “Six groats a night, includes dinner, one groat extra for meat.”

He responded, “That seems fair. Tell me, why does the town across the chasm have the same name.”

She walked him back to a small but clean room before saying, “Used to be the same town until the bridge collapsed. They won’t fix it.”

He thought a moment and said, “Why don’t you both fix it?”

Without looking up she said, “Dinner will be ready two hours before sunset.”

So much for the plan to tell the town about their patrimony. If he told one, the other would miss. If he told them both, they would fight about it. Nag Kath had all the armor and farm implements he needed. As always, the answer would be in a tavern. 

After an edible meal with the woman, her farmer husband and their sullen son, Nag Kath walked to where the farmer said was the best pub in Tulan Nimrais. There was no discussion of that being this Tulan Nimrais. Either he was the guest of the evening or the business would come later. By what would have been the next bell, eighteen or so men had gathered to share a local red ale and discuss events of interest. Elf ears heard the usual banter but never a word about the people on the other side.

With the sun he had the woman hold his room for several more nights and rode to the lower bridge. From there he came up the other side of the gorge to Tulan Nimrais, the easterly, and saw much the same thing. The town was a little bigger with farms drifting in from their side of the valley. This place did have an inn and a tavern with the same sort of stories by the same sort of men. 

He got the same answers why there were two towns with the same name. Wasn’t it as plain as the nose on his face? The other side had not repaired the bridge! Other than that they didn’t seem too mad so Nag Kath announced his purpose; “Sirs, I am to deliver a message to the town of Tulan Nimrais.”

Stating the obvious, a man said, “You can tell the council tomorrow evening.”

“But what of the other side of the river?”

“What of them?”

“My message is for everyone.”

The fellow seemed to be serious about helping but admitted, “I don’t know what to tell you.”

The next evening, an irritated Elf walked into the town hall packed with about a hundred citizens who wanted to know if Mr. Eaphel intended to fence his cow out of the community garden. Nag Kath listened to well-reasoned arguments why the community shouldn’t have to put up a fence since only the neighbors would benefit. Without coming to any decisions, the high alderman said, “Is there any new business to bring before the council?”

Nag Kath stood and said, “There is, sir. I am charged to deliver a message to the town of Tulan Nimrais but cannot because there are two of them.”

An alder who had not enjoyed the cow discussion growled, “Tell us now and let us be done with this tedious meeting!”

“I will not, sir. This must be delivered to all people of both Tulan Nimrais.”

The high alderman, also a bit weary from protecting cucumbers from the old malcontent said, “Can you at least tell us what this is about?”

“I can sir. I found a small trove of treasure nearby and feel it belongs to the citizens of the greater community.”

The anxious alderman grumbled, “Well, just tell us, or are you a scoundrel seeking to part us with our coppers?”

“I will not tell just you and there is considerably more than a few coppers. I kept some documents for myself but you will find money, armor, swords, farm supplies and other things stolen from these lands by trolls long ago. I would see them restored, but only if I am not vexed.

The man said, “See, my friends, he thinks to win our confidence with no proof of his claims!”

Nag Kath strode to the long table with the five town elders. At his height and countenance, he was intimidating indeed. Rather than thrashing the alderman, he took a nipper out of his pocket and laid it on their table saying, “There is more than this. Tomorrow night I will make the same offer on the west side of the chasm. The morning after that, those who are interested in representing your community will attend me at the lower bridge where I will reveal my intentions. 

“Good evening!”

The next day he want back to the first side and told a likelier lad in the town that he had an announcement to make that evening after dinner and that those of Tulan Nimrais who were interested in their own and their town’s betterment should listen. It was a pleasant night with little else to do so about fifty people came. Nag Kath told them the same thing, that there was a troll hoard that he had discovered and wanted to return it to the people of this valley. He gave a nipper to the Nimrais council in good faith and said he would see them tomorrow at the bridge.

____________-------____________

Twelve men and four women walked the road to the crossing and were greeted by twenty in the clearing by the bridge. A man who was already there growled, “This had better be good.” Rumblings from both contingents agreed.

Nag Kath stood where all could hear and called, “Very well. I am Nag Kath." There was more mumbling. "I found a troll cave nearby that had a worthwhile cache of gold, silver, armaments and tools. There might be more. I don’t know and I don’t care. These things were probably looted from your kin a thousand years ago. I would see you have them, but the benefits must be shared with all of the residents of Tulan Nimrais, both of them.”

A woman’s voice shouted, “What is in this for you?”

“Nothing.”

Another cried, “Then why do you do this?”

“The goodness of my heart.”

The first woman shouted again, “Is this trove nearer the west or east side of the river?”

Nag Kath answered, “The East.”

The eastern group then agreed it was theirs and the west bank had no claim.

The Elf had enough. Those things had sat there for centuries and they could sit there until the ending of the world. He hopped down and untied Eliesse from a limb. Nag Kath was two miles closer to leaving here than he had been this morning which was the only satisfaction he would get. 

A more reasonable voice called, “Then none are to benefit?”

“You don’t deserve it.”

A woman in poor cloth who had walked down the hill with her young son said to the crowd, “Then I am sorry for all. My husband did not have the time in life to provide for us. He would have helped”

In his Elf-Lord voice, Nag Kath asked, “What would it cost to rebuild that bridge?”

“About half of the throng said, “What does it matter, the east will not pay.” The other half said that of the west.

The exasperated Elf asked, “Why do you not both pay? It is no great span.”

A very old man, who had trouble walking here and expected more going back, recalled, “Long, long ago, two brothers founded the town. They went from loving to hating each other. One lived on one side. One lived on the other. When a great storm destroyed the bridge, each thought the other owed to rebuild it. Neither of them would put a blackened copper to its restoration lest it bring them one foot closer to their fury.”

The Elf thought that if his reason for being here was to sweeten the fetid dirt that grew dark lords, he would start this morning. Slowly and softly, to kill the mutterings, he said, “Then you will have to earn it. I will pay you good wages to rebuild your bridge. Some folk may labor. Others can cook or give lodgings or do small errands. Everyone must help, according to their ability, to share in the hoard, unless you must tend your farms or care for others. Cause trouble or interfere and you get none.”

A man in the back cried, “How do we know you will pay?”

“I have given each council a nipper and will replenish that at need.”

A young man in the front asked optimistically, “What wages do you pay, Mr. Kath?”

The Elf thought a moment and said, “I am not sure, but if we agree this is a worthy labor, I will decide that walking back up the hill.” To the groups, “What say you to this?”

A man off to the side of the eastern town said, “I am of our council. We will consider your offer.” A murmur among the western side became agreement.

Another man standing next to his son on the eastern side of the throng asked, “What would you have us do?”

The Elf admitted, “I have not given that enough thought either. We will start with felling and limbing trees on the western side. I will come to your town tomorrow and speak with the council, if they will have me.”

Nag Kath let the old man ride Eliesse up the hill and spoke with the western folk who mostly seemed to think this was a good idea. Of course, they were the few who came. The ones who didn’t were another matter.

Horse stabled, he sat by the old bridge footings with his sketch pad. The site was still fine for a new bridge with solid rock on both cliffs. The eastern side was a bit lower. This did not have to be elegant. Two tall, straight trees from the edge of the valley would easily span the gap, though dragging them the half mile to the river would be hard. Getting them across the chasm would be even harder. It should be hard. Folk from both sides would have to put their backs into it.

_______________-------______________

If this was a miniature version of the aqueduct, he needed similar helpers on both sides. 

The Elf requested and was granted a council meeting that evening. Tulan Nimrais was in an uproar. Some were enthusiastic. Some were enraged. Others thought it a waste of time and more than a few wondered how to get paid for not working. 

The head alder rang the bell and said, “There is only one item for our consideration this evening. A Mr. Kath offers us a proposal that he will share in a troll hoard that only he knows on the condition that we help rebuild the bridge across the river. Would you care to explain, Mr. Kath. And I warn that he be given time to state his case. Afterwards we will discuss the merits. Mr. Kath, please proceed.”

“Thank you sir. I will pay wages for everyone who helps with this effort on both sides of the river. But I know that some have more ability and time than others. I will pay five groats a day for labor or portions thereof. Feeding and lodging others will pay the same. Children who run errands or help their parents get two. People who lend horses or mules will get another fiver. And I will pay the going rate for everything we need to purchase.

“If my proposal is accepted on both sides of the river, I would ask that the council be the paymaster. You already have a nipper on account and I will bolster that so there is no risk that folk do not get full value for honest work. If you agree, I will have more tidings on what needs to be done.”

The head alder looked at his council and said, “Very well. Now we will ask questions and discuss this, and again, I caution all of you; these proceedings will be civil or bailiff Innagan will remove you from the hall. I will begin the questions. Mr. Kath, what is your purpose in this?”

“I would like to see the people of this region reclaim that which the trolls stole, but I want it fairly distributed and that it does not cause even greater turmoil between your divided banks. I am a bridge engineer and this is my best way of seeing that aim.”

The head alder pointed his gavel at a stout fellow near the front of the room. He stood and voiced strongly, “I disapprove of your coming here and ordering us about. What right have you to disrupt our lives and business?”

The Elf said, “None, sir. If it is not the will of the council, here and across the river, I will leave you to your own devices. But my condition is that people must help however they can to share in the hoard.”

The next man chosen stood and said, “I have a farm to run with workers and family. We will not have time like some folk.”

“Then offer food and lodgings for folk who might need to come here. If you have beasts, they will be needed for hauling. Perhaps your family can lend ropes and tools. There are ways to help.”

One of the other alders asked, “Not to put too fine a point on this, Mr. Kath, but what is the value of this troll hoard?”

“Based on what I saw, perhaps forty or fifty Florin. There could be more.”

He continued, “And why did you not keep it for yourself?”

Nag Kath smiled and answered, “Because you need it more.”

They wrangled for another bell with the camps divided between this being an opportunity or outside interference. Head alder Cruikshor finally tapped his gavel and pronounced, “It is put to a vote. Those who favor Mr. Kath’s offer will say ‘Aye’. About two thirds of the room spoke. “All those opposed?” That was a vocal one third.

Cruikshor looked at his fellow councilmen and said, “The motion has passed. We are concluded.”

The group filed out with smiles or scowls. Nag Kath sat holding his chin as the head alder walked up to say, “Well, you are in it now. I suppose you face the same conversation across the river.”

“If I didn’t you would have already done this yourselves. Mr. Cruikshor, you seem a reasonable man. I will need someone here with gravity who can manage things. Who comes to mind in that role?”

The man nodded as he thought and replied, “He was here tonight. I’ll will hear his mind and let you know.”

_______________-------______________

In the morning Nag Kath rode two miles downstream and two miles upstream hoping the eastern council here agreed to see him. He resolved that if one side agreed and the other didn’t, the agreeable side would get the troll cache and there would be some measure of justice. Unfortunately, the widow and her boy were here. He was doing this for the widows and orphans of the world. 

Citizens who came to the bridge had convinced the council to have a special meeting tonight. With extra time, he wandered to the bridge footing here, a stone’s throw from where he sat the other day, and saw no impediments. It would be dangerous work. Men would need to be roped because if they fell, they would be dashed against the sides halfway to the lower bridge with no way to get out. 

The layout was different here. The valley was half again wider to the tree-line defining the farmland. They would get the job of sawing the cross-planks and rails. They would also have to erect a stout frame to put the beam-rope over so they could drag full timbers across the chasm and keep the end high enough to clear the cliff. Iron studs and brackets needed smithing.

That was just to make the bridge. Someone should paint a nice sign. A celebration dinner needed organizing. A man on the west side should marry the widow to the east since she would have already been evaluated by bachelors where she lived. The east council worked a little different than the west. There were the five alders he met with a town manager. The head alder was not disposed to having rich Gondorans meddling in their affairs and he said as much by opening with; “Hear, hear. Everyone find your seats and come to order. We are met because Mr. Kath wants us to build a bridge against the Auram brothers’ rift. Pray, sir, make your case.”

The Elf rose and said, “Thank you and the people of Tulan Nimrais for your ears. I have …” It was the same thing he said four hundred paces away the night before. Grumblers did not wait to voice their disapproval. The head alder opened the discussion, “We will hear your thoughts and any questions you have for Mr. Kath.”

Two dozen people stood and shouted over each other until one of the counselors whistled loudly. Then the head-alder said gravely, “Mr. Reagald, you have the floor.”

Reagald fair spat, “I object most strenuously! Who is this silly man to come here and interfere in our affairs?! We don’t need a bridge and his troll claim is certainly a fraud!”

Men and a few women rose and shook their fists in agreement. The head alder calmly said, “Mr. Bellemue, I believe you have something to say.”

A portly shop owner rose to no great height and offered, “I do not see the risk. He has already left gold in pledge. My concern is that his wages are better than mine and I lose good employees to care for our customers. Mr. Kath, how long will this take?”

The Elf said, “I should think about a month if people help.”

Questions continued. It seemed the left side of the room was generally against the right side in any matter before the council and this was no different. They railed back and forth until the council finally had enough with another whistle. Head alder called, “We will see a division. Those in favor of Mr. Kath’s proposal say ‘Aye’. They said so. The ‘Nay’s’ sounded about as loud. 

The head Alder announced, “Then we will see a show of hands. Bailiff, attend the counting. Those in favor raise your hand.” That came to sixty three. They nays came to fifty eight after subtracting poor Mrs. Fehland who voted each way in confusion. 

They had a deal. Like in the west, the council would see to payments. A large frame would be sunk on the cliff. More smiles and dirty looks were hurled at the tall, blonde man. The last to leave were the widow and her son. She said she would cook if people would give her the food.

The next morning, seven eastern men and two mules reported to the western town to start cutting trees. Another six men in the east were to fell trees on this side and start sawing eight-foot planks for the cross-boards. Those going west walked to the lower bridge and back up, most for the first time. That seemed strange because it was only four miles and a lot of these people had to be related. They talked and one who was only sixteen looked forward to his first manly labor.

Easterners arrived to shy smiles and put the beasts to pasture. Two trees would have to be dragged across the land of a man who had strongly protested. He insisted that damages be paid for the vegetables and prize-winning pumpkins lost in this outrage. Nag Kath could have just confused the old-timer and anyone else who got in the way but wanted to use as little magic as possible for his civics lesson. He agreed to pay for men to put the ground right afterwards. 

The eastern men and a like number from this side walked up to the tree-line. The Elf chose big, straight pines and had the men drop them pointing down the hill. Then they had to be limbed, which was much more work than just cutting them down. Pine limbs make poor rollers so half the men started felling saplings about six inches across to put under the poles for dragging. They would do one tree at a time. 

Nag Kath removed his shirt, tied his hair in a ponytail and started froeing the first tree for a flat surface to stay on the rollers and for planks later on. At first all the men were working with him but after a few minutes, they were looking at his ears. He smiled and kept at it. After a hard day’s labor, east and west went into the town for the evening meal. Tables were placed in the small square and quite a few women and children brought food prepared for that evening. Someone managed a demi-cask as well.

With good light, Nag Kath walked to the chasm and looked across at the progress on the frame. It seemed to be going well. While he was standing there, Alder Cruikshor strolled down with the sort of fellow you want in a scrap. He was introduced as Quenthorn and had been in the Arnor army twenty two years until his wife wanted to return to her parents here. The sergeant had not found steady work. He was perfect.

Nag Kath told him what had to happen on this side of the river. The man said little but didn’t miss a word. The plan was to prepare those two beams to span the gorge, anchor them on both sides and then plank it across with rail posts every six feet to keep folk from unplanned swims. Like every man in Aragorn’s army, he had built roads and structures everywhere he went. His main job would be getting the boles across a half mile of field. It was too bumpy and with not enough grade to just roll them down. A path would have to be smoothed wide enough for the roller-logs, including through the middle of Mr. Eiche's pumpkin patch. 

As they were rising to go inside, Quenthorn asked the wind, “Kath, eh?”

The Elf looked at the tall man, "That's right.”

Quenthorn just nodded.

_________________--------________________

The Arnoran spent most of the first few days supervising the men froeing the trees. They made more froes from pick-axes and sharpened them often. Quenthorn showed the men how to pull a taught line and mark the high-spots. Only one surface was flattened but they would have to square notches later for the guard-rail posts. 

Satisfied that was going well, Nag Kath rode to the east side to see about the planks. They had a saw pit that needed to be dug deeper. That was a miserable job so no one was to work too long or too hard. The Elf made sure the paymasters were generous too. For the first time in many of their lives, women were given cash money for taking meals to the workers. Some husbands resented the small bit of independence that bought. 

The big frame was done. It had large log rounds sunk six feet into the rocky soil fifteen feet back from the edge of the gorge with a stout log notched ten feet up as a cross-member. Mules and men would have to pull the tree boles across the gorge and keep the leading tip high enough to clear the bank so ropes over the beam would lift as well as pull. A post as large was anchored on the west bank. Nag Kath shot an arrow with a string attached over the span and a stout rope was stretched taught between them. He could have just used a bringing spell but this was to be a magic-less project. A bucket on a string to either side was handy for exchanging measurements and iron bits. Men who had never spent a night away from their sweethearts sent notes too private to shout across the raging river.

Two days later, the first tree was flattened on one side and ready to slide down the meadow. Men here had dug and filled the dirt for a smooth narrow road after fighting the ornery rocks. The risk here was that once it got going, the tree could slide too fast and make a mess below, hurting men and mules. With makeshift roller-jacks, men put the first tree in position with the flat side down and had the four mules drag it over the roller logs very carefully. The road wasn’t all that smooth so the rollers got stuck more often than rolling too fast, but they managed to get it to the river in one day. Having to stop to put past rollers in front gave the mules a chance to taste the glowering Mr. Eiche’s garden. 

Quenthorn took Eliesse to the east side the following day to look at the pit saw and that the planks were sound. They only had one saw and weren’t sharpening it often enough so the one on the west side was pulled across on the rope that people were starting to call the Nimrais Ferry. 

The second tree came down two days later. Mr. Eiche’s garden was completely destroyed with men and mules dragging the trees through. Planks on the east side were progressing and they were starting to cut rails and rail posts with the scraps. At only sixty feet across plus the ramps, they didn’t need that many. This was really no more than a barn-raising if these querulous people would talk to each other. 

One complication was that people were paid in groats and old moneybags Kath only had higher denominations. Exchanging them should have been simple except the transactions would let others know how much cash someone had stashed in their home. One sharp fellow suggested the Elf offer silvers for only thirty-six groats and see who took the deal. They were lined out the door the next morning.

Now the hard and dangerous part started. Eastern men and mules along with some from the west went down and back to the eastern town. Three stout ropes were tied to the end of the first tree and thrown over the top of the cross bar on the frame. Two ropes were tied to a four-mule team with men helping to pull. The third rope was looped several times around the beam and constantly cinched tight against the log falling into the gorge and taking the mules with it. It was easy at first as the beam rolled with the logs falling into the water. About halfway across, the mules started taking more of the strain. Dozens of eastern townsmen and eight from the west were there to pull as well as western men pushed. It was slow going but they got the tip across. It was still a foot too low so one of the planks was slipped under the end and levered by a log as several of the heftier lads stood on the other end to pry it up enough for the mules to drag it five feet clear.

A huge cheer went up on both sides. One beam a day was about as much as anyone wanted to try so work ended early with with an open dinner served on both sides. They did it again the next day so both beams were in place. Men dug and filled foundations with stones under the ends to get them level with the ground and away from rotting in the soil. The next day, more western men went to to the lower bridge with the eastern men to bring planks up in wagons now that they had their mules back. 

Nag Kath insisted that workers laying the planks have ropes around their chests that were tied to the beams. Boards were laid across and secured with spikes. Every six feet they used a shorter plank and chiseled a flat on the beam side to attach a rail post. Smiths wrought spikes for several days and they still needed more along with augers for the starter holes. With all the planks coming from the eastern forest; they could only be laid from that side. 

Laborers were dismissive of the ropes until the lead man turned and got a plank in the mouth. Falling eight feet took the wind out of him when the rope pulled taught but he was hauled up safely after only losing two teeth. Another man broke his arm limbing, but those were the most serious injuries on what could have been a dangerous job. It helped that Nag Kath did not push. Full-time was less than that and he had Project Manager Quenthorn give them breaks with lots of ladies bringing baskets of more food than they usually ate. 

Twenty four days after the eastern men showed up with their mules, the bridge was complete. A not-so-secret celebration was planned on the eastern side since they had a larger market square but people brought food from both sides. Several folk could not bring themselves to cross the frightening river even though they watched their friends walk over unconcerned. An extra rail was added when children hung from the posts looking down.

The aldermen from each side sat at the same table. It happened that two of them were cousins who had never met. Dinner was too much and a few casks of ale held in reserve by agents of the blonde Elf were tapped. Leaders made speeches. Young people were bashful. A generally good time was had by about three quarters of the combined citizens. The other quarter sulked. This was not how it was to be! Who knew who those easterners/westerners were? Once Eiche was paid in full for his garden, he seemed rather pleased. But then, he was fond of ale.

It was time for one more speech. Nag Kath stood on a table to be heard by about three hundred people and said, “Thank you for your cares. Who here thinks we have done good work?”

That got raucous cheers and hoots of approval.

“Now it is time for me to deliver on my other promise. We have a little more work to do to make this bridge safe, but two days hence I will need a party of six riders and a wagon from the west to ride over the bridge at first light and join a like number from the east. Then I will take you to the trove.

“Drink-up and enjoy yourselves! You have earned it.”

_________________------_______________

Maids milked the cows the next day but no one else was up bright and early. It was a Hobbit-like party with Hobbit-like results. Some of the western folk straggled back after breakfast time with straw in their hair. Quenthorn could hold his liquor and met Nag Kath at the bridge to discuss graveling the wagon ramps for less of a jolt. They sat in the grass alongside and looked at the work. There would be no Dunlending statue but the Elf was proud. East and west still had to find their way. They were closer.

Sure enough, the next morning half a dozen riders, some of whom looked like they hadn’t been on their horse in years, clopped across the bridge with a one-mule wagon. They met their new neighbors with their own cart and all rode past the lower bridge. Turning up the main flow was unusual for them. No one lived up there and those who had ever left either Tulan Nimrais had only turned right down to the Morthond. With the mule wagons it took two hours until they had to travel on foot. One of the more ‘experienced’ riders stayed with the horses and wagons.

Step by step, Nag Kath took them around the back of the slide and along the broken trail into the cave. They brought torches to show money and swords and poked around for things he didn’t see the first time. There weren’t any hidden doors. This was a Dwarf mine at one point but they hadn’t dug very deep.

One man found a silver Elvish box with nothing in it. East and west agreed that the heavier implements could stay here if anyone wanted to drag them home later and divvied the money, armor and swords to carry back to the wagons. Items were split evenly and they were home by dark. Altogether, the cash came to thirty-one Florin. Nag Kath spent nearly three of his. The swords and armor weren’t worth much but they had belonged to fighters back in the day when that mattered. In the new spirit of friendship, each Tulan Nimrais agreed to share the spoils widely and hold some in reserve for a few other neglected civic projects. 

Quenthorn hadn’t been among the salvagers. He sat with the Elf in their grassy spot as the sun set behind them and looked at the spray rising from the rapids. The soldier had proven himself a capable man. His prospects were good. Nag Kath gave him a nipper for services rendered; the making of a man if he applied it well. 

As Nag Kath rose to find his room, the quiet Arnoran said, “New troopers get burial detail. Bones all look the same. I am glad they weren’t yours.”

Nag Kath smiled as he nodded and walked back into town.


	55. Back and Forth

** _Chapter 55_ **

** _Back and Forth_ **

Caladrion said warmly “Welcome back, Nag. Did you have great adventures?”

“Chasing ghosts.”

Cal took that figuratively. Then he reported, “Our family is fine. Prince Dalrothil died a month after you left. Prince Armandor has taken the office.”

Nag Kath wondered a moment, “Haven’t met him, met his brother after the fevers.”

“Are you back for a while?”

“Between here and Gondor. Dol Amroth is very fair, but I find it hard to stay anywhere very long at leisure.”

Caladrion thought he meant at leisure without a woman. Nag Kath could stand idleness in the company of a lady love. With Phylless he had been here three and four years at a stretch. Cal had the best of lady loves and missed her every day. The old friends had more in common than appeared. The retired counselor wasn’t alone often with so many offspring and managed the gaps with grace. 

They were sitting on Caladrion’s porch watching the last rays of the sun on the harbor. A large ship was docking. The fishing boats were long in. Cal took a sip of the cool tea and asked, “Seriously, what did you do upriver?”

“I helped a town rebuild a bridge and I freed the remaining army of the dead in Erech ... something like seventy of them. Hopefully that was the last of the One Ring.”

Cal looked at the Elf and grinned, “Well, I did ask.” 

Nag Kath added, “We might keep that between us. Your great grandchildren hardly speak to me after the healing.” He smiled, “I think this is a place where I should be ordinary.”

Cal agreed, “Yes, good old Dol Amroth. It does change from time to time. The Princely family spends more time at their estates. We are fair crowded with Lords here in port.”

“Gondor is not used to that. There was no King for, what, nine hundred years? Then there was one King for over a century with only one heir who has one son. Dale was short on heirs for a while too. They have enough now, same with Rohan. But this place is three and four sons deep going back before me. They are marrying rich merchant’s daughters.”

Caladrion smiled to say, “Lord Kolland’s second boy did rather well.”

“Kolland?”

“Princess Inariel.”

“I know the older children better.”

Five months away made Uncle Nag more palatable with the younger relatives. There were always babies to burp and sing to. He did what he usually did and now had a new pile of papers he could not understand. These seemed less Elvish than usual. Elvish languages changed constantly as empires came and went, maybe a local dialect? None of the scholars he contacted knew what they were. Perhaps the keepers would.

Year 123 of the Fourth Age started badly. Field Ivandred, son of Cal and Eniecia, had a heart seizure. He was more Northman than Dunedain and at age 83, that was a long run. The man lingered two months and was alert in that time but a second event stole him in his sleep.

Cal took it very hard. He could understand outliving his lovely wife but not his son, feeling guilty that he could not have passed his father’s long life to his children. Callistra was 81 and still strong. She comforted her da. Nag Kath just had to be there. He was the greatest example of outliving the loved. They didn’t even have to speak.

Field’s wife Grenda was already failing. Field had been glad that he would be there to support her until his heart let them both down. Raniece and Borond took her mother into the large home inherited from Nag Kath. The woman kept trying to walk into rooms that weren’t there or talking to Field as if he was sitting next to her. She knew she knew Nag Kath, but was not sure why. 

Having money helped. The Conaths were already comfortable when Nag Kath gave a great sum to Reyald and Ardatha. Those properties had grown in value by the time Eniecia and Shurran came into their legacies. The families inherited Nag Kath’s estate when he was declared eaten by wargs. He didn’t care since he still had cash, his curious trust and a handful of Elf diamonds. Raniece used some to expand the house with separate quarters for her mother’s long-time maid and another caring companion. When Grenda wanted company, family was there. When she needed quiet, help was waiting. 

The Ivandreds were near the highest status in the closed world of Dol Amroth. They were not among the wealthiest fifty families, but they were close. With the diversity of their holdings, much of which was still in the White City, they were virtually immune to the slow erosion of Dol Amroth as a major trading port. The "rock" was a Navy town when the world enjoyed the Peace of the King. That was why Princely heirs took their inland holdings much more seriously in the second century.

Cal visited his daughter-in-law almost every day. At times she was her usual self and at other times in a world of the past. Nag Kath would come along too and retell his fanciful adventures. Others in the family would join them and sometimes have dinner after the old lady retired. A whole new generation of Ivandreds got to wonder who Uncle Nag was. 

That was clarified slightly. Siorscia, Menalgir and Halita’s daughter, had a difficult labor when the baby breached. Called in with the emergency, the Elf was able to turn the child in the womb with a bringing spell for a normal birth. Halita, who had been horrified when Sorcia had a stomach blockage as an infant, saw the Elf use the same silver aura over the same belly for another successful outcome. Nag Kath had done the procedure many years ago for a woman with a fever who went into labor. Babies and infants are much more open to magic and it was an easy, safe spell. They named the little girl Heiri. 

Talienne wrote Raniece before she left for Rohan with Barahir. When they returned they would try to visit. That was not easy. Barahir inherited both the title of Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor, but not of the Reunited Kingdom. Arnor had its own Steward. When Eldarion was there, Barahir had to stay in Minas Tirith. The principality was created for Faramir when Steward was the larger task. 

By the second century that was reversed. Ithilien was a powerful fief with Osgiliath again the largest city in the world. The Steward position was an anachronism now that the King was a grandfather. Old habits die hard. There was an understanding among the royals that Barahir’s son Tyaldran would decline the honor. 

____________------____________

Winter became spring. There were no water-fevers on the Sirith. The red Odar were running near the rocks. With Cal himself again, Nag Kath thought it was time to see Minas Tirith. Part of the reason for coming was that Eldarion was on his every-other-year trip to Annúminas which would put Barahir and Talienne in the palace. It would be good to give her family news of Dol Amroth and see the Conath brood. 

Now in the strong melt season on the Great River, He rode Eliesse across Belfalas through the red-wine counties to the Serni river mouth city of Linhir. It was an actual city and growing thanks to its proximity to the Ethir Anduin. Nag Kath took his leisure for a few days and then rode the royal highway to Pelargir. From there it was the familiar road to the White City.

Rey and Heuris were their usual selves and glad to see the Elf. He stayed with them until the lease on his house was up the next month with plans to move in after buying it back from them for five groats. Barahir and Talienne were already here. They met often and included the Conath clan in larger settings. After isolation in Emyn Arnen, the Prince and Princess enjoyed entertaining in the capital. Their younger daughter Ivriniel and her new husband Kinnestrath were with them.

After their second dinner when the other family retired, Nag Kath told the couple, “Last year I went to Erech. There were reports that spirits in the mountain were restless. About seventy of the cursed were trapped in the caverns and I was able to free them. I could not be sure that King Elessar’s forgiveness applied, but I took the liberty. I will tell King Eldarion when he is back. For now, only we and Caladrion know.”

Barahir held his chin in Princely fashion and agreed, “Yes, people of today cannot imagine those things. It is one thing to recite old stories. It is another to live in that world. That is the last of Sauron?”

“One cannot be sure, but I think it is the last of Isuldur. He was a powerful sorcerer with the ring.”

Barahir lamented, “He did not write much but his notes during the short reign were disordered compared to the before the Last Alliance. It was surely for the better that he did not possess the ring long. It would have returned to its master just the same.”

Uncle Nag teased, “Beetling through the archives are we?”

The Prince smiled, “I have them brought here.”

Talienne contributed, “I look too. The scholars do not like papers leaving their catacombs, but if the Steward wants them, the Steward gets them.”

The Elf asked, “Have you done anything further on romantic history?”

Barahir shook his head, “Not much. I have these other jobs that interfere. I think that story will write itself when the time is ripe.”

Nag Kath said, “I did not tell you but I spoke to the head Elf-keeper in Lorien. He was alive when Lúthien and Beren were but never met them. The Keepers mainly go where Elves have been, not where they are. Doriath was where Mirkwood is now but all of the mountains and rivers are different. When the Valar fight, the battlefield suffers. Master Logass would not say if his kind were there. I doubt there is anything left to remember.”

Talienne was sad she could not visit her mother. Nag Kath offered to take her. She would need an Ithilien escort because of her rank but that seemed the only way now. Her sister wrote often, with assured delivery by royal messengers. It was not the same as being there to honor her dear father. 

On the first of June, Nag Kath took possession of his old home and started the project of making it his own. The two upper floors were in fair condition but needed minor work and furnishings. The first-floor storage was mostly discarded or given to the needy. He left the gold and circlet where they were but collected the diamonds resting on one of the ceiling timbers. 

Fieldar Conath, who was becoming a better friend, had handled everything in Minas Tirith for a decade. It was a gentleman’s position with paid staff in the office but he did watch the books. At thirty-nine, he shot with the Pelennor Third infantry and could still peg a demi-cask at fifty paces. His son Brandar and cousin Urandict were good shots too, keeping that line of heroes intact.

Through the Kathen office, builders were engaged for renovations and folk who furnished the properties did the same. A new feather bed was the hardest thing to locate. It took two months but when the list was done, Nag Kath had strong tea on his porch and imagined the past Syndolan parties as if they were the night before. Every generation likes to think they had it better than the ones that come after, unless complaining how much easier the youngsters have it now. Well into his sixth generation of adopted family, they were blending together. 

His first official dinner using two women hired for the night was entertaining Lorandis and Urandict’s families. They always marveled at Uncle Nag’s pictures. Their young children had no idea that the tall man was any sort of relative. They knew their relatives. Eyes and ears were rapt with the pictures and hearing about the great kings of their past. 

During renovations, Nag Kath visited the Osgiliath office of Kathen. It was now Ilvest & Kathen owing to a joining of firms by marriage. The Elf was more a favored customer than founder with the same generous terms he always gave. They were nice folks and honest too. Rents were sent through the Royal Bank across the river and Fieldar divvied them according to share. The Elf’s went to his account. 

It was also time for a visit to said bank. He left a supply of diamonds in the vault which Hellistar Jewelers could claim by paying a set price. When he was frozen in Angmar, those diamonds were slowly exhausted until old man Hellistar retired in comfort. Fieldar told him quietly that the man running that business now was not trustworthy so Nag Kath visited a jeweler Fieldar recommended and found the owner liked the idea of an exclusive supply of rare stones in his inventory. Gregith and Gregith would get rough diamonds and have to prepare them since there were now more of those than the stones the Dwarves had finished long before. Pricing was based on what they found once irreversible work was done.

In militia training Nag Kath taught in all four weekly sessions, sometimes on horse and sometimes with the bow alongside Fieldar, Urandict and Brandar. They knew better than to bet against him but kept their mouths shut when others in the Third Pelennor got cocky. The Elf also held a slow-swords class for all comers. Eliesse went into season again so he had her bred to a stallion one of the Lossarnach agents in the city suggested and rode Orlon throughout.

______________------______________

In November the King and Queen returned with all their children. Eldarion was eighty and looked forty. The pure blood of a Dunedain father and immortal blood of Arwen might keep him alive as long as kings of yore. Millicend, who stayed here, seemed more like a regular woman but she was healthy with a personality that being near her made one feel better. The younger girl was said to age slowly too but had a history of fevers.

Nag Kath was welcomed by Eldarion with another round of dinners and greetings. The King agreed the dead army was a Nag-Kath fable that should remain buried. Eldarion was quite interested in Lamedon, though. He had only been there once thirty years ago. It was a large portion of his realm to get so little attention. He said he would rebuild the bridge.

With a week of transition, the Steward handed the reins of government back to his sovereign and returned to Emyn Arnen with the in-law Elf alongside. The older children had done a fine job of maintaining the Principality although Tyaldran had a split lip from the same sort of errant militiamen his da trained at the same age. 

It wasn’t until then that Barahir explained he had resigned his Stewardship when the King returned. Crown Prince Elhidron was thirty eight and his son was fourteen. The realm was in good hands. Elhidron discussed it with uncle Barahir and they agreed the younger man was ready for that role if his father agreed. His father did and the documents were signed with an announcement to follow.

Barahir’s time was his own to a much greater extent than it had been. He and Talienne would visit Dol Amroth next year. In addition to honoring her father, there were ties that bound in Imrahil’s family. Ithilien bordered the east side of the Anduin all the way to the Poros with a vast economic stake in the river trade. 

For the first time in twenty-five years, Nag Kath took his leisure in Emyn Arnen. He read in the library, got to know his little great, great, great, greats who ranged from two to seven and looked just like their dark-haired mother Deriandrie. In keeping with the family tradition, little Arathorn had groats in his ears.

After a few weeks at home, Nag Kath, Barahir and two guards rode to Emyn Vierald for a look at the former Elven haven. It was full of folk farming and making and raising more folk. The mayor insisted on a grand banquet of the fine foods raised there. They were too late for the strange dividing fruit Nag Kath brought back. The seeds would not grow anywhere else. Nag Kath explained their origins to tepid interest.

Unshared with anyone else, the two scholars wanted to see if there were any Elf-keepers. There weren’t. Legolas’ followers were not here long and were not stewards of Elvish spirit to be preserved. It was still a pleasant three day ride to part of the Prince’s domain and fully justified. The Elf grinned walking by Barahir's home of the Elves in joining. They stayed for three days including a ride to the River Telengaur. It tested clean. Farms stretched all the way from the community past the river now.

Nag Kath stayed another week with the Princes and then spent a while in Osgiliath. He wanted to get a few herbs and a better sense of the growing city on both sides. Jeffer Ilvest, Tumfred’s son-in-law, gave the silent partner a tour of the properties in the right-living trust. It was the last rental property the Elf owned, but quite a bit since it had never been reduced by gifts or dying. Unlike in Minas Tirith or Dale, these were mostly large, commercial buildings on long-term leases. It took a lot of work to make them ready but not much after that.

He stayed in the Great River, one of his favorite places to loaf, and watched people go by. This was definitely the art and culture capital of Gondor now with more sculptors and painters than across the river. Eight years earlier, the city fathers began an Autumn Festival for art and music that drew large crowds. It was a grand enough affair that a traveling Catanard company of Dol Amroth highlighted the week. Nag Kath was too late for this one but promised himself he would visit for fresh ideas. He saw several galleries and an exhibition with good pieces, buying two small bronzes to be sent to his home. 

If he was going to be in the White City, he would live like it. A hasty Syndolan party was organized. There would be no Hobbits and only one Dwarf but there were enough family and friends of family to spread the word. Delandreth’s daughter Maiarne was named as Neurae for the evening. Nag Kath hired a permanent daytime cook/cleaner named Thorowyn and she hired a friend to make finger-foods for an uncertain number of guests. Alas, fireworks had gone out of style. Aragorn shot the last of his powders into the Mordor sky to bring Nag Kath out of the east with the one survivor used to signal the Prince’s troops around the claw of Angmar. The Elf thought he remembered the formula from the man Aragorn hired, but it was a revolting process.

He got quite a throng between family, militia friends of family and some of Fieldar’s business associates. Wine and ale were available. Of the perfunctory royal invitations, Princess Millicend came with her daughter Anthrala and her husband Nendalron accompanied a discreet big fellow who smiled and watched. Nag Kath met them both during the Steward’s visit. They seemed a nice young couple and knew a few people there.

If any of the women conspired to match the bachelor Elf with themselves or other eligible ladies, no one told him. A lot of lordly romances had been finagled at this very party over the years. As always, he sat on the porch bench and looked at Osgiliath the way he had with Tal. For a moment he imagined Phylless making sure everyone had what they needed. 

________________------______________

Year 124 started wet, not enough to flood Osgiliath but it was said the coast got a lot of rain. When he could he rode both horses. Lorandis’ fourteen year-old son Simliar got the job of keeping them fit. Before long, Eliesse would need a maternity stable. Nag Kath found a farm just north of the leech-fields to care for her and a foal due in July or August. Simliar would ride Orlon there to ride her so all three stayed in trim. When she got too heavy, he would just bring carrots to remind her of home. 

Spring was nice. He painted and went to East Osgiliath for more of the little bronzes. Any statue in the White City was still someone royal. Across the river were nymphs and bears and otters. He got one that was supposed to be a gnome because it reminded him of Elf-keeper Fencïl. 

In May there was bad news that Lord Dorthans Kolland, husband to the Princess Inariel, died of a bog fever he caught hunting near his estate in central Belfalas. The man made it home and seemed to be rallying until fading away. He was only 43, of Princely Dunedain stock, but fevers do not discriminate. The couple lived at the estate most of the time but occasionally went to Dol Amroth or to the horse farm in Lossarnach. Nag Kath didn’t know the funeral plans or what the Princess would do but it hastened Barahir and Talienne's belated visit with Uncle Nag tagging along. They would arrive just before the Catanard season that meant so much long ago.

This was a formal state visit. After the retinue disembarked with guards and fanfare, the couple and daughter Ivriniel and her husband were whisked off to the palace. Nag Kath slipped quietly to Cal’s house carrying his own bag. His house was right next door but Cal had the key so they had a long talk with tea. 

Life was good here. Grenda came and went as she had been doing. She was not unhappy. Raniece and Callistra’s families visited often. They had done what they could. Derissa’s daughter Lenvisar was said to be serious about a young Marine coming up through traditional training. Uncle Nag promised not to be too much of a nuisance. Cal smiled and said, “Oh, we got four more tickets five rows behind ours for the season. Old Thomfors stopped coming years ago. He had a spat with his son-in-law and wouldn’t you know; he let Menalgir take the subscription. Feathers were ruffled, let me assure you.”

Nag Kath matched him grin for grin, something they had done for almost a hundred years, “I hope they are all comedies.”

“No such luck. To be a Catanaräe you have to take the rough with the smooth. I think the tragedies this year are the ‘The Price’ and ‘Too Long Without’. They aren’t especially long. Your wizard opera is fourth.”

That was when he let Mina go. He would have loved to be in love all this time. Her first granddaughter was born in May. As the comic wizard learned, one can never see the future, but as things played, Mina would have lost him without hope in the caves of Angmar. It was hard to imagine straggling back after twenty years and starting fresh. Two Elves might have managed.

“Alas, I left Radagast’s staff tip in Minas Tirith or else we could have livened-up the performance!”

Cal shook his head and had more tea.

___________-------___________

With Kolland's funeral, Nag Kath did not expect to see the Princely couple until Field’s memorial. It was scheduled ten days after their arrival to let the families attend to business of the fief. Talienne did visit Raniece and her mother without the Prince the day after they arrived. The woman recognized her, but thought it was thirty years ago. They talked about then.

There was an unrelated formal event in the citadel a week later. Cal and Nag Kath were invited as Lords of Galador along with Raniece and Borond as sister to the visiting nobles. Cal needed a man-cart but he was dressed in his best; tall and straight. The guests were more seasoned than Nag Kath remembered. There were the same old buffers but now their sons were bald too. Cal enjoyed seeing folk who did not get around as far as the other side of Dol Amroth. Unusually, quite a few people remembered Nag Kath’s name from the healing a few years back. While Cal was talking with a man only slightly younger about their days in government, Talienne walked over to her uncle and asked, “Where are all the young people?”

“I was wondering that myself. Your family could have been pressed into service. They have youngsters by the basket.”

Prince Armandor and his wife strolled by and Talienne said, “My Lord and Lady, may I present my uncle Nag Kath?”

All bowed and the man said, “Glad you could come.” Wife Antolia said the exact same phrase. They had probably used it all night. 

Nag Kath said, “Thank you for inviting me, Your Highnesses.”

Both smiled and kept walking.

The Elf said, “Have you seen your grand-da”

Talienne was looking across the room and said, “Not tonight, but I saw him at mother’s. Did he tell you about the Catanard?”

“Vaguely.”

“Then we will see you there too. I like that you are close to Cal.”

“He is my oldest friend, going on a hundred years. You never met my wife Phylless. We lived here about half the time for forty years and were very close with Caladrion and Eniecia. Sometimes we can think something without needing to say it.”

She said softly, “I have heard all the stories, at least, all the ones ever told. Take care of him for me. I have to rescue my husband or the man from Lebennin will talk his ear off.” She kissed his cheek, “See you at the show.”

Queen Nepthat was off. Nag Kath wandered over to get a glass of wine and saw a gentleman who brought wagons of food to the healing warehouse. He walked up and declared, “Mr. Uphaunt, how good it is to see you!”

“And you, Lord Kath. I am glad this is not about high-water upstream.”

The changeling sighed, “I have had quite enough of that, thank you. Forgive my lack of heraldry. Are you some sort of Lord?”

Uphaunt smiled, “Not even close, but my wife is a Lady of Amroth on her mother’s side so they let me in for the wine.”

“I can’t keep track.”

The fellow seemed pleased, “You have to live it night and day. Just a moment.” Uphaunt turned slightly and said to a man walking by, “Your pardon, Lord Kolland. My deepest condolences. This is my friend Lord Kath.”

The Lord stopped for a moment seeming to recognize the name but bowed and kept going. Uphaunt said, “I didn’t say how we met because his son died of a fever this spring. Nice fellow. Bloody poxes! Well, I should attend my lady wife. I will find her by the finger-cakes.”

Nag Kath looked over to the old soldiers and saw Cal was wearing down. He collected his friend and took him outside to whistle-up his man-cart. The Elf walked alongside and settled Cal inside his home before going next door to drink cold tea and watch the crescent moon. 

Over the summer he went to two shows. Barahir and Talienne left after a month and Uncle Nag stayed behind. They were to write as soon as they heard about Eliesse’s foal. He would have three horses. Towards the end of the summer, Cal caught a bad cold that settled in his lungs. Most people his age would have died but having a wizard on site got him through. The Elf’s healing got progressively stronger. He could draw more illness and dissipate it faster than before. Nag Kath never forgot old Mrs. Skilleth saying it was nothing to his kind. Recuperation might be nothing, but having saved a life always mattered.

______________------_____________

Nag Kath spent the rest of the year in Dol Amroth and sailed to Minas Tirith in January. He wanted to be near family so he divided time between the sea, the White City and Emyn Arnen. The foal was a filly that would stay with her mother until next fall at least. The farmer who kept mother and daughter could start her on halter-breaking when she was ready. Orlon was getting his exercise from town. Nephew Simliar loved riding but was two generations from owning a horse in the family. 

The Elf busied himself with horses, seeing friends, painting and paying the sculptor in Osgiliath to show him how to cast bronzes. He had seen bells made but not something graceful. Talienne’s brood was doing well with young Lord Tyaldran taking on more duties. Barahir, like his father, believed in not letting young people be idle as their parents aged. The heir was thirty-three and a better rider than his da. Middle-earth still needed good soldiers.

In the autumn Nag Kath got his old job back of teaching children the bow with blunted arrows while their fathers trained with their weapons. Slow-swords was popular again. One fifth-level trainee fancied himself a swordsman without peer. He found otherwise. On the last day of 125 the changeling had another Syndolan party with most of the same people and the same results. Millicend came again with her family. She really enjoyed getting out of the seventh and spoke with many of the guests like an old friend. That was his only encounter with royalty that year. 

Year 126 of the Fourth age started with Nag Kath returning to Dol Amroth. The family would have to share him. Cal was getting older very slowly and still enjoyed their walks at the wharf. His daughter Callistra, with less Dunedain blood, was in her eighties and seemed as elderly.

Fieldar’s widow Grenda was very frail. Her mind was disordered and her blood flowed poorly. She would not let the blonde stranger examine her and no one saw the need to force the issue. Just before the opera season, she became quite lucid and remembered things as they were. The next day, she was gone. Folk had said their goodbyes for three years. Talienne did not plan to come down. Now that Raniece wasn’t a nurse, she could visit Emyn Arnen with Borond and take a long rest. The Libron great grandchildren were old enough to enjoy the curious Uncle Nag’s stories and ask questions about dragons. Heirs of Dale knew their dragons.

Nag Kath caught three of the Catanards that season. He enjoyed the company afterwards as well. Twice, a very attractive woman was three rows behind them and he could feel her eyes on his back. She had wine at the Lion the second time. It was up to him. He smiled and walked next to Cal’s man-cart going home.

Towards winter, he was back again up the river. That was the best time to travel. Simliar had taken good care of the horses. With his parents’ permission, Nag Kath gave him the filly the lad named Windborne. It was the best day of his life. By the time he was old enough to train as a lancer, she would be ready.

He got home too late to plan a Syndolan party. As it happened, Delandreth and her husband had one, a tradition they would carry-on for all their long marriage. Hastor was a man of Rohan, so, basically a red-headed Northman. His father was a rider of the Mark and moved here when a pox killed half of their horses. The man’s wife had a cousin in the White City who offered him work so they brought their young children and made a new life. Hastor apprenticed making fine saddles and eventually opened his own shop on the second. Nag Kath had only met him once but after the second introduction, they talked half the night about all things Rohan with a healthy dollop of Dale for good measure. Eliesse needed a better saddle so the deal was struck for when she returned from the farm. Everyone had a good time and the Elf made a note to get them some Hobbits next year.

The winter was nothing special. The Anduin would not flood in spring. It was still cold so Nag Kath unearthed his two strange language papers and went to the archives to try his luck again. He made a little headway. A scholar named Vorondies, forty years before the war, wrote a series of laborious papers on the Black Speech that was filed in the wrong category. His thesis was that the Black Speech was just one more permutation of Elvish and that Sauron had adapted it for the thick heads of his servants.

There were no written examples. Nag Kath’s Uruk-hai used a more complex tongue than the Mordor orcs but neither could read, though they used a shorthand of symbols. Perhaps this Vorondies had access to a captured orc. It would have been utter nonsense, but half of the letters he used were the same as the Yvsuldor sheets found in Nûrad. Since orc messengers were no help in a land of bright sun, those men would have had to write things down in the only language they knew.

The next day, Nag Kath brought what he copied from the Red Book where Frodo described the writing on the ring. It was incomplete. The Hobbit could not speak or read it but he remembered the form, an elegant inscription for an ugly tongue. It had the same letter shapes but was art more than writing. The Elf wrote out a simple sentence in Quenya and compared the black sounds. It was gibberish too. Gandalf kept or destroyed Isuldur's notes. It made sense that Sauron would adapt an existing language. He arrived relatively late in the dark lord business and was notoriously cheap. Melkor had the imagination to make a wholly new tongue, but not his handman. The Elf still copied the written forms from the old scholar, getting that much closer to what it meant. He made no progress on the troll cache.

_______________-------______________

A letter from Raniece in July said Cal was having trouble with his wind again. There was nothing keeping him here so he loaded Eliesse and her brand new saddle on a ferry and made for Dol Amroth. With not much headwind, he was there in eighteen days. Cal was sitting on the porch with Callistra drinking tea and fit as a fiddle. Yes, he had a cough two months ago, but some of good ol’ Nag’s herbs put him right!

Nag Kath couldn’t be cross that the man he came to save or mourn willingly drank the Elf's rank cough mixture. “Well, good for you! I don’t suppose there is any music?”

“Too late for Catanard. One of the lead dancers in the Kohru left her husband and moved back to Pelargir. They are auditioning new girls now but the season is a shambles.”

Nag Kath asked, “Are there any new babies?”

Granna Callistra said, “Nope. And the ones on the ground are getting sassy. You don’t want any part of minding them.”

“Hmmm.”

Ever helpful, Cal offered, “See here, say hello to everyone and go catch some fish. Word from the south coast is that the yellow Odar are in the rocks off Nargond, doesn’t happen often so close to shore. The way you ride, you’ll be there in three days. Come back relaxed and ready for a three-act tragedy!”

___________-------___________

Nag Kath took Cal up on his suggestion. After a night of dinner and yarns, he retrieved his deep water fishing tackle and eased Eliesse down the coast towards Ráma. It was a graded road with an inn just before the bridge over a river from Rosuldrië. 

Inns along the route dealt with the higher-end of tourists from Dol Amroth. They were expensive and worth it. He was under-dressed for the second inn he made in South Ráma on a larger river near an old fortress dating before the current line of Princes. In the land of fish, dinner was roast lamb. The wine was good from vineyards further up the same river. 

From here, Nag Kath took his time. In Dol Amroth there were few places to get near the sea along the rocks. Sheer cliffs descended into the surf with the barest of footpaths hugging the slope. Here were the same sort of rocks into the water but they were only ten or fifteen feet down. Rather than be served more lamb, the Elf made camp along the road and ate one of the tillars he caught just off the shore. That gave him plenty of time to make the inn Cal recommended just after lunch.

Nargond is the largest town and capital of the county of Nargond. It is also the name of the river coming from the passes in the county of Dudhrandir. Cal’s inn was the Dor-en-Ernil, an old, Princely name from when that line was established. They weren’t serving lamb. Nag Kath took a nice room overlooking the sea and went out to stretch his legs before eating whatever wasn’t lamb. 

The town itself followed the river back several miles. The coastal counties had rocky soil near the sea but a mile or two on either side of the Nargond was fertile loam and highly prized. Farmers had harvested the orchards and were starting on the wheat. Like a lot of country roads, a woman well up in years was sitting under a parasol with several baskets of fresh-picked fruit and vegetables. The Elf wandered over to hear, “Good timing, young man. These peaches are just off the tree at a groat each.” 

He could have them four a groat but Nag Kath hated haggling. "Splendid. I’ll take two of them” and gave her a fiver, waving his hand when she made change. 

The woman gave him a long second look as she put the fruit in a string bag, “Wait a minute, I know you! You cured my fever a few years back.”

The Elf replied, “Good. I am glad you are well. Do you live here?”

“My whole life. Was in Amroth to see my sister. Never going back. Pestilential places; cities!” Nag Kath couldn’t agree more and ate one of the peaches on the way to the inn. 

He hadn’t even gotten to the pit when he heard two men accosting another who was holding a mule by his lead just off the road. Elf ears being what they are, he heard quite a bit of it, starting with; “We told you to pay by today or we take the beast. You have had long enough with grace to spare.”

The owner of the mule, an older fellow much worn by life’s unfairness, protested, “I haven’t got it. Beetles ate the squash and I had none to sell.”

The other of the two was stern, “Don’t matter to us. We loaned you those coppers and you agreed to pay it back with modest interest. When we called last month, you said the same thing. That mule is ours now.”

“Can you not give me another month before the grain is in?”

The first man said, “No. A deal is a deal and we have been more than reasonable.”

Nag Kath walked over. A tall, well-dressed man, he got noticed. He was a Lord of Galador twice, for what that was worth. “What is the trouble here?”

One of the two lenders said, “This toad promised to pay us back money he borrowed to plant his crops. Now that it is harvest time, he does not pay.”

“It is not my fault! The bugs ate my garden.”

The second lender cried, “We did not lend the money to the bugs! Not that this is any of your business, mister, but we are here to claim this animal as payment.”

The hard-used man wailed, “He is worth much more than your miserable two silvers, a fine worker in his prime!”

The first man said practically, “Then sell him for more and give us the two silvers and ten groats for the use of our hard-earned money.”

As misery piled on misery, the poor farmer bemoaned, “Then how will I bring in my crop?”

The second man, who looked a lot like the first, said firmly, “Again, you find ways not to pay. Hand me the mule now and be glad we don’t take more.”

The busybody butted-in again, “Wait here, there must be some resolution. You, sir, what is this mule worth?”

The farmer said piteously, “Every groat of four silvers.”

The second fellow scoffed, “Nonsense. Two at most.”

“Three, and I will starve in the bargain!”

Nag Kath said, “I will handle this. You, sir, I will buy this mule for three silvers.” He dropped three coins in the farmer’s palm and took the animal’s halter lead. Then he said, “Now, you pay these fellows two of those.”

Try as he may, the farmer could not think of a way to back out. He dropped two coins into an outstretched palm. Nag Kath continued, recalling his exemplary wisdom in building the bridge, “Now, you two be on your way and think twice to whom you lend next time.”

Two silvers was a lot better than they thought they would see so they abandoned their interest payments and were down the road towards the mountains. Nag Kath concluded, “Now sir, you give me the remaining silver for this mule" intending to give him the silver back after the old boy showed good faith.

The farmer grew a beaming smile and chortled, “I can buy a lot more ale with this dented king than I can with him. Congratulations friend, you just bought yourself a three silver mule!” Then he trotted in the same direction as the lenders.

It served him right for being the knight-errant with arguing yokels. He gave the mule the second peach and declared, “From now on, your name is A’mash.”

** **

** _This concludes the second book of Nag Kath_ **


	56. The Lady of Alas Forten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This starts book 3 of 3 of Nag Kath

** _Chapter 56_ **

** _The Lady of Alas Forten_ **

Yellow Odar, smallest of the three, are the hardest to catch. Some folk claim they are smart. Some say it takes practice or patience. On his first full day there, Nag Kath actually managed to land a youngster but it was still too large for his frying pan so he took his modest catch back to the inn and asked if they could cook it for his dinner.

The following day, all hope of fishing swam away. The peach lady told her community of the healer. Two farmers were waiting in the lobby when he came downstairs for porridge and cream on peaches. One was a lass there on behalf of a neighbor-woman who had broken her leg a month back and hurt it again. Could the good doctor tend it for her? The second fellow was there representing the ailments of poor Mr. Cuumbs. The farmer had fallen and had the tremors something fierce! Could the gentleman come and save his life?

It turned out he could. First came the farmer with palsy. The old boy had not been drinking and his hands were still shaking uncontrollably. Nag Kath had seen this before and told the man, “Close your eyes.” Mr. Cuumbs did and received a silver gentling spell borrowed from the Elves into his back. It seemed to work right away. The good doctor cautioned, “Stay away from the ale. I’ll look in on you in a week.

Farmer Cuumbs said, “Sir, I do not have much to pay you. Will this be expensive?”

“No charge sir. You take care of yourself and I will see you anon.”

The next patient was not so gentle. Mrs. Londreg buried her fool of a husband twenty years ago. The girl who fetched the Elf would not get any closer to the house than the front steps. He knocked on the door and walked in to hear, “Who are you?”

“I am the doctor.”

A knife dropped on the floor. The woman rasped, “Broke my leg, hurts something awful.”

With gentle bedside manner Nag Kath said, “I am going to pull these curtains open for a better look.” He did, revealing a feisty old woman smoking a leaf-pipe. She stared him up and down before hiking up her skirt to reveal an angry bruise about the middle of her shin. He felt it gently and applied a silver bone-knitting spell. She winced but did not jerk. The Elf rose and asked, “Who’s the girl?”

“Neighbor, not too bright.”

He walked out where the lass was waiting and told her, “Child, I need you get me some large rush stalks and a length of linen. Off you go.” Then he sat on the stoop and waited half a bell until she ran back with supplies. The physician gave her a fiver and said she could go home. Walking inside he asked, “Have you got a long hose?”

“Second drawer down.”

Nag Kath rummaged through the personal garments and found a linen legging of the type women wear in winter. He cut the foot off and slipped it over Mrs. Londreg’s fracture. Then the Elf started binding the reed stalks together with the strips he ripped off the cloth. Fifteen minutes later, the splint was in place. He stood up and said, “I’ll be back in a week. Do not walk on that.” The Elf pulled a clay bottle with a cork stopper out of his bag and shook it to see how much was left saying, “Make a strong tea with this and drink it twice a day.” 

A day away might have fooled the yellow Odor into biting but other anglers had no better luck. These must be the smart ones. By the fourth day he gave up on fish of the sea and fooled some trout in the river with disguised hooks. 

____________-------____________

Cantering back to his inn at dusk he saw two riders waiting out front. They recognized their man and stiffly swung out of their saddles. The older of the two said in a courtlier manner than expected, “Your pardon, sir. Are you the healer known to Amarond Lestimar?”

Nag Kath climbed off his horse and cudgeled his memory, “I cannot place the name but I am indeed a healer. How can I help?”

“We are sent on behalf of a lady of the region who is in dire need. Her physicians can do nothing more for her and are not even sure of the ailment. It came to our house’s attention that you were nearby. We are here to ask you to attend her.”

Nag Kath smiled and said, “In that case, step into my office.” He walked to the last rays of sun on the side lawn and sat in the clover. Both riders joined him after tying their horses to the guest rails.

The older man spoke first, “I am Tolanger Brittanal and this is my cousin Stepick Brittanal. The lady is of noble blood and we are charged to keep her situation private.”

“I understand. Please continue Mr. Brittanal.”

The rider added, “Two months ago she began having fainting spells and trouble remembering things. She needed more sleep and had no appetite.”

“How old is the lady?”

Brittanal the younger answered, “She is forty two, sir.”

Brittanal the elder continued, “The lady has a history of ague but seems young for her age. Alas, eighteen days ago, she fell into a deep sleep with shallow breathing and cold to the touch. And so she remained at first light this day.”

The Elf said gravely, “I will have a care to keep this private, but you must tell me everything I might need to divine the trouble.”

The cousins looked at each other. Their primary mission was to get the man on a horse at dawn tomorrow. If he needed to know things, so be it. The younger cousin this time; “She is the Princess Inariel Telcontar, daughter of the late King and sister of his Highness King Eldarion. Her mother was …”

Nag Kath interrupted, “I know the lady, and know her family. Her father was a dear friend to me. I lost track of the Princess some years back. Where is she now?”

Tolanger answered, “She is at her late husband’s estate in Dudhrandir. It is a hard day’s ride with a change of mounts in Zevalth. If you agree to this charge, we leave with the sun.”

“I accept, gladly.” Looking over to their horses, “Will you need new mounts ere we ride?”

“Nay, good sir. These are tired but have only been ridden since noon. They should be fine that far back tomorrow. We left Alas Forten with a string of horses and another rider to care for them. Fresh mounts will be waiting at the change.”

Stepick said sheepishly, “Forgive our manners, sir, but we don’t even know your name.”

“I am Nag Kath.”

Tolanger looked at the healer’s horse, “She should keep up just fine.”

Nag Kath agreed, “You have a good eye. She is of your Lady’s own Lossarnach stables and deserves more than a country doctor. Come, let us get you rooms and make plans for dinner. I know you are not her physicians but I need to learn all I can.”

________________-------________________

Nag Kath had a few chores. One was having the innkeeper’s lad visit the two folk he was healing to let them know he had to leave but would return. And Mrs. Londreg was not to walk unless her house was burning. That evening he consulted several Elvish manuscripts on healing, which included portions written by his new patient’s grandfather. He dropped them in his medicine kit and packed a saddlebag with a change of clothes. That was about all he could bring so he kept his room for another week and would leave A’mash here with the comforts of evening oats.

The three ate just before dawn and were on the road as soon as they could see. The longer leg would be the second through the Dudhrandir pass. Nobody spoke much at their strong pace but when the road widened, Nag Kath would ride next to one or the other to exchange views. Tolanger noticed the finely tooled saddle on Nag Kath’s Eliesse. “That is a fair saddle, Dr. Kath. From the north?”

“By a man of Rohan. They know their horses up there.

“I cannot say I have ever been. Belfalas soldiers usually stay here.”

“This is a beautiful land too, Sergeant Brittanal. Are you in service now?”

“Yes sir, I have been Sergeant to the younger Lord Kolland’s household these past fourteen years.”

Nag Kath’s mind wandered back to Rohan. It was indeed beautiful, but only taken in large expanses. Small bits of ground were mostly dry grass and weeds but as a vista, it was breathtaking. He thought aloud, “Yes, I must return to the Mark one of these days.” 

They reached the headwaters of the Ardonun and pushed for the picturesque village of Zevalth. People with leisure came up for the hot springs and country inns. The Lady’s men rode directly to a stable near the center of town. Trooper Petrandal had four horses saddled and ready. They left their mounts with the stableman and had a quick, waiting meal. Then all four rode down the trail. The rest of the trip was uneventful. They followed the stream as it gained strength into the lake country of Dudhrandir. Soft rain caught them for an hour but they were nearly dry when they reached the Lady’s estate, Alas Forten. 

It was gorgeous. Perfectly manicured grounds gave way to vineyards and orchards on a gradual south slope. The late Lord must have been an important man. He had certainly married well. This was not a defensible home. If it was attacked, you would leave. In the style of the area it was only two stories, painted brilliant white with reddish tile roofing. Large windows looked over the south slope. Stepick and Petrandal took the horses while Tolanger and Nag Kath climbed the front steps of the mansion. The Elf brought his small medicine bag. Servants scattered to inform the house steward and physician before they reached the entry. Both men met them in the hall. 

A short fellow with gray hair and a long gray beard introduced himself, “Thank you for coming sir. My name is Philothor Tan-Kolvas, physician to the Princess. This is Lieutenant Khouphal, steward of the estate. I am so glad these fellows found you. I confess; this malady is beyond me. Come this way.”

The healer, steward and Nag Kath walked up the wide staircase. Dr. Tan-Kolvas apologized, “I am sorry for my haste, good sir. We did not even know your name. One of the cooks' mothers was helped by you some years back and she told her son of your presence here just ere he returned from a family visit.”

“My name is Nag Kath and though your men were very discreet, I made them tell me who our patient is. It is twenty-five years since I saw her last.”

Healer or not, Dr. Tan-Kolvas was prepared to refuse him access until he learned he was Lord Kath of the Fevers, something of legend among doctors. The steward, a military man, said nothing and remained at the top of the stairs as a tall, stern woman joined them. She was introduced as Miss Told, her Highness’ lady’s maid, as they walked through to the bedchamber.

___________-------___________

Yes, it was Inariel. As a Dunedain with much Elvish blood, her face could have been thirty three, though it seemed made of glass now. She had a little gray in her dark brown hair which was as long as when Nag Kath saw her last.

The Elf knelt next to her large bed and watched her breathing closely. He clicked open his little lock knife and held the blade to her mouth. It barely showed the moisture. Folding the knife he looked to the physician and said, “We have work to do.” Turning to the maid, “I need a bowl of fresh water and clean towels.” Miss Told turned and walked to the door asking her assistant to fetch the towels. She got the water basin in lady’s dressing room next door. 

When both arrived, Nag Kath washed his hands thoroughly and dried them. Kneeling back beside the Princess he held her wrist gently and felt the pace and strength of her pulse. Then he pulled her eyelids back and looked into them for much longer than those present expected. Risking disapproval, he placed his ear on her breast and counted heart beats.

At last he rose and sat at a small card table towards the far side of the lady’s large bedchamber. The physician joined him. “Dr. Tan-Kolvas, I have never seen this, but it appears to be what the Elf-Lord Elrond called Agar lhîw. That is when a person who is part-Elven is caught between the two bloodlines as they fight for primacy. 

“It seems strange that your lady should fall to this because she is three of four parts Elvish on the Lady Arwen’s side and Dunedain on her father’s. If I am right, King Elessar’s blood had had a fair helping of Elf and those combined humors are now killing her.”

Tan-Kolvas asked, “Then there is a remedy?”

“It has always been fatal, even in the care of fine Elvish healers.”

Both men leaned back in their chairs and looked at the sleeping Princess. Their conversation could not be heard by the maid who was holding her Ladyship’s hand and desperately worried. Her chambermaid joined the silent vigil.

Tan-Kolvas had been the house physician to the younger Lord Kolland since the man was commissioned and the care showed on every line of his face. Nag Kath spoke deliberately, “Dr. Tan-Kolvas, I don’t know what you know of me, but my methods are of men, Elves and sorcerers. There is no cure known to the first two. The third may offer hope. It will be dangerous, but the princess will be dead in days if we do nothing. The Elf bit his lip slightly, “It will also be dangerous for me, whether it succeeds or not. Since we cannot ask her ladyship’s permission, who can speak for her?”

“I can. She would approve. The princess is not a timid creature.”

Nag Kath allowed himself a smile, “You said a mouthful, good doctor.” The Elf took a deep breath, “I purpose to transfer some of my own Elf life spirit to the princess and confound the struggle in her blood. If I can break the deadlock, she will recover as Half-Elven like her grandfather. 

“I have never tried a spell exactly like this. It will take a great deal out of me – maybe all. If I fall into the same state as her Ladyship, place me face-up and dribble honeyed-tea in my mouth to keep me from drying. And if the Princess wakes before me, please ask her to do the same thing I am about to demonstrate, but only until her hands start to glow! That is important. Pull them from me if she cannot do so herself. That should be enough to wake the ember. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Lord Kath. This is out of my ken, but it is time for courage and faith.”

The two men went back to Inariel’s bed. Nag Kath turned her so her head was near the edge where he could reach it kneeling. Then he placed his hands on either side of her face and kissed her forehead just like in the old stories. Raising his head, the Elf closed his eyes and began softly murmuring an incantation.

For a minute nothing happened. Then his hands, followed by his bare arms, began to glow dull silver. Moments later, the lady’s face shone an orange/yellow color but changed to match Nag Kath’s own silver. He started to tremble. All of the glowing stopped as Nag Kath’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell over on a blanket the chambermaid thought to bring for him. He was as he feared. Servants bore him to chambers down the hall and kept vigil on both patients.

________-------__________

Until late the next afternoon, the Lady Inariel’s condition stayed the same. Then, as if breaking the surface after a deep dive, she took a long breath. Still fast asleep, her breathing gradually became normal. Some color returned but her face was still quite pale. Her chambermaid noticed and ran shouting in a forgivably undignified voice that her Ladyship was showing signs of life. The doctor, steward and head maid were there within minutes. 

Whoever had been with her did as Nag Kath recommended and squeezed a small cloth dipped in honeyed tea about her mouth every hour. On the next serving, they thought they saw her lick her lips. It was soon dark and Miss Told took the vigil until dawn with Doctor Tan sharing time between the two invalids. Nag Kath was cold to the touch. If he hadn’t described this state, they might have thought him dead. No one would have known, but this was almost what happened to him all those many times when he was changing from orc to Elf.

Accounts vary as to exactly when, but about an hour after dawn, the Princess blinked her eyes a few times and stretched like a cat with a small groan. The chambermaid had taken Miss Told’s place. She was tired too and had been nodding towards sleep when she heard her Ladyship. Inariel looked at her face and smiled. “Why are you here so early, Amali?”

Amali froze. After a few moments she gushed, “My Lady, you have been so very ill. And now you are returned!”

Inariel pulled herself up on her elbows until she was sitting against the headboard. Amali smiled at the rejuvenated face before shifting to an expression of concern followed by wonder. Unbidden, she leaned to see the side of her Lady's head and exhaled hard. The Princess wanted answers. “Amali, tell me what is happening.” It was said calmly, but she was the mistress of the house.

Amali composed herself, “My Lady, you have been dire sick and unconscious for three weeks. We all thought you would die. Dr. Tan did everything he could. Aramond in the kitchen knew of a traveling healer close by and several of your house guard went to fetch him. He came and cured you.”

Her ladyship felt like she had been hard used but was strangely exhilarated. The maid’s face was still perplexed. “Well, what else?”

“Oh my Lady, he made you an Elf!”

The Lady Inariel’s eyes widened. She was still for an instant and then swung her feet out of bed and shuffled to her dressing table mirror. Now it was her turn look in wonder. She ran her hands over her skin which was as smooth as the day she married. The gray in her hair was gone. Slowly, as if not sure she wanted confirmation, she pulled her hair behind her ears. They were just like her mother’s.

“How is this possible?” she asked of the air. “Where is Dr. Tan-Kolvas?”

“He was up all night with you my lady and just retired an hour ago. I will fetch him.”

“No, let him sleep. But have Miss Told and the Lieutenant come forthwith.” Amali was a good athlete and fair sped through the room and down the stairs. Her ladyship started brushing her new hair.

Lady Inariel had managed to put on her dressing robe when Miss Told rounded the open door. The worried woman put her hands to her cheeks and cried, “Bless me!” She had been her Ladyship’s personal attendant since the Princess was a betrothed, one of the last of the Minas Tirith contingent left on staff. She ran over and knelt with her hands folded as she had through so many other trials. Then she noticed the face, and the ears. “So it is true. My Lady, how do you feel?”

The Princess knitted her brows, an expression the Lady Arwen tried in vain to discourage, and said, “I feel better than I have in years. But I also feel like I just swam the Cloathus (an unpleasant swamp near the mouth of the Glenhir). “Be a dear and draw me a nice, hot bath. I want to face this new day properly.” As Mrs. Told instructed her staff, the Princess added, “And then a hearty breakfast. I could eat a goose!” The Princess was not as dependent on her dressers as many noble ladies. Now, which of these drawers held her tooth powders?

After eating more than she or any other delicate flower of the court should, Lady Inariel went outside to look at the majestic vista from the front garden. As Amalie brought tea, her mistress asked, “Now, what of the healer? I take it he left while I slept?”

Amalie became grave. “Oh no, my Lady. He is near to dead. Dr. Tan said the healer thought it might kill him. He is lying in one of the guest rooms even now.”

Inariel lifted her dress so she could dash up the garden steps into the house. A hall boy stared at her ears and heard. “Where is the healer?”

“The blue room, ma’am. I will take you.”

Both of them strode purposely up the stairs to the guest wing of the mansion. Opening the door she saw another boy sitting vigil and blocking the sleeper’s face. Laying her hand on the lad’s shoulder he saw her, stood and bowed while she took his place on the stool. Princess Inariel turned the healer’s chin to face her with a small, startled exhale then whispered, “Leave me with him. Let no one in.”

As they left, she started to cry. It was him; the thoughtful, heroic Elf she had scorned to show all she was purer, the Elf she should have been, who just smiled with kindness and wit spoiling her childish gibes. And now he was dying to save her! She cried for him and for all she loved and all she had not done. It poured out of her for an hour. Miss Told waited as patiently as she could in the hall with Amalie. When her tears stopped, Inariel slowly stood and opened the door. Both women bowed low and did not meet her gaze when they rose. The Princess went to her chambers and looked out the window. No one followed her.

Was this really how things were meant to be? She wondered why there had to be so much pain. First her cherished father was gone after his long life. Then mother; following him in grief. Only four years later, her beloved husband; dying so young of a fever caught hunting the little roan deer near the river. And now; her father’s dear friend dying just down the hall because of her.

Another tear was about to emerge. She fought it back. Inariel was not a petulant little Princess. She was a woman-grown and middle-aged before this morning. She never had children, not that she and Lord Kolland hadn’t enjoyed trying. Life settled in on her. The White City seemed so far away. Her nephews and nieces hardly knew her. She had been left a life estate in Kolland’s country home. It was peaceful here. It was where she would grow old.

_____________--------____________

As she considered her world, Dr. Tan-Kolvas rose and dressed for the day. It was past the lunch hour so he ambled towards the kitchen hoping cook would take pity on him. Amalie rushed ten feet by before she realized who he was. Out of breath, she told him her Ladyship was awake and well.

“Child, I told you to fetch me if the Princess woke!”

“I’m sorry sir. Her Ladyship told me to let you sleep after your vigil.” 

To ease what must be only the latest of many shocks to the poor girl he told her; “Then you did correctly. Now, I must see your mistress straight away.”

The doctor was long past trotting up stairs but he did hurry. Inariel’s door was open. He knocked and seeing she was dressed, walked in, bowed, and waited to be acknowledged. The lady would not have kept him those extra moments but her thoughts were elsewhere. Then she turned and graciously nodded. He beamed, “I am so happy to see you restored, your Highness." His eyes were not as strong as in his youth, but he took on the same look of amazement as Amalie at just how restored her Ladyship was. She could be half her former age.

But her pretty face was sad. “I am sorry to not be as glad as you, but the poor man who gave me this gift is dying for it and leaves me in sorrow.”

Dr. Tan uttered a word one seldom uses before their betters and then added, “Oh, I do wish they had woken me. Nag Kath gave me instruction on how you were to revive him if he fell into stupor.” If the good doctor had had more to say, he would have to run as fast as his mistress.

The Princess opened the blue room door, startling the boy who stood and bowed again. “Show me.”

Dr. Tan instructed, “Boy, help me turn him so his head is just at the edge, good lad.” Nag Kath did not weigh as much as they expected. After he was rearranged, the doctor knelt and said, “My lady, he requested you should do the same thing as he did to you. He put his hands like so. That was the important part, although he gave you a little kiss on the forehead after he looked at your face. Your hands should start to glow. When they do, you are to release them and he will begin his return.”

The physician moved and Lady Inariel knelt as he had done. Her hands were smaller but she laid them on the Elf’s temple and gently gave him a long kiss on the brow. It took a minute longer than Nag Kath’s practiced touch but her hands did begin to emanate faint silver. Fingers felt attached to his face and she had to pull hard to take them away. It seemed an eternity, but only a few minutes later, Nag Kath took a breath. He was on his way back.

Inariel rose and looked kindly to her devoted physician. “Doctor, I need you to tell me what just happened.”

They walked downstairs and sat at the end of the dining table. An attendant brought cool tea which both gladly accepted. It would take several days to replace the living waters in her new body. Tan-Kolvas had rehearsed the story he hoped so very much to tell. “My lady, we were despondent. Do you remember when you started falling and fainting?”

“Yes, but not what came of it. I remember you treating me as if for a fever.”

“Not quite three weeks ago you were near death and we were waiting for the worst. But you endured. Aramond knew of a strange wandering healer who cared for his mother years ago and heard he was in the area when he visited her. When Aramond returned to service, he gave us straws to clutch. I had done my sorry best so the Lieutenant ordered a troop of your household men to go forth and bring him to you.

“If I may be so bold, your Ladyship was lucky. This fellow said you had a rare condition caused by your Elvish and mannish bloods in conflict with no care to the damage it might do you. He conjured sorcery to replace enough of your mannish line with his own Elvish life spirit to decide the contest in favor of your mother’s people. But he also knew it might be the end of him, or near enough that only another Elf could bring him back. And now it seems the gamble has been won.” Beaming with affection, “I am so happy for you, ma’am.”

“Pray, old friend, how long will he sleep?”

“I do not know. After you started breathing again, if you woke this morning, a full day. I’m sorry but I do not know for sure.” The old physician looked her in the eye and added, “He knew to look for that malady in your family.”

“He was a friend to my father.”

_________________-------________________

At dawn the next morning, Nag Kath woke like he had too many times before and tried to stretch the pain out of his body. A man in the same shape would have said he was getting too old for this. It still hurt. He rose tenderly and exchanged his sleeping gown for his trousers. Wrapping the bed blanket over his shoulders, he walked barefoot down the servant’s stairs and out the east door to a small stone bench overlooking the vineyard. The bench was covered with dew but he did not mind. This was a quite a view.

He sat there for two hours breathing in rhythmic Elvish fashion to speed air to his blood. Every so often he would stretch or flex soreness from his muscles. Nag Kath could sit upright though he was still very weak. This episode had been different. Something went wrong. It should not have taken so much from him. Maybe that’s why it had always been fatal. Elves knew better than to intervene. 

Inside, a hall boy was replacing flowers. He saw his mistress uncommonly early for her and said, “Good morning, My Lady. You asked us to tell you about our guest. He is sitting in the east garden enjoying the morning.”

“Thank you, Thoma, would you bring mugs of tea?” Her smile was so radiant that Thoma entertained thoughts unbecoming his station. She was said to be the greatest beauty of the realm when she married twenty years ago. Thoma joined the household after the King died and by then, her cares were showing. He bowed and walked to the kitchen before his face betrayed his presumption. To Thoma’s surprise, her ladyship waited where she was until he returned with the tea. In the fashion of the district, they were not served on a tray. Mugs had handles for a reason. She walked out to the bench, now dry with the rising sun.

The healer didn’t hear her until she was only a few feet away. Neither of them knew just how quiet she had become. Nag Kath rose with a bow and smiled wanly. She said, “Please, sit.” He did as she sat next to him and handed him a mug. “They told me what you did. Thank you.” This was supposed to be easier. She had already cried her eyes out at his bedside. “I … I … oh dear, just look at me. Why, Nag Kath? Why did you risk so much? I know you were father’s friend but I treated you awfully.” A couple tears sneaked through. “You risked your life for me and I never showed you anything but disdain. Why?”

His smile broadened, “Ah, you have forgotten the flower.”

One cannot cry and respond to something like that. She composed her face and asked tentatively, “The flower?”

“Yes. You must have been about five. I was reading on the Imladris bench by the diplomatic row. You came out with your governess. You saw me and picked a flower, a poppy I think, and brought it to me with the most beautiful smile I have yet seen. I will always remember how sweet you were.”

She was about to apologize again but he kept going, “And let us not forget your painting lesson. Do you recall that?”

Doubt crossed her face, “I think so. That was you?”

“Sorry to say. You might have been nine and wanted to help. We made a terrible mess but you had such fun. You smiled then too.” That memory finally brought out his farm-boy grin.

Her face became serious again, “But after that, I was very rude to you. On purpose. When I learned of your, um, creation I behaved very badly. I’m so sorry, I …”

He reached for her hands, “Please, My Lady, you have been given a whole new life. Everything has changed. I know. It happened to me too. Can we not start completely fresh and leave mortal cares behind?”

For the first time she realized she was immortal. It was never planned but, like she thought of her cares earlier, plans don’t always matter. “Yes, please, let it be so.”

Nag Kath touched her cheek with the back of his fingertips, “And speaking of Elves, you wear it well, My Lady.”

“My friends call me Inara.”

“Inara, then. You are just as I remember you. Come, I must raid your pantry before I fade away.”

They walked back to the east door. He was sprier than leaving so he loped upstairs for his clothes. His raid on the pantry quickly became several servants bringing cold dishes, tea and pastries to the formal dining table. One servant was Amarond who had recommended the Elf. Her Ladyship bestowed a dazzling smile on him. Dr. Tan-Kolvas, Miss Told and Lieutenant Khouphal joined them separately. Though it would never do for formal occasions, as the Princess withdrew from public life, she allowed her senior staff to sit with her. 

Nag Kath was still quite fatigued but explained the transformation of the Lady in more detail. The doctor was of the school of herbs, treatments and diet rather than the rare type who absorbed others’ maladies at some cost to themselves. He was not overweight like many physicians so maybe he took his own advice. They talked of inconsequential things. The Lieutenant asked a few questions about his travels on the peninsula. Miss Told kept sneaking glances at her little Ina’s ears. The lady’s maid had never been beautiful and now her charge had been so twice.

After an hour, the Elf was drained. Dr. Tan asked, “Forgive my professional curiosity but how long will it take for you to fully recover, Nag Kath?

“Does it show? Yes, I fear so. This was harder than most shocks I’ve taken, but I should be myself in two or three days.” 

It could be said that every action we take determines all of the ones that follow, but some are easily identified as nexus points. The next sequence of events changed the fates of many. 

Tolanger Brittanal and Petrandal came looking for Nag Kath in the main room. Petrandal approached, bowed and said, “Excuse me, my Lady. I wanted to tell Dr. Kath that the same horse he rode here will be ready for him tomorrow morning.” Looking to the Elf, he added, “And thank you for your gift to our house.”

The Princess wondered that he had to leave so soon, “Well said trooper, I thank you for your concern. And you, Sergeant, I haven’t thanked you and your cousin properly for bringing me this lovely man. I am deeply grateful.”

Brittanal almost blushed at such a high compliment and managed to say, “Thank you, My Lady. You gave us quite a scare. Welcome back.” He bowed and began to leave but then looked at the sleepy Elf and added, “And thank you, sir. May the wind be to your back on your way to Rohan.” Another bow and the two men walked toward the corridor.

Princess Inariel had been trained by her mother not to let her face betray bad tidings, but notice that Nag Kath would leave tomorrow ... and that he was going to the Mark? She had to think about this. Nag Kath stretched while rising and groaned, “My Lady, new friends of Alas Forten, my bed calls. I will see you soon.” With a deep bow he trudged upstairs.

_________________--------________________

On only her second night as an Elf she could easily see by the light of a half moon. And oh so quiet, barefoot, like her mother who no one else heard coming. Inariel knew. Perhaps a glimpse into what she would become.

Inariel silently closed the Elf’s door behind her. Lifting his nightshirt, she gently sat astride his waist. Normally he could not be approached in stealth but he was still weak as a kitten. He woke and tried to rise with a ‘Mumph’ before the Princess pushed his shoulders back on the pillow and put her finger to her lips.

Shortly afterwards, he sighed, “I must be in heaven.”

She pulled her head from his chest and murmured, “I have wanted to do that for ages.”

“Mmmmmm, I hope it was worth the wait.”

With barely a breath she whispered, “Oh yes.” Then she sat up on him and bit her lip slightly before saying, “Please, you must not think me wicked or wanton. It has been so long, and I have been so alone. I felt my life slipping away.” Nag Kath thought she might cry. “And then you were suddenly here and I feel so alive.”

He told her, “You have given me a gift beyond price.” With a little smile, “Though it was unexpected.”

“I don’t blame you. After I …”

“Shhh, remember, we are starting fresh.”

She confessed, “I had a terrible crush on you.”

“Crush?”

“Girls who are desperately infatuated by young men can never say what they feel. So they usually say nothing or something wrong.”

“Then I am flattered. Mmmmm, I wish I had known.”

Her beautiful face became serious again. “But now I learn that you must go far away, perhaps never to return. This was my only chance. Please forgive me for taking it.” Tears were starting to fall now. She had never forgotten the handsome knight off to slay dark lords, slain himself in service to her family. “Must you go?”

“Yes ... but not very far.”

That brought her up short. “Not … Rohan?”

“Nargond. It’s a little town …”

“I know where Nargond is.”

“Ah, well, your men came for me so urgently that I left my patients and all my things there. My horse is probably still in Zevalth. And I MUST rescue poor A’mash.”

It could not have taken her longer to say, “A’mash?”

“My mule. He will be missing me terribly. You'll like A’mash.” Then he broke into his most Nag Kath-ish grin.

The tears were gone. She glowed with an all too human smile, “Oh, you are terrible!” After a moment, “And what are your plans after leaving Nargond?”

“Hmmm, after I am sure my charges are healing, I was thinking of going to the Autumn Festival in Osgiliath. I haven’t been in a few years and there is so much to see. But … I could be talked out of it.”

“Do you mean you might want to, to be with me?”

“More than I can say.”

Inariel laid her head back on the Elf’s chest and murmured, “How long must you be gone?”

“Two days to get there. We came in one, but that was riding hard with a change of horses. Two days in town and two back. Call it a week if there’s weather.”

She pulled her head up nose-to-nose, “I will miss you every moment you’re away.”

“You will come with me, of course.”

She sat up again, “What, no, I have to … I have so much to do here.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You were asleep for three weeks and your people performed admirably.” His face became more serious. “It is perfect. We can be alone. We can talk. There is a pretty little inn in Zevalth near a waterfall. You can see how I live. You might not even like me. By the time we reach Nargond, you might send me packing to the Autumn Festival with poor A’mash!”

She giggled. “I will come with you. Must we leave very early?”

“No. Six hour ride tomorrow. Five the next. I should think after a late breakfast. You might want to dress plainly.”

“Well, since we don’t have to rise early …” her hand reached for him.

“Oh no you don’t. I have to recover my Elvish spirit, not share it with beautiful, desirable, hungry, uhm, did I say beautiful, Elvish Princesses.”

Rising as if on air, “I will see you then.”

________________-------________________

Her advisors ranged from concerned to aghast, except Miss Told. They thought she would be more distraught than any of them but she just smiled and said to have a good time. Miss Told had no affiliation with the fiefdom. She wasn’t concerned with propriety. If this was the same Nag Kath who could slay trolls while invisible, the Princess was reasonably safe. She just knew that her little Ina was alive and going on a short pleasure trip with the handsome Lord who kissed her awake, just like in the stories. It was romantic.

The Princess laid down the law. She was going. Everyone there was to do their job and do it well until she returned. By the time Nag Kath wandered downstairs, everyone was smiling just like Miss Told.

At breakfast, Inariel appeared in a modest riding outfit. She had taken his suggestion to travel light. Her chestnut gelding still had a fair-sized bag behind the saddle but Nag Kath remembered hearing her wedding train was three wagons. Even more modest; Nag Kath’s riding clothes had been laundered and his medical kit was tied to the saddlebag.

Trooper Stepick Brittanal stood at attention holding the reins to Nag Kath’s horse. The Elf walked over and made a show of inspecting the belly strap while softly saying, “Slip a small horn in my bag. If you hear it, come running.” He knew they would have men following and now they knew he knew.

It was a pretty day. The leaves were changing. The couple’s pace gave their mounts plenty of time to rest. Cook packed a veritable feast for their midday snack. As her Ladyship discovered, Nag Kath did not eat much and never meat. She didn’t eat hers to respect his sensibilities and did not miss it as much as she thought.

A few hours before sundown they reached Zevalth. This high; the trees were exploding with color. The village could not have had more than eighty families, most of whom earned their living serving tourists coming up from the lake region for the air and mineral springs. Physicians often told patients to soak their cares away. 

There were several inns. Unusually, they had small cabins for each family rather than a larger building for all of them. It was more private for those here discretely and also let folk visit the mineral pools on their own schedule. Nag Kath and Inariel stopped at the central stable. With a whistle, Eliesse came trotting from the far side and whinnied. The Princess gushed, “Oh Nag Kath, she’s lovely.”

“She’s one of yours. I think from the Rohan stock King Éomer gave your father.” Inariel had nothing else to say and smiled with her eyes at this kind man. They checked into one of the inns and went to the mineral baths before a delicious trout dinner. 

____________-------____________

Ladies of high station were expected to marry and produce their husband’s heirs. Pleasure was optional, and not well explained. Inariel learned to enjoy intimacy with the Lord when he was home, but it was brief and only in the most conventional manner. Nag Kath suspected as much by her urgency the night before. Tonight they took a very long time. The next day the Princess was thoroughly distracted at breakfast, which he thoroughly enjoyed. A pleasant ride in fair weather brought them to Nag Kath’s inn bathed in afternoon sun. Now on Eliesse, he wondered if the Lady’s men would take their horse home.

There was some risk the Princess would be recognized. She had only been here once, traveling in state, but she looked just like she did then. The greater chance was that someone from Dol Amroth would be berthed here. Elves were so rare now that everyone would see the Elf, not the Lady. For the first time as an adult she wore one of her mother’s hair circlets.

The innkeeper’s son who made coppers running errands for guests was on the stoop when they arrived. He quickly ran down to them, bowed and said, “Welcome back to the Dor-en-Ernil, Dr. Kath. Hope you had a pleasant trip.”

“Thank you, Tevin. Is it too late for lunch?”

“I’ll see what cook can manage.” He took Inariel’s bag and hefted it inside. Nag Kath followed with his satchel. 

Cook managed a crusty pie with vegetables, cheese and chicken. Nag Kath avoided the chicken but all else was good. He was pleased to see that country fare suited her Ladyship, judging by the damage she did hers. They went upstairs to his room. Her bags were on a stand and well away from the bag he left behind. Princess Inariel walked to the bed and was put in mind of last night. With a dreamy smile she wandered towards his bag but then stopped, unable to remember why she had gone that way. Back at the bed, she did not even remember she had forgotten.

Nag Kath watched quietly. Sitting next to her he looked in her eyes and said, “Natosch.” 

She felt no different and laughed saying, “Whatever is that?”

“Do you remember walking over to my bag?”

She shook her head, “No, I came in and sat down.”

“I just released you from a spell of confusion I placed on that bag. Anyone who comes near it will forget why they are there.”

“No, I’m sure I came in and sat down.”

Nag Kath said evenly, “I thought in your new form it might not affect you but, I confess, I waited to see. It is one of my better spells.”

She did not doubt him. She had scolded him as a girl and assumed he was the insouciant traveler he cultivated. But she learned later this was a powerful creature with strengths of men, Elves and wizards. 

“We should check on grouchy Mrs. Londreg and then have a care for poor Mr. Cuumbs.”

Nag Kath had Tevin water the horses but leave them outside. He tied his medical kit to the back of his saddle and they rode a little further towards town before turning right down a farm lane.

His patient had done exactly as he said. She was sitting on the porch with her leg in the splint resting on a pillow. To the dismay of respectable neighbors, the patient was smoking a small clay pipe with northern leaf. “Hello, Nag Kath!”

“Hello, Mrs. Londreg. It is a fair day.”

“Not when you’re trussed-up like a chicken. When can I walk again?”

Nag Kath took his kit and a small parcel Tevin handed him at the inn. They walked up on the porch. “Same as I told you last, at least another three weeks. You cracked it again for not doing that the first time.”

“I know, I know. Who’s this? She’s too pretty for around here!”

“This is …” They hadn’t talked about traveling incognito. 

Her Ladyship took charge, “I am Inara. Pleased to meet you.”

Nag Kath unwrapped his parcel and placed a stout bottle with a cork stopper on the table next to his patient.

“Oh bless you, Dr. Kath! I take back most of the things I said!”

He put on his doctor face and pronounced, “All right. Let’s have a look.” Gently unwrapping the cloth around the reed slats exposed the long sock just over her knee. He slowly rolled that down towards her foot and looked at the break. The bruising and swelling was down as much as it should be. Nag Kath took a similar length of cloth from his kit bag and rewrapped her leg just as it had been.

“Well, Mrs. Londreg. It looks like you will live another day. When you can move in another month …”

“Three weeks! Already been one.”

“In a month, be sure not to favor it so it gets weaker than your left leg.” He went back to his Nag Kath smile, “You are going to be just fine.”

He and Inariel rose and climbed on their horses as the old lady relit her pipe.

He proclaimed, “Come! Time for more introductions!”

_____________------_____________

Like Zevalth, and many towns in Belfalas, there was a common paddock to serve the immediate area. They rode to the gate and dismounted. Nag Kath quietly untied his saddlebag flap and got a handful of oats. Then he honked through his nose. Almost instantly, a gray jack mule hurried around the stall wall and ran to them. Nag Kath poured the oats into Inariel’s palm saying, “My Lady, this is A’mash. He is not clever, but he can be bribed.”

She cooed, “Oh, aren’t you adorable!” A’mash thought so too but his main concern was that tiny handful of grain. Gone in a slurp, he reached his muzzle over the railing to touch noses. He wasn’t quite that adorable but she rubbed his ear.

Nag Kath told him, “I’ll wager you thought I’d left you forever! There’s a good fellow.” 

"How long have you had him?"

"A week."

That got him one of her famous stares. As soon as Tevin saw them arrive at the paddock, he ran from the inn with a gaunt young woman. The lad huffed, “Dr. Kath, this is Enideth and she’s powerful worried.”

The woman was fretful but waited until she was introduced. “Dr. Kath, bless me, you are here! My mistress is in labor too soon and the babe has not turned. Mrs. Quarrles is in town with another birth. Oh, can you please help her?”

“Of course.” He and Inariel climbed on their horses, Nag Kath offered the woman his hand to pull her up. She looked like he must have when he had to ride Vandery all those years ago. 

She said tersely, “Tevin knows the way. I’ll be along directly.”

With that, Nag Kath hoisted the lad on the front of his saddle and got directions back towards Mrs. Londreg’s house but turned left instead of right. Not a mile from the inn was a lovely little house of what must be rather prosperous farmers. Most of the crops were in for the year but there were still fall flowers in bloom.

He, Tevin and the Princess hurried up the short steps to the porch and entered without knocking. The farmer, a tall, thin fellow, was standing in an inside door jamb. “You the doc? My wife’s in here.”

Tevin waited in the main room as the Elves kept going. Inside was a woman in bed on her back writhing and groaning in pain. Next to her was a younger woman who was holding her hand for comfort but crying against the likely outcome. Healer Kath walked up and demanded, “Who are you?”

“Pati, milord.”

“Pati, I want a bowl of the cleanest water you can find and some clean towels. Off you go!”

The girl fair sped to the main room and was back with water. The farmer brought in some surprisingly white towels. Nag Kath rinsed his hands and sat on the bed next to the stricken mother. Without any regard for propriety, he lifted her smock and put both hands on the woman’s abdomen. She was weak after hours of labor but still moaned in alarm seeing him and from the firm pressure he applied.

His hands slowly shone a dull silver. Under them the woman’s belly had a faint yellow tinge. Slowly, slight movement inside her followed his right hand like a spoon tracking a load-stone under parchment. His face was a picture in concentration. The woman grimaced as Pati wiped her brow with one of the towels.

The Elf seemed to be making progress. Then he looked to Inariel who had been standing quietly and said, “The baby’s almost turned. I need you to bring it forth.” He shifted around to the woman’s head and put his hands on her temples and jaw, just as he did for the Princess only a few days before.

Princess Inariel Elessar, once a spoiled child, was a woman now and the daughter of Elessar and Arwen, healers of renown. Their strength showed through. She removed her jacket, untied her cuffs and rolled the sleeves back to her elbows. Washing off the mule slobber, she went to the foot of the bed and waited. Nag Kath was reducing the woman’s pain enough for her to force the child from her very soon. Sure enough, a tiny head appeared. The royal midwife gently received it as its mother strained with new energy. Shortly after, her Highness was holding a perfect baby girl.

No one expected what came next. Inariel’s bare arms emitted a deep orange glow that traveled through her hands and illuminated the newborn. It caused the babe no distress and was over in a few seconds. Everyone saw it. Pati cut and tied the cord. Then the Princess kissed the child’s forehead and put her in her mother’s waiting arms.

The mother seemed to be fine. She would hurt like never before when the pain spell weakened but there was no continued bleeding and her face had returned to what must be a Rohan red to match her hair. The Elves walked into the main room followed by the proud father to find Enideth sitting at the kitchen table with Tevin.

Nag Kath said to the man, “She had a very difficult delivery but it seems all is well now. Was this her first?”

“Aye. And a long time comin’.” 

“No strain or heavy lifting. Treat her like a Princess.” He didn’t notice his stock, doctor phrase said in the presence of a blood-Princess. “I would like to come back tomorrow morning to check on them both.”

“That glow, is the babe sound?”

“Just a little Elvish spell. She is fine.”

The man grinned from ear-to-ear, “I can’t thank you enough. You too, miss. You just tell me your charge and I’ll get it right now.”

Nag Kath put his hand on the man’s shoulder, which was almost as high as his own and said, “There is no charge. Love her and care for her and we are doubly blessed. We’ll see you in the morning.”

He and Inariel walked off the porch but he took her elbow and led her past the horses towards a small brook. Twenty yards from the house, she felt she would be ill and blanched ash white. The feeling passed and they continued to the bank.

She wobbled a little but regained her balance and looked at him. As if every next word was a sentence of its own she asked, “Would you mind telling me what just happened?”

“Let’s sit you down first.” If he hadn’t caught her, she would have folded into the grass.

He sat next to her, “I can’t be sure, but I think we just found out why you recovered so fast, why I nearly died, the lifespan of the new child and a complication in the succession for the crown of Gondor. Where would you like to start?”

She blinked and tried to regain her focus.

He continued, “Very well. I hoped the spell I used in Alas Forten would replace enough of your Dunedain life spirit with my Elvish to win the day for your mother’s people. It did not. It completely replaced your father’s line and took all I had. You woke in a day fully healed because you are full-Elven. I am only just now well."

He looked at the brook, “But your father’s essence was not dissipated. It remained in your flesh. When you delivered the child, it passed to her. Besides me, was the babe the first person you touched since your transformation?”

Inariel nodded slowly.

“I think you just brought your own sister into the world, in a manner of speaking.”

She felt strong enough to ask, “How is that possible? No, wait. What does it mean for the child?”

“Well, I’m still not certain. I think she will look like her parents but may live 200 years. And though not by blood, she became your father’s daughter as you became mine, I suppose.” There was a thought. “I did not think to unclaimed life spirit, but I had to take the risk to save you and I would do it again every time.”

Inariel kept nodding and finally said, “Thank you, I am glad to be here.” Then she looked at her hands as if for the first time.

Even with no one else to hear he said quietly, “We should keep this to ourselves. Should your brother’s line falter, as happened to the kings before the stewards, I would not be surprised if men would elevate her or her progeny just as Aragorn was raised from far-away Arnor. There are men who would use that to their advantage and others who would do anything to stop it. And now, what of you, my dear? This must all be a terrible shock.”

Inariel looked back to the farmhouse and then to him. Offering a wan smile she said, “Life will be interesting with you, Nag Kath. Now I’m hungry again.”

He helped her to her feet and they walked back to the horses. Even with her new immortal balance, she was still disoriented and shuffled the whole way holding his hand.

“My Lady, have I told you how magnificent you were?”

“Hmmm?”

____________-------___________

Nag Kath was prepared to help her on the horse but she swung into the saddle before he expected. She managed to ride fairly well too. It was only getting off that she lost her balance and stumbled backwards into his arms. Tevin had to walk back. A tenner made that very much worth the effort.

The Elf had expected to ask the kitchen to order up more food but the Princess trudged directly upstairs until she paused. Nag Kath carried her from the landing and laid her in bed.

It had taken the changeling almost three years to not need sleep, and he still slept when he had extended himself magically. Inariel had come to Elvendom by a much different route. She would have to write her own story. Her Ladyship was a heavy sleeper. Nag Kath undressed her to her undergarments and pulled the covers up around her chin. Then he walked over to the chair near his bag and kept vigil. 

It turned out to be just a long cat nap. She woke a little before sunset with her hair in all directions. Were Nag Kath a proper lady’s maid, he would have bound it before she retired. The Princess licked her teeth and squinted before sitting up in bed. Seeing him she asked, “Do you show all the girls such a good time?”

“Only royalty.” 

“Does this happen to you often, Nag Kath?”

“This was a first. I still surprise myself.”

She lay on her side and he joined her with his chest to her back. Tenderly he told her, “I hope you do not send me packing to Osgiliath with A’mash because I am falling hopelessly in love with you.”

She rolled over and put her hand on his face. “Let’s eat.”

Inariel was dressed in a few minutes and they walked downstairs. With a ten-copper in his pocket, Tevin was waiting by the desk. The other guests carried their own bags so the healer was the man to serve. He walked up to the couple and said, “Beggin’ your pardon, Dr. Kath, Miss Inara. I made bold telling Mr. Cuumbs you’se birthin’ farmer Leavon’s new girl. He said his palsy is much better and not to come by, unless you want to.”

Nag Kath nodded, “Thank you Tevin.” He was of two minds. No matter how many times he told people he did not need payment, a few would decide they were on the mend and avoid the last visit in case he brought a bill. Mr. Cuumbs seemed a likely candidate. With a lovely new patient waiting for dinner, he would take the man at his word.

They were seated immediately. The summer tourists were back in Dol Amroth so the Dor-en-Ernil was winding towards their slow season. You ate what they served here but it was good. The red Odar were running in deeper waters and cook had gotten a few that morning.

When they were alone, Inariel murmured, “You said I was magnificent.”

“Yes. I wasn’t sure you heard. And you were.”

“She is a beautiful baby. They all are. Do you have children, Nag Kath?”

“I never had a child of my blood, but I have been a stepfather twice. They tell me I was good at it. I like children, though I do not know that I can have them.”

She looked at the fine porcelain wine cup and said, “I was too stunned to say anything when you told me about the orange glow. Now that I have slept on it, I like the idea that part of my father survived. He was the greatest of men. My brother has three children. Millicend has two. Two of those five are boys with grandsons now too. Dorthans and I tried but it was not to be. We took it well. Now, perhaps, well, I don’t know ...”

Nag Kath had been mulling this since he saw the glow and thought he should fill some gaps. “I have so much to tell you. Perhaps I should start with the color. I was given a gift as a healer to see that different races have their own life colors. Elves are silver. Men are yellow. Dwarves red. Orcs are a greenish black. I am not sure but I think the orange is Dunedain, a strong yellow for a strong race of men. That was the color I saw go to the babe.”

Inariel looked concerned, “And she will be fine?”

“She took it well. We will have a closer look tomorrow. Apart from that; today we learned you are a healer. That child came to you very easily. Your grandfather was a legend among healers and your mother had gifts there too. Your father had the healing hands of the King. By blood, you may be the greatest healer Middle-Earth has ever known. Someday you will put poor me to shame.”

“You said you were falling in love with me.”

“Already fallen.”

The Princess calculated, “Good, then you are exactly where I want you.” Changing the topic slightly, “I think Auntie Inara and Uncle Nag should visit the child every few years.”

“That occurred to me.” 

They said nothing for a few minutes. Then she rose without a word and took him by the hand towards the staircase. Seeing their serving woman he asked Inara, “Would you excuse me a moment?” and walked over to her. A moment later he was back.

Inariel said, “Thank you for thinking of them. They are good, loyal men out there in the bushes, thought I think Stepick does not like fish.”

Nag Kath grinned, “My Lady’s hearing is much improved.” 

_______________--------______________

They woke early. Princess Inariel liked to sleep-in but the Elf in her was emerging and they usually greet the dawn. He held her chastely while she slept. After a light breakfast, they walked from the inn to the farmhouse. 

Mr. Leaven was splitting wood out front. He saw the couple coming and shouted, “Good morning!” Sinking the axe into the stump, he walked forward to shake hands. “I’m sorry, we weren’t rightly introduced. I am Delthandir Leaven.”

The Princess said, “This is Nag Kath and I am Inara.”

Nag Kath added, “That sounds like a northern name.”

Mr. Leaven wiped his brow with a handkerchief and said, “Yep. There is some history there.” He started walking back towards the house. Over his shoulder he asked, “I don’t care much for tea but Enedith just made it hot. Want some?”

Nag Kath answered, “Yes, thank you. But first I should check on the missus and your new daughter. Forgive me, what is your wife’s name?”

“Beksa. It’s short for something pretty long. It will serve. Come in.”

Enedith was in the kitchen and curtsied when the couple walked inside. She was a hired woman who lived in a small room on the other side of the home from the Leaven’s bedroom. Pati walked from where she had been tending Beksa and curtsied as well. They would later find she was a cousin of some sort who arrived after a young buck took advantage and then dishonored their betrothal by leaving on another man’s horse. Pati was a comely young woman, on the short side with flaxen hair. Nag Kath thought her fiancé a fool. Pati worked for room and board, thought that was thought to be temporary. Beksa Leaven was sitting in bed suckling her daughter. She was much recovered, thought still weak. “Please excuse me for not rising.”

Inariel smiled and said, “That is understandable. How are you today?”

“A bit sore, but I’ll be fit soon enough.”

Nag Kath took charge, “With your permission, ma’am. I would like to make sure you and the child are fine.” Mrs. Leaven nodded. Inariel held the baby as Nag Kath felt the mother’s pulse, forehead and felt points in her neck. He asked some personal questions. Satisfied that she was on the mend, he turned to his Lady’s bundle and said, “Now, let’s have a look at you young lady.”

Laying the child on the bed, he unwrapped her swaddling clothes and felt her life-signs thoroughly. The girl could not see but was aware and voiced no complaint. Nag Kath covered her and handed her to her father who had been standing by. He seemed delighted. Pati brought the tea.

Nag Kath told them both, “I am glad we came in time. Have you thought of a name?”

Farmer Leaven looked at his wife and said, “These are Kaff and Inara. I think Inara is a fine name.” Beksa agreed with a smile and it was done.

The Princess blushed as much as an Elf can, “I am greatly honored. This was the first child I have helped into the world. Would you mind terribly if Uncle Nag and Auntie Inara come to visit her every so often? It would mean a great deal to us.” Nag Kath could not have scripted that any better. This Princess would be a force in her new form. He looked at her proudly knowing he made the right decision. They said their goodbyes and walked hand-in-hand back to the inn.

There wasn’t any reason to stay. Nag Kath had been most concerned about Mr. Cuumbs who said he was healed. Mrs. Londreg had her bottle of barley wine and the baby was fine. Nag Kath paid at the inn with a few extra coppers for Tevin and they were on their way. 

After a chaste night of letting Inariel rest, Nag Kath had some ideas for Zevalth. So did Her Ladyship.


	57. Someone for Them

** _Chapter 57_ **

** _Someone for Them_ **

The trip went as well as they could have hoped. They were attracted to each other. They weathered surprises. Each was the only one of their kind, together in the same place. Inariel had an adventurous spirit. She even liked A’mash. This could last.

But great pressures were pushed to the fore. Their lives were completely changed in a single week, bound by sorcery from a bygone age. They hardly knew each other. Nag Kath thought of Florice, also beautiful, also available through curious circumstances. Marrying her too soon still haunted him. He would stay close to Inariel expecting things to go wonderfully. It was a question of timing.

Inariel had loved him since before she knew why. Now he was here. He saved her. He had shown great care in her arms. He was very nice, not at all the sort one thinks of as a dark servant. If half of his reputation was true, would he leave and break her heart on some great quest? There was her family too. She was not your everyday farmer’s widow.

They reached Alas Forten in the mid-afternoon. Grooms stabled the horses and A’mash. Servants took their bags. The Princess followed them to her quarters and looked at herself in the dressing mirror. Miss Told knocked on the open door and entered when Inariel turned and nodded. Trying to start the most innocuous conversation, the lady’s maid said, “I hope Your Highness enjoyed your country trip.”

“Yes, thank you Miss Told.”

“Will you be needing anything ma’am?”

Inariel just looked at her reflection. Miss Told waited. The Princess turned to her long-time servant and asked, “I am sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if your Ladyship needed anything.”

Inara pleaded with her eyes, “Tell me what happened when Nag Kath came to my aid.”

That was not how Miss Told thought this would go. She said softly, “He examined you and then spoke to Dr. Tan. Dr. Kath said this might take all from him. Kneeling over you, he placed his hands on either side of your face and kissed your forehead ever so gently, almost like a prayer.”

Inariel looked at her maid in anguish, “What should I do?”

In twenty years that was the most personal thing the woman had ever asked Tirra Told. She replied, “If a prince kissed me awake from a terrible curse, I would live happily with him to the end of my days.” She realized how forward she had been and added, “Ma’am.”

Inariel stood and touched the woman’s face, also a first. “Thank you, dear heart.”

Nag Kath was nibbling Lembas on the east garden bench. The Lady of Alas Forten joined him with two mugs of tea and asked, “What happens now, Lord Kath?”

“I am not sure. The great evils are gone. I travel and heal and help. But I had given-up meeting someone like you.”

She said, “You had met me.” He was about to remind her about past recrimination when she added, “I brought you the flower.”

“Yes, yes you did.”

“Miss Told said if a prince kissed her awake from a spell, she would live with him happily for the rest of her days.” Trying to keep turmoil from her voice, “What, what do you think?”

“I think Miss Told is a very wise woman. She loves you, you know.”

Inariel said softly, “I know. Do you love me?”

He nodded, “I do.”

“We return to; what happens now?”

Nag Kath gazed at the lake, “We wait for you to fall in love with me and live happily to the end of our days." He turned back to her, "That or I have to kiss Miss Told.”

Try as she could, she could not stop the smile that became a grin. “You are terrible! And yes I do love you. Miss Told is a romantic, a reader of lore and heroes. You see, they do come true.”

“I believe so. My great, great grandson writes lore of lordly deeds. Oh … of course you know him, Prince Barahir.”

“He is kin? How?”

He matched her grin, “Remember I said I was fine step-da? Talienne is my great, great granddaughter from Dol Amroth. I keep a home there.”

“So those absurd tales of you dashing about are true?”

“Mostly. Your da knew a few. He was very kind to me.”

She became still, “Mother did not know what to make of you.”

“You’ve hit the peg with the mallet there, Your Highness! I was told that in Elvish measure, a century is nothing to gauge someone. Legolas was the same. Now Gimli; we had roaring good times together. I miss him.”

She stood up and demanded, “Nag Kath, tell me right now that you are not a dark lord or some fell creature!”

“I am not.”

She sat down again but was anxious. His ability to say nothing saved him again. The Princess announced, “Then we will marry and live happily to the end of our days.”

Nag Kath said through a mouthful of Lembas, “That went well. I suppose we should pay your brother a visit.”

“Umhmm. How well do you know the King?”

Well, I think. We rode together in Angmar, which would have seemed futile until the Witch-stone was destroyed. I like his wife very much, and I get along famously with your sister. She comes to my Syndolan parties.”

Another of Her Ladyship’s habits was drinking her tea quickly when it was the right temperature. She drained half the mug and said, “Milli is a dear woman. I know her children from the farm.”

“Lossarnach?”

“Yes, brother might be there now. It belongs to Milli and me, but one hardly throws the King out for trespassing. Let us take our leisure.” She smiled with her eyes, “I enjoyed our last trip.”

____________-------____________

They made plans to ride to Dol Amroth. For propriety, she would stay at the citadel and he would stay in town. Then they would take a ship to Pelargir and a ferry to the Rammas Dock. The horses would go too. A’mash could be spoiled here at Alas Forten until the farm manager found use for him.

Nag Kath glanced at her. The touch and gaze of Her Ladyship excited him. He would have to banish thoughts of her mother, who would surely have gone off like a Syndolan rocket knowing her baby girl was bedding the Uruk-hai in Hobbit pants. Arwen and he had a working relationship towards the end but this was not in the mirror, or was that Inariel he saw? Inariel saw him smiling. She didn’t need to know why.

This was a state visit -- no Auntie Inara seeing the sights. A troop of six, led by the Lieutenant, made their way along the Durnanrim River and then into Rama the same way he came. They stayed with regional officials all four days. Promising looks were all they exchanged on the Princess’ stately progress. The company arrived in the late morning. Inariel rode to the citadel with her escort while Nag Kath knocked on Caladrion’s door. Cal answered himself and said, “Well, come in, come in. Did you catch anything?”

“Got a little one. I quickened a broken leg, delivered a baby, healed a blood disease and got engaged.”

The retired ambassador knew the Elf generally understated things. “Engaged, eh? That was quick. Anyone I know?”

“The Princess Inariel.”

Cal shook his head, “Lovely lass. It is too early for wine, but I think a toast is in order.” He got two mugs of tea from cook and raised his.

Nag Kath told him the basics, leaving out sending the King’s life force to the infant. There was enough sorcery already. 

Cal had met the woman several times in courtly settings. He sipped gently and recalled, “I thought she hated you.”

“Me too. She said she was crushed. I am not sure I understand that part.”

“How long will this be a secret?”

Nag Kath touched his chin and answered, “Not long. I just wanted to tell the family before the shopkeepers do. She went up to the Prince’s when we rode in.”

“Come, let us visit your great, great granddaughter. Raniece is hosting a family dinner tonight.”

Cal walked slowly but he made it the whole way. They had to wait a half bell for Rani to return from a friend’s but she gave her grandfather his hug first and then Uncle Nag. Wondering if the old man’s memory was failing she floated, “I thought we were having dinner on Wednesday.”

“Change of plans, my dear. We need to organize a fine family meal here tonight. Everyone must come. Nag Kath has an important announcement that will not wait.”

She looked at both of them, “Food?”

The Elf offered, “I will go to the Blue Crab and have them bring everything here.”

No one ever really questioned Nag Kath but she deserved a bit more. Cal volunteered, “He is getting married. Family will learn it here or learn it from strangers.”

Raniece was fifty seven but had kept her looks and could still crack a wry smile with the best of them. She sized-up Uncle Nag, “For you, anything. Grand-da, go tell your daughter’s brood. Nag, make sure they include refreshments. I’ll have Borond issue the summons and we’ll see you here at the seven-bell.”

The Blue Crab is an expensive place. It was barely lunch but they were already busy preparing the evening meal. Nag Kath walked in and called to the owner, “Hello Mr. Sanguire.”

“Good day, Lord Kath.” 

“Mr. Sanguire, I need you to organize a full dinner for twenty people with wine and ale and cold tea tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“At seven, sir”

“That might be difficult. We …” a Florin appeared on the counter; “ … are always glad to accommodate.”

Callistra arrived by man-cart. Except for the toddlers, their entire clan was coming. One girl had to be reminded where her diamond came from. Nag Kath was generally liked but as the generations rolled by, they were less and less sure what he did. That would get even more confusing shortly.

At six and a half bells, two man-carts arrived with tubs and platters of steaming foods for the pre-heated oven. There was a demi-cask. a box of plates and dishes and two more with mugs. Men quickly brought them in the kitchen door, smiled, and left three of their number to serve while the others got back to the restaurant. 

Nag Kath’s old home was large and with the extension for Ranice's mother Grenda, there was plenty of room. The changeling didn’t arrive until just before seven with a lovely, well-dressed woman. He said hello to everyone and she smiled before they sat at the middle of the table.

Caladrion, as instigator, got the first word, “Dearest family, please charge your cups.” They did. “Nag Kath has something to say and wanted everyone to hear it from him first.” He looked at the guest of honor.

The Elf scanned the room and slowly said, “Thank you for coming on short notice. As Cal said, I would like to share something. I am here to introduce you to my fiancée.”

Cups were raised around the table. He added, “May I present the Princess Inariel Telcontar?”

A hundred thoughts nearly bubbled through the thick silence. Nag Kath took a sip of the pale wine and continued, “We formed an attachment after I healed her of a serious ailment. What makes this significant is that in the healing, she is now an Elf, an immortal like me.” The table was treated to a Nag-Kath grin when he added, “Cal sent me on a fishing trip and My Lady was who I caught. I did not imagine this, but there it is.”

Inariel said, “I look forward to meeting all of you privately. You are not sworn to secrecy at all. This will be all over the city shortly. We just wanted you to know from our lips before you heard it in gossip.”

Halita, who had watched the Elf clear her daughter Sciorcia’s stomach ailment and then turn Sciorcia’s own child with magic ventured, “Uncle Nag, what manner of healing was this?”

“Sorcery and Elvish medicine. She is half Elf and half woman. The combination was killing her. It runs in her family.”

The Princess assured, “I am fine now.”

The changeling looked around the table. The old people were eating but the young ones were just staring. Uncle Nag insisted, “Do not let this get cold.” 

Derissa’s husband Haldaro raised the toast, “To our splendid Uncle Nag and his lovely bride!” 

_____________-------_____________

The next morning Nag Kath reserved space on a reliable ship for Pelargir leaving on the morning tide. They would take the Brittanal cousins as far as Pelargir and let the other four return to the farm. It was the men’s first time on the sea. That did not go well. Both were green as lennas leaves when they made port. If they didn’t have their horses to ride to Alas Forten, the Elf thought they would rather walk home than sail. 

Guards gone, the couple took a nice ferry up the river with adjoining rooms. Current slapping against the hull disguised small noises. With low flow and a favorable wind, the boat pulled into the Rammas dock on the afternoon of the eighth day. Coins changed hands and a man-cart took her things to the palace with them riding ahead. No passwords were needed. A Lieutenant was fetched forthwith and took them to the royal apartments. She had her own suite. A lady’s maid was found. Inariel bathed and sorted through courtly garments while Nag Kath looked at pictures on the wall. One was a Lentillar. Another was one of his before he signed them. 

The moment she arrived at the seventh, an attendant was sent to tell King Eldarion his sister had returned. Now, should she do this alone or should they go together? They decided together. What could the King say? The last Eldarion heard, his baby sister was dying. Now she was here? A terrible weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He waited while she made herself presentable, as their mother would have insisted.

Their liege was not expecting Nag Kath to be shown in with her and looked primarily at him as they approached. Ten feet away, the King stopped in his tracks. Not only was she not dead, she was twenty five again. As they always did, both hugged closely and he drew away for a longer look at the revived Princess. She said softly, “I have tidings, dear brother.”

Eldarion silently showed them to the same seats Aragorn always used around the low, polished table. Tea was brought instantly. The King probed, “Dear sister, I heard terrible news two weeks ago and, and now, you are returned!”

Inariel folded her hands in her lap and looked at them saying, “I was very ill and near to death. Nag Kath restored me to health using some of grandfather’s healing.”

The King kept looking at her face, “More than healing, sister. He has taken your cares away.”

The Princess pushed her hair past one of her ears.

Kings are taught not to leap in the air with unexpected news but this was close. He gently touched the ear as if it was a flower. Eldarion looked at the Elf and said, “I haven’t even said hello, Nag Kath. We never meet without some extraordinary tale.”

“Hello, Sire. It was a problem between the blood of men and Elves that ran in your family long ago. Spells of the wizards broke the impasse and now she is of your mother's kind.”

Eldarion clapped his hands together and said, “She was always the most Elvish of the three. I must tell Milli and Aranthal at once!”

As he rose, Inariel said, “There is something else, dearest brother. Nag Kath and I have formed an attachment.”

The King studied their faces closely. His first thought was the same as Nag Kath’s that Queen Arwen would be shouting down the Halls of Mandos. His second was the same as Nag Kath’s that there was no one more perfect for his little sister in this land where everyone else must come to grief. Chin in hand and said gently, “Perhaps this was meant. I am happy for you.”

Nag Kath rose to shake his hand. Dinner was at seven.

The Elves retired to her quarters. He flopped in a chair saying, “Fair so far.”

“He is a good man and knows as well as any that second chances are rare. Now, have you met my nieces and nephews?”

“All of them at least once. Anthrala many times.”

She said practically, “I do not know who is coming. You won’t cast fire or raise demons, will you?”

“Never among my betters.”

Inariel sat in his lap, “I am sorry.” She gave him a long kiss. “Please give me time to adjust.”

“We have all the time in the world.”

___________-----___________

Princess Millicend and Lord Balthralas had planned to leave for Lossarnach in the morning but that would wait. Both of their children were present. Daughter Anthrala was there with her husband Nendalron. Milli’s unmarried son, Stephandir, came too.

Queen Aranthal brought two of their three. Prince Elhidron and his wife Lorilan came with daughter Arowyn. Princess Anairë’s husband was with his troop but she brought seven year-old daughter Gwendothal. Most of the conversation included sneaking peeks at Auntie’s ears. Since talk of sorcery was unavoidable, King Eldarion steered the flow and asked, “Nag Kath, tell us about grandfather Elrond’s teachings and cure.”

“I found one of his notebooks in a private collection in Dale. Accounts were thin, but those were the blood of your great grandfather Eärendil, else Lord Elrond would not have studied the malady. I would not have known of it otherwise. It was incurable then, but I used one of Gandalf’s spells to give our Lady Inariel some of my Elvish line to break the deadlock. It was still a near thing.”

Lady Gwendothal, Gwennie to family, proclaimed precociously, “There are no wizards. They all sailed away.”

He could be Uncle Nag here too, “Gandalf sailed with your great grandfather. The brown wizard Radagast became one with the forest and grows things ever on.” He left Saruman out.

Undeterred she continued, “Then why are you here?”

“I missed the boat.”

Lady Arowyn, a ladylike ten, asked, “Will Auntie have to sail away?”

Inariel answered, “I cannot say, dear child. Your granna said the Elves were called over the sea. I have not been one long enough to know, so you will see me many more times, I am sure.”

The lass smiled, glad her Inara was not ill anymore. Stephandir and Nendalron were interested in military history. Steph asked, “You rode with my Uncle in the Angmar Campaign. Can you tell me of that engagement?”

Nag Kath smiled and said, “I am afraid I can’t. I was in the advance scout troop and we were ambushed before the King’s assault.”

Eldarion didn’t think the girls needed to hear about sorcerous poxes so he added, “Nag Kath cleared the orcs away so I could ride to victory.” Prince Elhidron knew most of the story and shifted the conversation to family.

Dinner was a modest success. That Auntie was well mattered most. Her man was interesting. With no Elves, a male Elf was a man. As promised, he did not summon trolls or cause landslides. Her man walked her to her apartments and kissed her on the forehead saying, “Tomorrow, my place. The six-bell?”

“Umhumm.”

_______________-------_______________

The next morning Nag Kath walked over to Reyalder and Heuris’ home after giving them a reasonable time to rise. Rey was eighty next month and moving slowly. The Elf simply told them that he had found a new lady friend and more details would emerge very soon. He told Fieldar the same thing. It had been forty-four years since Phylless died so in some ways this was striking. In others ways, he had done this before. It was of no matter. They were sure they would meet the mystery woman shortly.

Two of the King’s best escorted Her Ladyship down to the fourth level on a warm autumn night. She came inside alone where dinner was waiting after cook left for home. 

Food was simple fare with fish, vegetables, grain and a pitcher of Dorwinion with cold tea. They did not say much. Nearing the end he said, “I have a special evening planned for us.”

Inariel was dubious, “With my two shadows out front?”

He grinned, “No, this is much more personal than that.” That got him an arched eyebrow that was no rival to Tal’s, but better than his.

The special evening was going through his folio, reordered this afternoon to tell his story cohesively. She had heard bits and pieces about him, almost certainly wrong, and it was time to show her what she had bitten-off. It was a test as well, one he had to do.

They sat on the couch and he flipped through, starting like he would with children first learning of their Uncle Nag. She saw her parents and Dornlas, the wizards and what he looked like before being captured. There were Tal and Eniece. This is Burry shouting at recruits, orcs and Elves in their forest realms, Easterling capitals. 

The Princess Inariel was nearly silent for the hour and a half it took to go through the abridged life history of her chosen man. She had absolutely no idea he had done so much, been so many places and dead at least once. He described his sorcery and Elvish healing. He told her about his many relatives from the Dale line. There were pictures of Phylless in Dol Amroth, Eniece gazing at the lake. Flor in this same room.

He closed the folio with a sigh. That was his life. Those were the things he needed her to know and could not have possibly explained. Pictures gave a living history of his impossible journey.

She was still. She was in love. Like the women who had accepted him for what he was and became, she could live with that. Inariel came hoping for intimacy. She got it. He kissed her in the entryway and nodded to the guards. 

After a few days of meeting and greeting the Conaths, the couple planned to visit Barahir and Talienne. Getting from the White City to Emyn Arnen through Osgiliath was the long way around and took the better half of a day. When Nag Kath was working on the aqueduct, Aragorn asked him to do the rough design on a bridge from Harlond at the Rammas dock that would have made the trip about fifteen miles. After long consideration, King and Prince agreed the haven shouldn't be easy to reach.

Nag Kath preferred not having bodyguards with them. He knew they would likely be in the way during a split-second decision. Inariel was getting used to that, although she did not carry a sword like her mother when riding. She asked, “Now, who is this handsome steed?”

“This is Orlon. I have had him about, mmmm, eight years now. He is one of yours as well, aren’t you, big fellow?” 

Her fiancée suggested a small detour through Osgiliath to visit the water pavilion. Pigeons had done the Dunlending no favors but he stood resolute and proud. Inariel hadn’t laughed that hard in years. On the road to Emyn Arnen was the first time they had been truly alone in a while. She asked softly, “Have you thought about children Nag?”

“I have. I could not have them with mortal women. You did not have one with a mortal man. That might change, though it could be a long time.”

She said with conviction, “I would like to have children.”

“I would like that too. Elves are supposed to know when they are ready.” He grinned, “I might not, so I will always be preparing.”

Inariel smiled too, “I am enjoying that.” Sometimes they glowed silver in the joining. Nag Kath thought there might be something to the Elvish model of perfection, but hundreds of years in-between was too long to wait.

After another hour, he said seriously, “My love, it is not my habit to give unasked advice, but I think in our lives together we should visit the Elvish places, especially Lorien. That is your heritage more than ever. You will have questions and may find answers.”

“I have considered that but I feel I am not quite ready. As a way to start, brother goes to Annúminas in the spring. Perhaps we should go too and see the Hobbits and Rivendell.”

Her intended said, “I told Barahir about the Hobbit book. The copy Pippin brought here was incomplete, as I remembered reading it a hundred years ago. Our Lorist Prince would dearly like a look now that he doesn’t have to mind the store.”

She giggled, “Then let us conspire to bring him along.” 

Barahir and Talienne already knew about the romance. Raniece sent her sister a letter on the same ship Nag Kath and Inariel took. When they arrived, it was like old times. Barahir knew the Princess but had not seen her since Kolland died. Talienne knew her less owing to distance and the difference in their ages. They arrived just in time to wash for dinner.

Many times in his long life, Nag Kath had to repeat the same story several times to different people, sometimes in different languages. It usually got shorter. The Prince and Princess of Ithilien were both friends and family so they got a more detailed version. 

Talienne was quiet throughout and then asked, “Wherever did you find the book, Nag?”

“It was in your great uncle Carstor’s library above Lake Town. I have it in my saddlebag. People collect books, even when they can’t read them. In the Second Age there were few children of Elves and men, with none since. Some of them could not take the strain of such different bloods. I cheated with one of my wizard spells.”

Barahir wondered, “Inariel, you were a woman-grown. Why would it wait until now?”

She looked at the physician who said, “King Elessar had a healthy dollop of Elf. I wonder that the draw of Valinor gave it strength.” 

_____________-------_____________

The next day, Nag Kath spent time with Talienne to tell her all about the family. “It seems the new generation is less leery of old Uncle Nag. I am far enough away in time that I don’t have to be a relative, just an old friend. It is better that way.”

“Your bride is lovely. I am happy for you Nag. You won’t have to leave her behind.”

He said thoughtfully, “Thank you, my dear. That weighed on me. I have not bound myself to women I would have loved.” She thought he meant Earmina. He was thinking of Grace. “Some was because I would not leave them alone on my long quests. In my secret heart, part was the pain of saying goodbye. I meant what I said about the draw of Valinor. Someday the power that remade Inariel will claim her. Then I will go too.

The heiress of Queen Nepthat added, “Setting a cat among the pigeons.”

In another part of the palace, Prince Barahir poured Princess Inariel a mug of cold tea. With streams so pure they did not have to boil water but it was a custom that brought comfort. She took it elegantly and opened with; “As you can imagine, this comes as a surprise.”

“Yes, I can imagine." He sat next to her, "You were rescued several ways.”

Inariel sipped her tea. “A curious set of coincidences, and that you should know the rascal as well.”

“That was mostly my doing. Nag Kath has been more places than anyone on earth. He reads and speaks many languages. I am just as curious, but with responsibilities at home. Your intended is a library of lore and facts.”

She brightened, “Well then, Retired Steward, my husband-to-be suggested I go north with him to the Elvish places of my ancestors. We will start by way of the Shire. He also said that since you are not staked to this place at all times, you might like to see the archives of those lovely people.”

Barahir smiled before saying, “Talienne will miss me terribly. I think I have one more adventure left.” The Prince became more serious, “Your Kingly brother is a very brave man. This union is not without risk.”

“Why brave, old friend?”

“A son would be fourth in line to the throne. Nag Kath could easily destroy the others and claim the kingdom for himself. Eldarion knows that and gives his full blessing to your marriage. That is extraordinary faith.”

Inariel was stunned. It had never entered her mind. She countered, “That would take quite some doing, Bara.”

Barahir shook his head, “He need only clench his fist. Nag Kath is reticent, shy almost, but he can kill with a thought. Three times he has destroyed a ruler to manipulate the succession. And yet in Dale, he almost died to preserve the kingship of Bard against Talienne’s uncle. He protected the rule of Prince Imrahil the same way.”

The Prince looked her straight in the eye. “His instincts are pure, but you must counsel him to care for your subjects in ways second daughters are seldom asked. Be wise and strong for your people, Inariel. Put them above all else.”

The Princess sat still. Nag Kath had described most of those things but it took Barahir to give it political context. Yes, she would marry him, and she would see to her family’s realm in the doing.

Barahir talked to Talienne about joining the King’s Progress to Annúnimas. At fifty-five, the refined daughter of courtly Dol Amroth could do without another ride to Arnor and back. She understood her husband should go once more or never. Talienne would watch the children and pray for his safe return.

In the White City, Inariel had all manner of help planning the nuptials. She met the Conaths several times. This would not be a state wedding. Prince Brego of Rohan was here and would come. So would the Ithilien family, but the couple would return to Dol Amroth rather than haul everyone up here. It was a typical Nag-Kath marriage where all he had to do was be there.

He did rummage through his diamond bag to find a perfect Traybor stone. Mr. Gregith was more than glad to fashion a ring with it in the center and the constellation of the eagle Soronúmë in smaller stones. He also gave the jeweler a handful of diamonds to make presents for new generations plus a few as payment for the jeweler’s craft. Understandably, the man wanted to know if there were any more of the blue diamonds.

Nuptials were held in the reception hall on the sixth-level on November 16th. The bride looked the same as she had twenty years before. The ceremony was mercifully brief. In second (or more) weddings, the assumption is that most of whatever needed saying has been said. Both the royal and princely families made the Conaths welcome. 

By no accident, Mr. Weathercraft of the Shire and his wife were seated close to the Prince of Ithilien. Nag Kath and Barahir made a point of speaking with the Ambassador and said they hoped to see the books that had been entrusted to the Gamgee family. The Hobbit was delighted and would send a letter home without delay saying persons of the highest character were interested in their august history!

The royal sisters spoke quietly and agreed it was time. Aragorn had Eldarion go through his office before he died. Arwen’s small study was for the girls. They chose to leave it alone until the shock of her leaving passed. Then Lord Kolland died and Inariel had not been ready. 

A few days after the wedding, they entered Arwen’s room for the first time since before their father died. Most of the Queen’s jewelry and clothing had been given to heirs or the King’s Charity. What she kept here was not valuable by royal measure. One of her hair circlets was on a stand. Milli insisted that Inara take it. Arwen never kept a diary that the sisters knew of, but sometimes their mother would come here to read and contemplate. 

As they were leaving, Millicend saw a small picture hanging in the corner and asked, “Ina, do you remember this?”

It was the garden Inariel painted under the patient guidance of her future husband. Her mother treasured it all these years.

Inara could not stop crying. 


	58. Trek of Lore

** _Chapter 58_ **

** _Trek of Lore_ **

The whirlwind romance next headed back to Dol Amroth by way of Lossarnach. After Aragorn died, the sisters organized things differently. It was not the palace on a horse farm. Eldarion came often with his family but not with large convocations like the first King. The girls had their own quarters in the royal wing with a larger guest section for their brother’s needs. Neither Princess was involved in raising horses. They liked them and were good riders, but they left the farm management to folk who were always there. 

The immortals arrived with a modest enough escort that the gate guards slowed them to be sure they weren’t interlopers. Gracious smiles forgave sincere apologies and they rode to the main hall. The four outriders found their bunks as the majordomo gave the wink that everyone inside was on duty double-quick. There were about a dozen other guests invited by palace ministers to discuss their portfolios. Those folks were instantly notified too. The presence of the Princess made this all the more impressive.

Now at the end of the breeding season, Stallions and this year’s mares were looking for opportunities. They were kept on different ends of the facility for obvious reasons until meeting in the middle. This was the time for workers to be especially carefully about getting kicked or bitten in the cause of love.

The farm made money. It might have made a lot but a goodly number of the horses were supplied to the army at no charge. The girls thought that was part of their service to the crown and paid it no mind. Nag Kath and Inariel walked to one of the center corrals where yearlings were frolicking before halter training. Bigger youngsters comfortable being near each other usually became cavalry mounts.

They reached the archery range and Nag Kath strung his bow. Sighting down a handful of target arrows he mumbled, “Sometimes they warp with weather.” Satisfied, he told his wife, “This is the site of my second most famous archery fraud.” He described the convoluted bet and game he was roped into when Prince Elboron met him on this very road. 

Inariel watched him limber a minute and slowly nock and pull at the faded target. Each arrow kept getting closer to the center. Then he startled her by putting four more in the red faster than she could see him nock and draw. It was a blur even to her Elf eyes. Aiming much further into the forest, he put a war arrow in the center of a tree. 

As they walked out to collect the target arrows, she said as if a question, “You have shot like that before.”

“At need." A long pause, "Did you know Talienne is the great, umm, four times great granddaughter of Bard the Bowman? Now, that was a shot. Every young archer imagines a terrible fire-drake swooping in for the kill and having to launch the perfect last arrow. Most of the time, they miss and relive it again. Lately I teach children to shoot with padded arrows so they can imagine their own dragons.”

“Are there any dragons left, Nag Kath?”

“There are always dragons, my love.”

Their escort was dismissed and they took the fair, dry road to Pelargir. He found comfort visiting Phyll and Helien. Her husband showed her where the trolls emerged. By chance, they were strolling along the market and saw Athmandal. Nag Kath would not have recognized him but the former deck-hand had no trouble spotting the tall Elf. It would not do until Nag and Inara joined him for ale at the Tender Mercy. 

The man had done well. He hadn’t heard of Capt’n Penandoth for years. The Peristonig brothers owned half of Near Harad. Nag Kath was distracted watching the Lady Princess try to drink ale in a bar full of leering sailors. She used her stare and held her own! Staring was less common now. Elf eyes cured her weak long-range vision. They stayed in his favorite inn for two nights waiting for a deep-hull ship to Dol Amroth that could take horses. 

____________------____________

The family was waiting. The wedding ceremony here was taking over the Blue Crab for the night and a more lordly reception in the citadel. At the latter, Inariel did not see her former father-in-law Lord Kolland or his wife. She told Nag Kath that they had been very kind to her. Inariel wanted to visit them now that she had leisure. 

That raised the question of her life-estate in Alas Forten. Lord Kolland senior was the second son of Prince Alphros. That made his three sons lords as well but not the next generation. Nag Kath, who knew a thing or two about property, asked who was paying the upkeep. Inariel did not know. She was a Princess of the realm. Someone else did that.

He asked, “Do you love Alas Forten?”

“Oh yes. It is my home and was my peace when I needed it.”

Her new husband offered, “I should think that is a strain on the Kollands. He went from almost having the place back to supporting a Princess daughter. What do you suppose Alas is worth?”

“I haven’t the foggiest.”

I imagine it would bring fifty Florin. Let me buy it for you as a wedding present and help your old father-in-law, who is a sight better than my old da.”

Inariel nodded. She had never once considered that Lord Kolland was still paying the bills. She did know what money was and wondered, “Nag, darling, isn’t that quite a lot?”

“I’m rich.”

“Oh.”

Nag Kath wrote a note to his Lordship requesting an audience on a subject of mutual benefit. Everyone knew who the Elf was now and His Lordship remembered meeting him a few years back. A lunch was arranged a day later at Kolland’s residence in the palace.

Nag Kath was shown into the main room where the man was looking out a window onto the pasture. The Elf bowed and waited. Kolland walked over to shake hands and showed him to one of two chairs at a small table. Tea was served.

The stately Dunedain said, “Congratulations on your marriage, Lord Kath. I am sorry we didn’t get to keep her longer.” 

“Thank you, sir. I will care for her.”

“Please do. Now, what can I do for you?”

Nag Kath said kindly, “Without putting too fine a point on it, it seems unfair to us that your family has to maintain Lady Inariel’s immortal estate. I thought that a private offer to purchase the farm might be in your interest.”

Kolland and his wife would live their lives comfortably but he had two sons left and a dowry to fund for a grandchild. He let the tall man continue, “I thought a cash payment of fifty Florin would serve the case. Another possibility would be … ”

The Elf took a small blue bag of worm-wool from his pocket and placed the contents on one side. “These are Elvish diamonds, flawless in every way. This is about twenty Florin worth if you are careful and sell them through a discrete jeweler I can recommend. Let us price them at half that and another forty Florin in gold. That gives you room to care for your family with a little extra for your patience.”

Oh, would it ever! The Princess could stay there just as she would have without scandal. He could secure his legacy and those sparklers would be just the thing for a spinster granddaughter needing a husband. It was all so quiet. He was tempted to look at the stones with his fire-glass, but even if they were bilge gravel, forty dented kings would meet the case. It was a lordly offer and the only one he would get. Kolland was a son of a Prince and wanted that to still count for something with all his heart.

Lord Kolland agreed, “That is more than fair, Lord Kath. I can have the papers prepared in two days. Who should I have made as the buyer?" 

The Elf told the relieved Lord of Galador, and the higher designation of Lord Defender of the Prince, "Her Ladyship."

Lord Kolland brightened, “Why don’t you bring my daughter-in-law here for lunch two days hence so we can see her again after so long away.”

Lady Kolland was a dear, scatty lady who paid little attention to the financial affairs of the Principality. The woman maintained their home in keeping with their station, settled family disputes and did as she had been trained. Her Ladyship did not know that her husband’s share of the Privy Purse had not risen in eight years, or that the farm could not turn a profit maintaining idle nobility. Their second son had expensive tastes. The woman did know she liked the Princess Inariel very much and was ever so glad that her sadness was past.

At lunch they talked about the farm and Dol Amroth and who was who in the closed community. Cal's brood was well-known to them. It was good for the Kollands to see her and they would again. Inariel gave Lord Kolland a small, heavy wooden box with a few of their son’s things. 

After seeing family and friends, they rode to Alas Forten in the first week of December. Everyone was glad she was back. The Princess told them the financial arrangements were different but that all positions were secure. About a third of the farmland was leased and the rest was managed by employees. Nothing changed there. They would not need Belfalas soldiers. All were offered continued employment. Three of the six, all newer men, took a cash bonus to return to the capital as soldiers and the older hands stayed on privately. In view of immortal employers, Dr. Tan-Kolvas said he was ready to retire and got a lovely little home in town.

Nag Kath had never been a farmer until the Lake Nennûrad retreat. Now he knew enough to be dangerous so he asked questions of his new employees but never gave advice, except to build a sluice gate on one of the irrigation ditches. That wasn’t something lords generally did. Another thing that got him a few glances was bringing a small bag of dirt with him. The orchardist was to plant seeds of the Coloma division fruit from Ithilien in handfuls of that soil. It looked the same as the good loam of Alas Forten but the blonde man was the Lord and lords make the rules.

Miss Told was in heaven. Her Ina was back with her handsome husband and they would live forever. There had not been time in his first stay but he told her many stores of old lore from Elves and Easterlings and men of the north. Those were for his wife’s benefit too since they were almost always new. Sometimes he would draw pictures for them, seeming to remember as if he was just there. 

Lady’s Maid Miss Told and chambermaid Amalie were in an odd position. Generally, a Princess would travel with at least one of each. This Princess rode a horse with no troopers or carriage or servants. Inariel made it clear that they were to serve in their usual capacity when she was there and make themselves useful when she wasn’t. Slightly out of school, Miss Told intimated that Amalie and the farm manager’s elder son were forming an attachment. Chambermaids were to be maidens. It was training for the house and training to be a good wife, but when they married, they left. With the unconventional situation, Her Ladyship said they could make an exception in the young woman’s case.

Winters are mild in the Belfalas valleys. The newlyweds stayed close to home, riding often, and taking long walks. In March they said goodbye and rode back to Dol Amroth before the trip to Minas Tirith and beyond.

________________------_______________

It would be spring soon. Nag Kath and Inariel sailed around the cape and up the river in plenty of time to prepare for the trip north. Aragorn had purposely made Eldarion of Arnor. There was no way of keeping Arnor part of the Reunited Kingdom unless they agreed. Choosing Queen Aranthal was not planned, but since the heir spent so much time in Annúminas, it increased the chances he would meet and marry a woman of that land. Prince Elhidron would remain as Steward for the first time and probably represent the empire himself next year. Barahir had been on this trip with Aragorn twice and knew what it took. The Prince’s second secretary, a man who could ride in the wilds, was coming for any correspondence needed.

Kings make royal stops along the way. Nag Kath had usually been on the periphery of past trips with more freedom to eat with friends and skirt dull meetings. That would be harder now. They traveled with an escort of sixty White City troopers and ten of Barahir’s plus servants, administrators and people to erect tents and put food in them, in all about a hundred souls. Eldarion did not drive as hard as his father when Queen Aranthal and her ladies were along. This was also time spent between the King and his Lady Sister. With forty years between them, they loved each other but were never kids together. There was healing in that. 

The realm was also long past remnant gangs of defeated enemies. Guards payed attention, but their main job was to keep gawking townsfolk from being trampled. A van was always one or two days ahead securing the next night’s lodgings and fresh food in lieu of what they carried.

The first stop was Edoras. King Halath was glad to see them. He was glad of Nag Kath too. It had been thirty-seven years since the Elf presented him with Altheras’ sword and he remembered it like yesterday. Inariel hadn’t heard about that either but she did remember him telling her how proud he was receiving it. The Elf did not keep track of possessions any better than royals did. 

After dining and ale for several days, the company made for the Glittering Caves. They were now under Lord Dendror of Erebor so this was diplomacy with the northern kingdom. Engineer Thurgin was still in residence and they slipped away with the Princess to relive the days of the Gimli Cascade. The caves had been excellent mines for silver and jewels but only held frustrating traces of mithril. Khazad Dûm had never been reopened. The Dwarvish engineer confidentially admitted that the drive in Durin’s folk for new territory had seen its height when the rings existed. Orcs, possibly balrogs, were still believed in those pits, and no one near the crown wanted to risk an expedition-in-force.

From there they made for the Gap after meeting with the Marshal of Orthanc at the town of the Gap Road. It was a genuine town now on this side of the bridge. Still in Rohan, both sides used it for meetings like this. Nag Kath asked if any more of Gandalf’s powders had been found in the store house. Not than anybody noticed.

Dunland had a few more people too, but not a lot. Trum Dreng was still lovely. The company stayed there for the evening meal and Nag Kath showed his bride where history was made. There was no sense of foreboding in the Mournshaws. He did not try to summon the Wild Huntsman. Tharbad had not had a truly destructive flood in thirty years. While there, Eldarion asked Nag Kath to consider a new kind of bridge that might last. The ferries were much larger and more stable than the rickety barges back in the day, but it still left cavalry vulnerable. 

From there it was straight to the Shire. They crossed the bridge Nag Kath designed on his first trip here. As protocol demanded, The King applied for, and was immediately granted, permission to enter the independent lands of the little people. Nag Kath loved Hobbits. He did not know any of them here but knew Ambassador Weathercraft had written saying there was scholarly interest in the Red Book of Westmarch. With a wink and a nod, the King asked to stay a few days longer than usual to let his ‘scholars’ research family lore.

Peregrin Took brought Aragorn (Strider after a few ales) a copy when the Hobbit came to live in Minas Tirith, but it was incomplete as Nag Kath remembered it, particularly the illustrations. They were hoping that heirs of the Gamgees would have the original or bits and pieces to complete it. Peregrin himself had never written in the document. Now sixty years or more since Sam was said to have given the book to his daughter, they would be looking for grand or great grandchildren. If there were ever folk to keep things for no particular reason, it was Hobbits. They were also the least likely to remember where they were.

The first order of business was a great meal just like the one Nag Kath attended in Forth Age 30. It even looked like the same tent. As honorees, and as the last two traveling Elves, it was easy to ask innocent questions about the original Fellowship families. The late Elanor the Fair was Samwise’s oldest child and said to have received the book when her father reportedly sailed to Elvish lands. She was also a maid of Honor to Arwen, whose daughter just happened to be here.

All that was toast-worthy, but no one here knew who had inherited the book from her. The Gamgees had a long run of daughters who married high and low among these people so it was hard to be sure who went where. Their break came a day later when an elderly woman came forward. She was granddaughter to Sam’s daughter Daisy. 

She said she had seen the book, by then turned rust brown. It was in the custody of the Fairbairns. A member of that family was already among the invitees and more than happy to meet with the Princess Elf, her husband and the heir of Faramir! The next day he took them to another relative who had the middle of three original books, the one least represented in Thain Took’s compilation. Barahir had his secretary and tall, blonde friend furiously copy it over the next day while he attended lordly functions with the elegant lady Elf. Poor Mrs. Fairbairns was not sure where the other books were but would ask among the family. With aching hands, the scribes made the farewell dinner to wish their hosts long and splendid lives.

_______________-------______________

Riding into Annúminas brought back memories. From here it was a hard ride to the Angmar crescent or the low pass where the advance party cut the corner through the orcs. The southern orcs were still there. No one was sure about the northern band. When cajoled, Nag Kath told the roasted pig story, the last, he hoped. 

Eldarion had continued his father’s restoration of the ancient city. It, Thân zîrân and Nennûrad all had that quality of a deep blue lake with mountains on one side bringing a sense of calm. The King’s business was to let his northern subjects know they were important and had a voice in council. His sister was here for the first time since she was twenty, adding weight to the bond.

On the trip, Barahir spent quite a bit of time with the Kaths. Hearing them talk about Rivendell, he asked if he could travel with them. He might not be able to penetrate any wards departing Elves created, but he would rather be denied than wish he hadn’t tried. They agreed. The King agreed. The ‘scholars’ stayed in the summer capital until a month before the King intended to return to the White City. Barahir kept six troopers and left the others and his staff to travel with the King. If their timing was good, the parties would rejoin near Tharbad. 

Nag Kath walked the streets of Fornost remembering not remembering. Bree was still a bit seedy but the food was good and the soldiers could bunk in real beds. Rivendell was a hundred leagues due east. The Great Road was busy with merchants finishing their season but they made way for the armed company. Nag Kath showed them Bilbo’s trolls, about the same size as the ones in Pelargir.

When they reached the path to Rivendell, the troopers did not like letting their Prince travel on alone but made a camp along the main road while the two Elves and Barahir approached the hidden entrance. Nothing had changed. Rocks meant to fool had to be ignored every time. They rounded the corner and beheld the Imladris Valley in all its autumn splendor.

Inariel would have to hope her horse watched his feet because she could only marvel at her grandfather’s home. Streams were everywhere. Nag Kath led sure-footed Orlon on foot to make sure that the thin rock bridges had not suffered from neglect. Barahir was amazed as well. Over the second bridge the Prince felt resistance, almost like wind. Between the Elves it passed quickly. Wards were dissipating -- but it was a long way down.

They made their way slowly to the main entrance and tied the horses to the rock post. Nag Kath showed them the way up. A small breeze blew falling leaves in swirls around the outer deck and into the library. It all seemed older, somehow wilder, than when Nag Kath was here last. He showed the Prince a few volumes of interest but mostly watched for keepers. Inariel saw one first. Unlike Orc Six, she felt him coming and watched him approach.’

“Hmmm, haven’t seen you before.”

She said, “No, good sir. This is my first visit here.”

Nag Kath heard them speaking and walked around the bookcase to say, “Good day, Mr. Fencïl. I hope you are well.”

“Hughmmm. Well enough.”

“May I present my wife the Lady Inariel? She is the granddaughter of Lord Elrond.”

“Hughmmm, there is another.”

Nag Kath said, “Yes, let me just get him.” He walked back around the bookcase and whispered, “Bara, company.”

The Prince closed the book and accompanied the Elf around to the other side of the library. Nag Kath said, “Mr. Fencïl, this is Prince Barahir, grandson of Faramir.”

“Hughmmm, haven’t seen you before either.”

The Prince said in Sindarin, “It is a pleasure to meet you sir. I am keen on the study of lore.”

The keeper seemed to have no trouble with a man being here. Perhaps it was because he was accompanied by Elves. The keeper mulled that over for a minute and mumbled, “Well, we have plenty of that here.”

Inariel was fascinated. Despite her extraordinary lineage, she had only met men, Dwarves and Hobbits, none of them magical. Here was a creature not of those lines, one created by the Valar, she supposed, for a unique purpose. She asked him almost reverentially, “Mr. Fencïl, did you know my mother Arwen?”

The keepers were always gruff with men but with a lady Elf, Fencïl was more deferential, “No, I did not. She was only here when there were many Elves. We come after they leave, or are almost gone. I met your great grandfather Celeborn when he stayed with your uncles, among the last to leave, they were.”

The Princess clapped her hands together and said, “I do hope you will tell me all about them. I am too young to have met them.”

Mr. Fencïl looked at Nag Kath with his usual grouchiness, “Will you be staying for a while, Orc Six?”

“Two days. There are others waiting for us and we did not want to impose.”

“Hughmmm, very well. I will tell Mrs. Fencïl that you will be staying for dinner. Best look to your horses before dark.”

The keeper turned and strode away on his grasshopper legs. After a minute, Nag Kath said, “I know the stables. Let me manage the horses and let you look through the volumes. Just remember, everything has to stay here. Be back before too long.” He skipped down the steps and took all three mounts around the back. 

Barahir went back to his books while the Princess walked over to the window and looked at the same view her mother saw for thousands of years, the same view her father saw as a child, then leading the Fellowship and after the war. Nag Kath had summarized these volumes thoroughly over the years so the Prince joined Inariel by the window. If he wanted to tell the story of her parents, he had but to follow her eyes.

Nag Kath was back half a bell later with straw on his pants and asked, “My dear, how do you feel? You are new to Elvendom.”

“Fine, husband. I hear voices in my head, perhaps voices of those who left.”

Barahir said, “There have been a few.”

Nag Kath said, “The real lesson is dinner. Come, let us join our hosts for storytelling.”

It was just the three of them with Mr. and Mrs. Fencïl. The keeper had a sip of his tea and made a face, “Orc Six, the last time you were here you had just been dead. That seems to have improved.”

“One can hope. I went to healing places in the east to regain my strength. Then I returned and was reacquainted with Lady Inariel.”

Mrs. Fencïl was very curious about the beautiful child She-Elf and asked, “How is it that you did not go with your kin, young lady?”

The Princess said demurely, “I was afflicted with a blood disorder only a year ago and was made Elf by it.”

The keeper said, “Hughmmf, that ran in your family. Do the Undying Lands call to you?”

“Not yet, sir.”

Mrs. Fencïl looked at the Prince saying, “We haven’t seen many men.”

Mr. Fencïl corrected, “We haven’t seen any.”

She said sweetly, “Well, none is few enough. You are interested in lore?”

“Indeed. My father and his before studied history of our lands.”

The keeper said, “Hughmmmph. Well, we are done with dinner. Orc Six, would you like to lead us in a story?”

“Why not? I have a new one.” He told the story of the last of the army of the dead and building the bridge to join the sundered town. With embellishments and a flair for drama learned here, it was a crafted little yarn. Women were not expected to join so Barahir told a story of his grandfather finding the Hobbits and Gollum. He told it well and was surprised at how much he enjoyed reciting in classical Sindarin.

The keeper said, “Well, I suppose it is my turn. What would you like to hear?”

As planned, Inariel replied sweetly, “I am a descendant of Lúthien. I should like to hear that tale, Master keeper.”

Mrs. Fencïl added joyfully, “We have not heard that in some time.”

“Hughmphh, very well …” He told his version of the great tale. It was on the long side. Keepers use the poetic style of repeating familiar verses to keep the audience awake and remember the progression. When he was done, everyone congratulated him on a splendid telling. It was time for bed. Nag Kath watched his wife sleep all night. 

The next day Barahir continued scrolling through the books. Inariel spent most of the day exploring Rivendell with Nag Kath or Mrs. Fencïl. The changeling reread some of the Quenya looking for similarities to the troll pages. After dinner that night, Nag Kath told the story of the little fire-drake. All wondered if it might still be looking for its home. 

Barahir had a short tale about the Elf community in Emyn Arnen. Fencïl had a yarn from the Years of Trees, which seemed impossibly long ago. The Keeper was not quite six thousand years old so that was well before his time. To Mrs. Fencïl’s pretended shock and secret delight, Inariel gave a story her mother told her about the Second Kinslaying. She later admitted she did not remember it well but it was good to give it life.

Fencïl cocked his head sideways. Keepers kept the spirit of place. Lore was incidental. There was no true ancient Elvish lore here. The Elves never told men of their bloody years and men did not write theirs down. Then the Elves left with three ages of Middle-earth archives. The keeper gave as close as his face could to a smile and said to Barahir, “Soon it will be your turn to remember.” 

They planned to leave early. The soldiers would be getting nervous and should not try to cross that second bridge. The three had porridge and accepted some genuine Lembas for their trip. When the Prince and Princess went down to get the horses, Nag Kath said to the keeper, “There is another thing I would like you to see. I got this in Lamedon recently. Have you seen its like?”

Fencïl sat down and looked very closely at a sample troll page, finally saying, “This is from the earliest days of the Elves. I cannot read it, I only know of it. It was a voice to speak to the First Born. This is old, Orc Six, very old.”

Nag Kath did not want the others waiting so he said, “Are there those of you who can read this?”

The keeper said humbly, “I do not think so. Even Logass came well after this tongue was tried and discarded.”

They heard feet coming up the stairs. The Elf said, “Bless you and Mrs. Fencïl. I will try to find more stories for next time.” He slid the page into his satchel.

The troopers were glad to see their lord safe and pleased. From there they forded the Bruinen and followed the same trail Nag Kath used on his first trip to Dale. It put them in Tharbad a week ahead of the King.

________________-------_______________

In the best of worlds, the royal newlyweds would not have camped in fields and forests but Nag Kath thought, and Inariel agreed, that she needed to see Elvish places. Arwen had visited them early as Queen, but by the time Inara was old enough to travel, her father traveled less.

The trip brought their family closer. Each child was twenty years apart. Inariel spent much more time with the King and elder Princess than Nag Kath who kept to his usual haunts. They visited Emyn Arnen over the mild winter for a week. Barahir tried to spend a bell a day writing lore but with the Kath’s in residence, that was lore too.

In the White City they split time between his home and her apartments on the seventh. Nag Kath kept a small assortment of lordly garments there since what was where he generally needed them. As a rule, they did not use bodyguards when they were alone. 

The Princess discovered why. Lasthlo Conath invited the Kath’s to join him at a respectable fourth-level restaurant meeting his sweetheart. Her name was Annalien Kobalth and her da was in the canvas business. Annalien was allowed out on the understanding that Lasthlo’s Aunt and Uncle would be with them as chaperones. They met at the Silver Ladle for lunch with Inariel as Inara so as not to overwhelm young Anna.

Business owners on the middle-levels like the public to think that boisterous patrons are confined to the first and second levels. But we all know that even well-dressed merchants can drink a skin-full and start trouble. Five men at a table in the center of the room started arguing, something about the quality of a delivery. Two men stood and one pushed the other. The pushed man threw a punch, missed his target and hit a third on the ear. From there it was a melee.

Patrons fled out or to the edges of the room. When one of the belligerents stumbled towards the Kath’s corner table, Lasthlo, who hailed from the big Northman side of the family, grabbed a chair to defend his lady. The man coming at him growled, “I’ll settle with you later, boy!”

Nag Kath rose as well and the lout smirked, “I’ll thrash you now, pretty-thing!”

Most of the people left in the room were watching the main fight but a few saw the aggressor fly up and knock his head on a beam and then fall to the floor face-first. The other four heard him hit the planks and decided their differences weren’t so great that they could let a pair of greenbottoms trounce one of their own. As they approached, a beam of yellow hit their faces, stopping them in mid-step. Nag Kath walked to them and said softly, “Take your friend and go home. You will decide you do not like coming here.”

The four looked around the room as if waking in a strange place. Then they hauled the downed man to his feet and staggered out the door. Nag Kath put a silver on the table and said, “Miss Kobalth, I think we should take you home.” 

Lasthlo slipped out first to make sure the five weren’t lurking and then the group made their way to Annalien's house, only a block from Nag Kath’s. Lasthlo walked her to the door. She smiled, none the worse for the experience, and her parents were glad she was home with her chaperones standing in the switchback. The young Northman rejoined them and chuckled, “Nag, you are the man to have in a scrap.”

Uncle Nag counseled, “No need to mention this to your mum, eh?”

Lasthlo laid his finger alongside his nose and walked home.

In the five minute walk back to Nag Kath’s house, Inariel did not say a word. She was upset. In the whole trip north, the only magic her husband showed was testing water. She knew he had great healing powers but this was the sudden violence Barahir said he wielded. Somehow it had seemed so remote, as if of another age. It was.

Nag Kath hung her cloak and joined her on the couch. She sat with knees together and hands clinched in her lap. Her face was ghostly white. After a minute she said, “Nag, I am frightened.”

He mistook her concern, “It was just a bar fight, my dear.”

“Will those men be well?”

“The four will be groggy with a headache. The one, I am not sure. He was breathing when they took him out. I would not have hurt him but he carried a boot-knife, very handy for throwing; boot-knives.”

Still trembling Inariel asked, “What did you do?”

“A bringing spell on the one. I used a confusion spell on the others. That is a quick copy of one witches use to make people do their bidding, like with Lord Echieron and the ward on my bag in Nargond. There is a counter-spell for clarity.”

The Princess was breathing again but Prince Barahir’s admonition still rang in her ears. More composed she said, “Your friend Athmandal in Pelargir said you sent flames across the sea to burn a boat.”

Against the gravity of the situation, Nag Kath chuckled, “Not one of my better efforts. It only works on water.” He recalled the ice cave, “Gandalf was the master of fire. Saruman was said to draw his power through air. Radagast was of earth and told me I got my power through water, the female element.”

Inariel said very slowly, “Fe … male?”

“Aye. Healers and witches pull from water, often in themselves. That is why their craft is so hard on them. I get my power from water too. I was attacked by a Hourn-tree. They don’t fear water. When I got away, I practiced the fire spell on dry land. All I did was burn a stripe in the grass that smelled like men drinking ale and eating pickled cabbage.”

Against her lifelong training, Inariel giggled. That did not relieve her anxiety so she composed herself and asked gravely, “What about the arrows?”

“That is ‘the fast’. At need I can move so quickly that it seems a blur. It only lasts a moment but I can do quite a bit. That is not a spell. The wizards thought it came from Saruman. Thranduil and your great granna were said to do something similar.”

The Princess wrung her hands. She had to say this now and did not want to. They were so happy together. “You could have hurt them all?”

“Everyone in the room.”

She stammered, “Everyone anywhere?”

He finally saw where this was leading, “Quite a few. I would …”

She interrupted, “My love, would you use these powers to take lordship?”

He shook his head and said, “No. Good rulers give of themselves. Bad ones draw to themselves. Accumulating powers of any kind is the path of the dark ones. You must not worry, my dear. These are all questions I have asked and answered many times.”

That did not help. Inariel turned to look him in the eye and stated, “But you have killed rulers and their armies. Is my family safe?! I must know or go mad.”

Nag Kath put his arm around her shoulder. “Yes, yes I have. They were always trying to use the last dark craft of the enemy. I hope they are gone. I am looking forward to long peaceful years with my Lady Wife.” Now he had trouble with an association that made him smile.

“Oh no you don’t! You must tell me!”

“If you insist.”

She said firmly, “I do.”

“You haven’t heard this one. Dulgov of Rhûn would only meet me separated by iron bars, like a gaol, and get no closer than four paces for fear of my reach. I got along rather well with the old rascal.”

She gave him the famous stare, “How can you treat this so lightly?!”

Her changeling became quite serious and touched her face gently, “How can I do otherwise? This is my life. I am a warrior in disguise. I held the Witch-stone in my hand, the Dwarf ring too. I had but to keep them. Like your father, I did not. That was my test.”

Inariel relented and put her head on his shoulder. They sat for a while when a little voice murmured, “I had to know, even if you would not love me.”

He pulled her close and did not speak.

_____________-------_____________

Inariel became more Elvish and less Princess quickly. In a royal family, proximity to the crown informs all. She was no longer part of the succession. She was immortal. There were already two grandsons of Aragorn. She was not the dowager Lady in her haven either. Knowing the man she loved was not a monster completed the freedom she had never felt before. 

Her man cared for her and held her and did little things women like; passionate things. He took her to a fifth-level dancing club. She wore a veil like other ladies who did not want to be recognized. They watched an experienced couple moving closely together in rhythm to soft music. Inariel had danced in classical pageants as a child but this; this was, well, she wasn’t sure what this was. Back at his house, they swayed to him humming. It would have been impossible before.

After saying goodbyes, they took the Grandeur to Pelargir for a few days and then Ülmo’s Grace around the cape. April weather worked against them. The Grace was new and large but Nag Kath had never seen swells like this coming off the Belegaer. In a two day storm, they lost a crewman overboard and limped into the Commercial Harbor with only one good mast.

Cal was sitting on his porch watching the ships come in and out. He could no longer see which ones but could tell the type by the outline. Nag Kath and Inariel were expected about now and they walked up to greet him. He did not rise. Nag Kath asked, “Is Callistra inside?”

Caladrion Ivandred sipped his tea for a long moment and said, “Sorry, Nag, Inara. You missed her. She faded away two weeks ago. You probably passed the letter in the Ethir. Made it to 86, my girl.”

The Kath’s dropped their bags on the planks and sat silently. Cal was 112 last month and had now outlived both children. The man rocked back and forth, gently cradling his tea mug. Nag Kath said, “I’m sorry, Cal. How are you bearing-up?”

“I am fine. We knew it was coming. The place is lonely. I am glad you are back.”

Inariel knew Callistra better than any of the family besides Cal. Always with the best Nag Kath stories, she was an energetic woman with a warm sense of humor, very much in the Talereth mold of matchmaker and homemaker. Calli raised lovely children.

Caladrion continued, “You must have caught that storm at the shoals.”

The Elf broke from remembrance and said grimly, “Straight-on. Lost a man and two masts.”

Cal sipped and spoke, “The Belegaer Maiden is three days late. Did you see her?”

“No, just us and a harrier going the other way.”

Sailors say a silent prayer for every ship that doesn’t come home. It is always a danger and keeps anyone from taking the sea lightly.

Inariel needed to say something, “Cal, what can we do?”

“First, have Mrs. Ubould get you some tea and have her bring me another. I can’t supervise all these ships otherwise.” The old man smiled as the Princess went inside. Mrs. Ubould was always a bit flustered when royalty came into her kitchen. Cook brought tea out for the men and the Princess got her own.

With a fresh mug, Caladrion continued, “Everyone else is fine. No new grandkids since you left. Inara, I ran into Lord Kolland last month, no, two months ago and gave him your best. That was a very nice thing you did for him.”

She knew it was her husband but thanked Cal on both of their behalves. Looking out over the harbor the retired Minister asked, “Are you here for a while?”

Inariel took that one; “Through the summer, then over to Alas Forten for harvest and winter.”

“Good. Nag, it must be hard to keep track of so many families.”

“I am down to two now, not including in-laws. Rey and Heuris Conath are not well. The rest are fine. I think one of their grandsons is going to pop the question shortly. Nice girl. We will let your youngsters know we are back.”

Cal smiled, “Do that. I suppose we will need to get you tickets for the season. They are not as hard to come by as they were when you built your ship. Young people like plays and sporting competitions now.”

______________-------______________

The Libron family was getting back to normal. As Cal said, they had time to prepare and mother was sharp until the end. Again, the Dunedain touch was fickle. Caladrion looked as old as his children had. Inariel knew better than anyone that a very long life meant a long old age. King Elessar had been in a wheeled-chair for six years. She imagined Nag Kath with Phylless in her eighties. He would have seemed younger, but only on the outside. 

They had dinner at Raniece’s two nights later. The Ivandreds were getting used to the idea that the strange Uncle Nag was peripheral royalty. The Kath’s also paid their respects to the Prince who did not insist they stay at the citadel. Armandor was getting used to the idea that she was more Elf than Princess now, and Inariel had never spoken for the crown. Like Lasthlo, the ruling family knew her Elf could handle himself in a scrap.

Nag Kath took Inara fishing on a two-person boat. She was a fair sailor but hated handling fish. Bait was worse Her Ladyship washed her hands with harsh soap until the smell was completely gone. After two attempts, she helmed the tiller and he caught the dinner.

Thankfully, they left their horses in Minas Tirith. They would have been thrashed in their stalls unless tied and roped all different ways. The couple would get new mounts when they needed them for the trip to Alas Forten. Finding more horses for the Lady of Lossarnach was not hard, even here. Inariel took time to sit with some of the younger Ivandred lasses in their reading classes. With such a large gap between Eldarion, Millicend and Inariel, the royal children did not study together. Arwen taught her many things and the Princess had tutors, sometimes sitting with other ranking children, but reading in a group was different. She liked it and wished she had done more of it in her formative years. 

Much of the time they spent with Cal. He still walked on clear days where it was flat. Hills were trouble. He could make it to the music pavilion but not back. This year’s season would open with an old favorite, ‘She Told You So’. It sounded like a scold but was a sweet story about young love without the usual incompetent villains. Extra choristers in the wings were made to sound like instruments. Caladrion enjoyed himself, had a goblet of pale wine at the Lion and took a man-cart back home with Nag Kath and Inariel walking alongside. By discreet prior arrangement, two of the Prince’s personal guardi in civilian clothes were posted several rows further back to keep an eye on the brunette in the Ivandred box.

There were only six shows this season with gaps for newer plays that had no singing. Cal said younger people liked them, but to him, that was anyone under sixty. These were often more complex than the predictable Catanards. The writing had to be approved by the Prince’s Arbiter and one of his men was usually in the gallery to be sure that the actors did not vary their lines to incite discord. The year before, one man railed against an injustice. He spent a night in gaol, was fined five groats and found his employment terminated. 

During the summer, there was something playing at the pavilion several times a week. Inariel wanted to finish a book so Nag Kath met Derissa Haldaro’s son, 16 year-old Phaerath, for an evening out. A troupe from Lower Khand was allowed to use the stage that night. The players earned what the audience put in their bowl. Performed in Variag, the crowd was thin enough for the two to sit where the musicians usually played for western entertainments. 

It was much like the plays of Upper Khand. The actors, all men, represented lesser gods, Maiar to westerners, deciding the fate of a village. The citizens had been largely faithful, but these godlings knew a flood was coming that would destroy them. Higher Valar could avert the storm but took no interest. These fellows were deciding if they should warn the people or let nature take its course. Two gods thought to warn, two thought to be silent so it was down to the fifth and youngest of them for judgment.

They were still far enough from the stage that Uncle Nag could give a quiet running interpretation to Phaerath. After great wailing and upset, a warning would be given based on scripture so that the pious would understand. And like a lot of Khandian stories, the audience never learned how the village fared. Western men would be howling for refunds without a decisive outcome. 

When it was over, Nag Kath dropped two silvers on top of a dozen groats. They sounded different than copper and one of the players came over to thank the sir in better than expected Westron.

The Elf replied in Variag, “Thank you for bringing this to us. It is much like the Hantougsh Vrembal.”

That got him a stare that could never touch Inariel’s but signified nonetheless. One of the others storing their meager props heard it too and walked over. Both bowed. The first man said in that tongue, “Sir must have traveled in far lands.”

“For long years, best of sirs, though, mostly in the north.”

By then the other three wandered over. Ever the Righter, Nag Kath said, “If it is not too near Gelansor, perhaps you will join my nephew and me for wine.”

Mentioning the July crescent moon had no effect but the offer of a drink went over unanimously. The crowd at the Lion was thin as well. All five players were from Laórki and spoke a smattering or better of the common-tongue so Phaerath could follow along. The Elf told them he had been mostly around Lhûg and Nennûrad but also visited the capital long ago. He did not look old enough to have been anywhere long ago, but he spoke the language like a native and knew the roads.

In Dol Amroth, one only speaks like everyone else does. Discussing other places and peoples with Uncle Nag was new for Phaerath. Their southern Khagan was fine as of three years ago. The Rhûns were behaving themselves. When they got to the Haradrim, the conversation became graver. Every able-bodied man in Lower Khand who couldn’t bribe his way out of service had a good chance of watching, fighting or insulting Southrons along the Chelkar. Their northwest was the worst posting since it bordered the militant state of Gizar below the Ephel Duath range. According to Rhamhous, who had served his full four years on the line, the Hûk or Chieftain of Gizar had fallen in a coup just before their troupe came west and was replaced by his nephew Hûk Tulbar. Young Tulbar was a nasty piece of work and wanted to return to the old ways.

That raised a hair on the jovial blonde who had no discernible reason for knowing anything about Gizar, much less quite a bit. That was the land where the Visitors were able to topple a former Hûk and the breeding ground for the fanatical troops who died on the Pelennor. The Elf was not sure why. He slipped into Mordor with Shelturn along those passes. They seemed fertile. Perhaps it was something in the blood. No matter, Uncle Nag kept buying weak wine and kept getting answers about troop concentrations, recruitment and if Tulbar was threatening the Gondor side of his realm. 

They adjourned agreeing the blonde man and his nephew were the best of sirs and hoped they would return for another show after the troop played in the mud-flats of the Ethir. When he got home, the patron wrote a letter in a forgotten language to an address in the White City. He lit his candle that night.

_______________-------______________

Conveniently avoiding ‘Tears of the Mountains’, the Kaths rode to Alas Forten in late July. This was the first time Nag Kath and Inariel truly took their leisure. He had his projects but they were not taxing. They found they did not need to talk much to communicate. Somehow that seemed Elvish, though neither truly knew. 

The Odar were in deep water during high summer but other sea fish made their way to the affluent central valley. The Coloma trees had grown a couple feet, despite everyone knowing they would not flourish here. It was just dirt. He also planted seeds of other strange plants. Some were healing herbs. Some were Lembas ingredients. One of these days, he would finally make true way-bread on his own.

It was idyllic, never too hot, usually with a breeze. Rain was welcome when it came. The man who saw to the vineyards said this would be an exceptional year for their local red grapes. Men of the mountains said the yellow grapes were strong as well. Something always did well and something else always did poorly so the farm had many crops.

Militia training in Dudhrandir was a one-week infantry drill. Listless farmers, tired after bringing in fruit and wheat, trudged back and forth through the stubble threatening thin air with staffs and pikes. Nag Kath’s first instinct was to become Burry reborn with backsides kicked high. Then he reasoned the only place that would invade central Belfalas was northern Belfalas. Although the farm had its own designation because of who owned it, the county was nominally governed by the Piro-Tendrit family in Dol Amroth. They were a large, contentious group with little interest in the hinterlands. If the Elf was going to say anything, it would not be to them. 

Summer became fall, Inariel’s favorite season. Chambermaid Amalie did indeed marry the farm manager’s son Billitorn and was allowed to stay on staff. Nag Kath thought the baby would be about seven months after the marriage. He kept that to himself this time. Winter was colder than usual. The Elves did not mind. Before they realized, it was spring again. Amalie had a baby girl who was called Florice, an old family name. This year, Miss Told would ride with them to Dol Amroth. She had not been on a horse since she got here but thought it undignified for Her Ladyship to have temporary help. She actually rode rather well. 

_____________-------____________

The spring of the year 130 was a lot like the previous year for the Kath’s. Cal managed to get around. Children got older, so did their parents. In noble news, Prince Barahir’s son and heir Tyaldran and his wife Deriandrie were coming for the summer with their older daughter Misanaldra who had just turned eleven. Fourteen year-old son Arathorn and daughter Taliense who was just nine would stay with their grandparents.

Tyaldran had been here three times before and this was his second trip representing the Principality. In addition to the blood ties with the Ivandreds, the family tree grew from Prince Imrahil. Those vines were thinning with the generations and needed tending. They arrived without incident on June 4th and immediately went to the citadel. Protocol required the two fiefs to greet each other first thing. They would be staying there anyway. As always, Borond and Raniece had the Ivandred family gathering a few days later. Lady Deriandrie did not travel well on the sea and was much improved after four days of solid ground. 

When Nag Kath and Inariel arrived, the family was a bit surprised at how deeply the Lord and Lady of Ithilien bowed to them. Aunt Inara had become less formal after prolonged exposure to Orc Six but she was the ranking Lady of Gondor in Belfalas. The ranking family member was Caladrion who came by man-cart but could walk inside the house. He bowed to his great grandson and then they shook hands. Nag Kath and Inariel came over next. The Lord and Lady gave another short bow and then they held hands as she said, “It is good to see you both again. While you are here we will have long conversations.”

Nag Kath said, “Hello Ty, Deria. Welcome back.”

Misanaldra, shortened to Missy, was almost the same age as two of her Dol Amroth cousins and was having a wonderful time after the boring old palace. She walked up to Uncle Nag and said with conviction, “I am too old to have groats in my ears!”

“I should think they will have grown to nippers by now, young lady.”

Everyone could see her thinking whether she was too old for any coin or just groats. She smiled and kept them guessing. With children, less a few who could not come, they had twenty-five guests. Raniece had learned long ago to have a restaurant deliver everything and have someone else clean up in the morning. That was how Uncle Nag did it, among many. They had a lovely evening. 

Catanard season started in ten days. Caladrion was excited. He could still walk to the pavilion and went to the first comedy, ‘The Courtly Minstrel’. Now into great, great grandchildren, Menalgir got another box of six on the other side of the stage a few years before -- a complex political effort needing luck, cash and mortality. They still had to rotate the family and children under twelve were discouraged by long tradition. 

A week later, Cal slipped on a cobblestone and landed hard on his side. The street was crowded and two men immediately helped him into a man-cart and saw him home. Nag Kath was next door and summoned right away. Nothing was broken but the old man would have a long bruise on his thigh and have to stay quiet for some time. 

The comedy ‘Better Sense’ was three days away. Nag Kath and Salvie, just turned twenty-three, had dinner with Cal that night while Inariel joined heirs from both sides of the family in the Princely box. After the performance, the male soloist and two of the chorus along with a half-dozen family members and Miss Told were slipped inside by Salvie. They came into the main room to sing some of Caladrion’s favorite songs from different operas. Dry eyes were hard to find.

By the time the last show was played, Cal could take a man-cart to the pavilion and use a wheeled-chair to his familiar seat. He could walk around the house again. 

A good summer by all accounts.

The autumn went well too. Dudhrandir militia training did not impress but the gentleman Elf farmer just thanked everyone and made sure their workers kept weapons in good repair. Some of them might have been used in the War of the Ring. Amalie’s baby was growing like a weed. The Coloma trees leafed well. 

In February a rider arrived with a message that Caladrion had another fall. Nag Kath went back to Dol Amroth with him. As usual, Cal was on his porch with tea but this time in his wheeled chair. The family hired a strong young man to get him in and out and help around the house.

Nag Kath inspected the damage. Again, nothing was broken, but the bruise went to the bone. Neither of them thought he would walk again and neither of them said so. Except for a few nights a week out with younger family, the Elf stayed close to home. He and Cal talked about all the things that made a wonderful life. Some were not so wonderful, but taken together, as one must do in this world, the scale tipped in his favor. 

A cold swept through Dol Amroth in March. Most people got it with sniffles and runny noses. Caladrion caught it too. It settled in his lungs. Nag Kath could pull some away, but colds never came clean. Cal’s breathing was ragged for a day, seemed to improve and then got worse. Derissa was not sick so she sat with him holding his hand. Nag Kath had the chair across the room. That night in the wee hours she felt his grip slip away. As if not to disturb dear Cal, she whispered, “Nag.” The Elf walked over and felt for a pulse. Then he put his hand on her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. 

At light, Derissa went to her brother’s and sister’s houses to tell them. Nag Kath stayed with his oldest friend. Cal’s water blossom was not alone beyond the circle anymore. The couple was of the last time Nag Kath still needed people. He wept for them. He wept because he could. 

Caladrion Ivandred was buried next to his parents, Eniecia and their children in the large family plot on the mainland. It was the first time the younger folk had seen the Elf’s emotions. Pain leaked from his ageless face. Grand-da sat in the grass with his long arms around his long legs in a drizzle well after the family went home. It was Raniece’s sixtieth birthday, the oldest of Cal’s grandchildren. It was their generation now. Nag Kath kissed them when he walked back and rode to Alas Forten.

Inariel was very still. Now that the two Elves, however created, were living together, they necessarily adopted Elvish traits. One of those is the understanding of inevitability. She knew when her husband returned he would bring these tidings. She wanted him to hold her. They talked about Dol Amroth and Nag Kath’s extended family, now three generations from him.

She waited until then to give him the letter she got by King’s courier. It was from her brother, in Sindarin, requesting her and her husband’s counsel regarding old matters in the east. It referenced Nag Kath’s recent report of unrest along the southern Mordor border. He read it twice. “We go overland through Anghabar to the port of Sarlond. It is the same distance as back to Dol Amroth and we avoid a week on the sea. From there we catch or commandeer a boat up the Great River”

She nodded. It was a three-day ride at a steady pace, not difficult with good roads and inns the whole way. This was official business. They would leave at the crack of dawn with an escort of four including the Brittanal cousins and Petrandal along with Dellasannir, the youngest of the household guards. If needed, they would impress horses along the way. Miss Told was up to wave goodbye.


	59. Too Good to Last

** _Chapter 59_ **

** _Too Good to Last_ **

** **

**Useful maps are Harondor and Khand Topo.**

They made Sarlond about noon of the third day. If you knew a ship was available, this was quite a bit faster than riding to Dol Amroth and sailing the whole way back. Nag Kath hadn’t paid much attention on his trips because it was tucked in a corner on a small spur of land and ships often passed by at night. Sarlond was a larger town than he expected and he had no trouble hiring a four-man fishing boat to take them into the channel hoping to intercept an inbound cargo or, even better, Marine vessel. 

They floated for a couple bells until a small freighter wallowed into view. The captain saw the hail and wondered if veering over was a good idea but he tacked to the calmer current and pulled alongside. The Elf shouted, “Good afternoon sir. Are you interested in two paying passengers?”

The fellow had a grin far surpassing the dreams of Nag Kath and called, “I suppose. How far are you going?”

“Minas Tirith, but Pelargir will do nicely.”

The man thought of a fair number, doubled it and said, “A silver, you eat what we do!”

The Elves’ bargaining position was not strong, bobbing like a cork in the lanes. They had Lembas. “Done!”

With a nod, the fishing boat rowed alongside and a deckhand dropped the boarding ladder. Inariel was wearing traveling clothes and had no trouble getting up. The mate offered her his hand and she took it with a smile. Nag Kath was right behind her and turned halfway up to take the bags from the fishermen. They signaled the Brittanals waiting on the shore to go home.

The royal couple could have demanded passage for free and woe to anyone who denied them, but for a silver coin with her da's dented profile on one side, they could quietly be Nag and Inara Solvanth for the occasion. This was a hauler with no passenger space but a part of the cargo hold was empty enough to serve as their quarters. Like most vessels of any kind, they had baited hooks trailing off the stern and caught enough fish for the cook to easily feed everyone.

From the point it was still nearly two hundred miles to Pelargir. Spring flow was picking up but with a favorable breeze they made the trip in a little under four days. Inariel was quiet and the crew was surprisingly polite. Captain was a good soul and father of two daughters so his men knew to mind their tongues. 

Walking to an inn, the Princess said, “I have never need a bath more.”

That got her an annoying grin, “Then we need to postpone our vacation to Mordor”

That got a grin from her too. He took rooms at the Sail and Sea before going back to the quay to book a ferry to the Rammas Dock. According to the man who ran the ferry office, the Questor was due that afternoon and would head upriver with the light. 

The boat had the wind at her back but with less room to maneuver, traveling against the current is slow. It was another seven days to Rammas, better than usual for the season. They shared a wagon with another couple to the mithril gate and hired two man-carts to take them to the sixth. More groats got them to the seventh. 

Inariel took her husband by the elbow to their apartments to clean and change. Eldarion would already know they were here and that would give him time to clear his schedule. They presented themselves with bows and love. The King beheld her and said, “You are younger yet. Hello Nag Kath. Thank you both for coming so far so fast. Please, let us talk for a moment and then I will summon several gentlemen who watch this for me.”

He showed them to his small conference table. Tea was brought and the servants vanished leaving only two door guards outside. The King continued, “We are seeing worship of the old dark ones here in the capital. I would not think anything of it but the tyrant you mentioned in your letter is causing trouble. Refugees are fleeing from this side of his border into Harondor and Ithilien. He has been very cruel, says he is the return of Sauron.”

Nag Kath said, “They have it in them. Does he claim proof or some symbol of his ascension?”

“That is a question for my counselors. Sister, I would like you here as Nag Kath’s advisor. This also falls to Prince Barahir’s borders and I am sure he would like your counsel as well.” Like it or not, this was her husband’s long and true trade after his convincing impersonation of a country squire. 

The King nodded to the door attendant who ushered in Security Minister Templeblan, his Guardi Chief Duramhir and Chief of Staff, General Tobl. Inariel knew them in passing. Nag Kath had never met any of them but they certainly knew who he was. After introductions, Eldarion said, “Gentlemen, Lord Kath and Princess Inariel have my complete faith. Please explain what you have discovered.”

Templeblan had the floor. “Thank you, Sire. We are seeing increased support for the resurgence of the dark lords among the King’s subjects here in Minas Tirith, Osgiliath too. Some are said to worship them. They call themselves the New Shadow.”

Nag Kath interrupted to ask, “Which dark lords, sir?”

“Three; Sauron, Morgoth and Saruman.”

The Elf looked at Inariel and back to the ministers, “Do you know which language they use? All three spoke different tongues.”

Templeblan drew a blank and looked to his guardi man. Duramhir answered, “Westron, as far as we know. Forgive me, Lord Kath, we have been watching from a distance to see where things lead.”

Nag Kath said in his Elf-Lord visage, “I think that is wise.”

Templeblan continued, “Mr. Duramhir and I having also been watching an increase in Haradrim coming here from Harondor and Ithilien. Most are just trying to get away from war but a few have been associating with folk who advocate for these dark ones.”

The Elf looked at the general and asked, “Are there rumblings in the army? In the past, that is where the spies are placed.”

Tobl said, “Not that I know, sir, but we are keeping eyes peeled.”

Nag Kath put his elbows on the table with his fingers touching. Finally, he started, “My Lord, My Lady, gentlemen, by intent or mischance, I remove residual objects of power from before the unmaking of the One Ring that had fallen into the hands of men, like My Lord’s Angmar campaign. Has there been any sign that those here have, or claim to have access to old sorcery?”

The Guardi man shook his head. General Tobl said, “The fellow you wrote of in Chelkar says he is the next Sauron. Our ears there have never been good.”

Nag Kath said, “Both Khands maintain solid troops along their borders, more than enough to keep him from their door. If he wants to expand like the warlords of old, his only choice is west since south is desert. Those little places do not like each other but they seldom had the choice of allies." He held his chin, “General, how are our defenses along the Poros?”

“The Poros; strong, Harondor; less so.”

Eldarion commented, “Militia training for Ithilien, here and Lebennin will be more energetic than usual.” 

Nag Kath thought of Burry and smiled. People seemed to be waiting for him to speak next. He surprised them, “Sire, are there any reports of orcs?”

The men looked at each other and collectively said no. 

Nag Kath held his own chin and said, “I will find my old maps. Then let us have a look at one of these worshipers.”

______________-------______________

Back in their apartments, Inariel groused, “Not much to go on.”

“Quite a bit in my line.” He got to where she had hung her own masterwork and grinned, “How did you talk the Provin out of this?”

“Mother kept it in her study.”

He walked over to his drawing, a picture of a child in a fountain, and said with a chuckle, “Now this ... this is worth diamonds!”

Inariel smiled and said, “She seemed to be having a good time. I do not know who drew that.”

“This was before I learned to sign my name, no more than three months after I was released.”

She rose quickly and silently to join him. Then she looked at the picture, her husband and the picture again and sat down, seeming pleased. He knitted his brows and concentrated before asking, “Did your da keep his reports from ministers going back to the beginning of his reign?”

Inariel tilted her head slightly and answered, “I have no idea. My brother’s scribe probably knows.”

He walked over to her, bent to kiss her and said, “Will you ask?” I need to go see Rey and Heuris. Then I need to go to Osgiliath. Hopefully I’ve still got a horse around here. See you tomorrow, my dear.”

Reyaldar had lasted longer than any of the family Northmen but now into his eighties, he moved poorly and never left the house. Heuris was stronger and stayed with him. Their servants were not spring-chickens either. They worked as a team to keep the oldest Conaths comfortable. 

Rey said after the guest was seated for tea, “Good to see you. I am glad Caladrion went in his own way and own time. He and his have acquitted themselves with honor.”

“I think so too, but so have you. We have bowmen here ready to serve.”

“Aye, better shots than I ever was. The call-up this year will be longer than last.” The canny old landlord smiled faintly, “I expect you know.”

His great grandfather sounded vague, “Just what the birds tell me. Along those lines, is Orlon close to hand?” I need to see some old friends across the river.”

Heuris answered, “He should still be in the stable. Eliesse is back at the farm with a foal due in summer.” 

“Good. I will be back soon and we will hear all the stories. Auntie Inara and I will stay long enough to say hello to everyone.”

As his granda left, Rey added, “I will tell the children to open your home.” A pause, "Quietly."

Being an Elf helped Orlon remember his master quickly. The lad at the stable made sure he was the owner by having Nag Kath describe the saddle. That done; he took the stallion gently down the three switchbacks to limber and rode out the mithril gate. The horse was in his prime and needed a good work-out. They made the bridge in two hours with a light sweat with another half-hour down to the far south edge of the original eastern wall. Nag Kath took a room at the Heuron because it had a stable and planned his evening.

____________-------_____________

It was the sort of tavern if you didn’t visit often, everyone stopped and stared. There were empty tables so he sat at one. A waitress came by with a pitcher and a mug waiting to see his coin. A groat later, she poured. The other patrons resumed their drinking but someone at every table glanced over now and again. The tall one seemed a bit down-and-out with a patch on one knee and shabby boots, one of which squished with every other step. He minded his own business and nursed his ale. As he was finishing his second mug, a small man walked in the room looking for someone. Not spotting him, he called, “Anyone seen Listracht?”

No one answered so he tried the next bar. The traveler finished his ale and sauntered into the night. After a leisurely stroll away from the wharf warehouses, he saw an older fellow sitting on a bench and sat next to him. The easterling said, “Always hoped to meet you.”

“Is Listracht still with us?”

“Haven’t seen him since before you did. It has been quiet.”

Nag Kath stretched his legs and countered, “Not so quiet.”

“Quiet on the Khagan’s side of the border.”

“Troublemakers are claiming dark powers again. Is there anything to that?”

The fellow stretched his own legs before answering, “Not yet. Tulbar seems an ordinary warlord with weak neighbors. I could ask a friend of a friend what some of the people leaving have to say.”

The tall man put his hands on his knees and said, “I would appreciate that. Those leaving on the Gondor side are hard-pressed. This doesn’t have to be deadly secret. If someone has something to say, drop a letter in the daily packet to this address.” He handed the man a card to the stable and added, “If anyone takes an interest, I’d like to know that too. Does that put your folk too far into the light?” They still lived under dictators.

“For Kath of Nennûrad, not overmuch.”

____________--------___________

He was back the next morning and hid Orlon before walking in his rough clothes through the markets and refugee clusters on the south first-level. People here looked too, but not very long. The tall man stopped at a stall serving three cholla and dipping sauce for a groat. A girl of about nine walked over and stared. She probably earned that duty from her family because she was missing three and a half fingers on one hand and might shame pity from the charitable. There would family watching to make sure he did no worse.

The tall man tore a piece of the cholla and gave it to her and then offered the little husk to dip it in. She smiled and made sure to get as much sauce as the patty would absorb. Chewing quickly, she began her appeal in Westron with a heavy accent, “Best of sirs. You have so much and we so not much, could you give to share for to buy more cholla?”

The speech was probably for someone who didn’t have a patch on his knee, but even such as he appeared would have more than her family did. He seemed to consider that and asked, “How many cholla is that?”

On the good hand she counted four fingers and said, “Six cholla.”

“That is quite a few. You were hurt, yes?”

Her head dropped. This was a shameful wound and would severely limit her chances of finding a husband since wives must cook and clean and work with both hands. She said meekly, “Yes, best of sirs. Soldiers came to our home. One hit me the sword. He made me to cry.”

“Oh, I am sorry. Soldiers of Hûk Tulbar are very fierce.”

She did not disagree with the name of the head villain. “Yes, best of sirs. Bad men ate our food.” She was not any closer to her family’s dinner and said another practiced line, “Three groats, best of sirs. One for each finger.”

The kindly man gave her more cholla, “Was your father a soldier?”

She had not prepared for that. Of course he was. Every man in their district was a soldier when he wasn’t farming. If this stranger thought her da was a bad man, he would not give them money for food. Improvising, the poor lass mumbled, “Pada is the good men. He brings us to come here from the bad men.”

The Elf leaned over so he was at eye level with the ragamuffin, “I will give you money. Now you take me to your father, yes?”

No one she had approached even gave her a bite. Most ignored her or threatened to cuff her ear. The market stalls would clear soon and yesterday’s chollas were gone. She nodded grimly and led the tall man towards a tenement against the switchback wall across from the large stable.

Her father and brother were watching to protect her. Some men would not care if she only had half a hand. The blonde man carried a sword. Brother was just thirteen so the stranger would be hard to defeat with no other help. Father was your usual Chelkar Southron with lank black hair and a beard that never quite grew in. Nag Kath thought the lump in the blanket next to his place against the wall was a weapon. 

In their language, the girl told da that the man said he would give them money but wanted to speak with him first. That seemed promising so her father made the universal gesture for him to sit, in this case, in the dirt. To get around the Swerting’s suspicion of no possible benefit, Nag Kath tossed him a silver. The man didn’t seem to know what it was at first. Money was brown. 

The Elf told him in Westron, “That is worth forty-two groats.” 

Father did not know the tongue as well as his little girl. Her brother told him in Haradric and his eyes got round. He said something and the son looked at the tall one to say, “That is most generous, best of sirs.”

Nag Kath said slowly in Variag, “Do you speak this tongue?”

He nodded. Khandian (or Variag) in the east was like the common-tongue in the west. You learned enough to get by. Plainstongue was gone among the old allies except Mordor. The girl did not know Variag. Keeping in that language he offered, “I will give you more silvers, but you must tell me about your lands. Do not tell anyone you are doing so. What are your skills, best of sirs?”

In rough Khandian da said, “To farm, to make walls”

The Elf asked, “To soldier?”

The fellow nodded reluctantly. Nag Kath pronounced, “Then I will hire you to make walls. Come to the houlars’ section on the other side of the city tomorrow, first thing. I will find you there.” He looked at the son to confirm the message was understood. The boy nodded too.

______________-------______________

“Hello, my dear. How is Milli?”

She saw him dressed as a salt-peddler and wondered if he had to confuse the guards to get in before saying, “Say I told you and I will cast you out, but I think she is at the time of life where sleeping at night is difficult.”

“One of my specialties, if she will allow me to heal. I will leave that with you.”

“Her physicians recommend hot baths and prayer.”

He considered that for a moment but reserved comment. “I made some headway. Did the guardi call?”

“He left a card. Helta put it on the mantle.” Nag Kath put his arms around Inariel from behind. She wrinkled her royal nose and protested, “You need one of Milli’s hot baths. Where have you been?” 

“Among the people.” He had a cold bath rather than wait.

The next morning, Nag Kath went to the first, north of the prow, and sat on a ledge near his mural. The father and children wandered through the tunnel. This was still the first-level, but the north side had far fewer places for those with nothing. They had never been here before and walked slowly, not knowing houlars even had shops. 

Sure they did not have an unlikely follower, he walked up from behind and said, “Follow me.” Nag Kath pulled fifteen feet ahead and led them to a nook fifty paces further. They sat on two benches in front of a rope-maker’s shop. No one would complain. Kathen owned it. 

For nearly two bells, the Elf talked mostly with the father about the army of Hûk Tulbar; how they fought, how many, tactics, how they drove people away. He also asked oblique questions about any sorcery or symbols the despot used. 

Hanieru was a corporal, as in the west; a leader of ten. That was a bonus. Their militia never had a chance against the troops that invested villages, looting what they wanted and burning the rest. The man ruefully admitted their own Hûk was elderly and his sons were something he would not name in the presence of his young daughter. Tulbar’s officers had a few of the shaggy horses from the east but his soldiers were on foot.

By the time they were done, Nag Kath knew the condition of their boots, what they ate and, most importantly, what they feared. Of note; they used the symbol Fûl but there were no priests like the Visitors. Hanieru did not know what they worshiped, if anything. They were simply vicious, hungry men who did what they were told. His wife had the good fortune to die quickly.

The Elf handed him a small purse that was mostly copper with some silvers, about a nipper’s worth. It was a fortune to them, given in small denominations because the Haradrim could never change a silver without attracting unwanted attention. The gentleman might need to speak to him again. If Hanieru had new tidings of the cruel Tulbar, he should leave a message at a stable on the third level.

The next stop was the guardi office on the third level. Villains, at least the sort who got caught, were on the third or below. The main office was on the first. Nag Kath stopped by and asked for Mr. Danzail. The desk man knew that anyone inquiring was to be shown back straightaway.

Danzail was Nag Kath’s idea of the quiet side of law. Of normal height, slight build and the same length of beard as most male inhabitants, he blended in anywhere but the very top or the very bottom. They shook hands and the Elf was shown a seat in the cramped office. 

The guardi said, “I did as you asked. The leader, or, at least the man out front, is a Temvarid Hallistrad. That would be Hallistrad Mercantile except the old man tossed this son out a few years ago for disrespect. He still has enough money for an apartment here on the third where he occasionally meets others. Other times he is not there. My lads are looking for other ways out. It is the sort of building where some tenants have their own outside doors.”

Nag Kath asked, “What makes you think he has anything to do with Sauron?”

Danzail expected that. “His da objected to his scholarship supporting the dark ones. Since then he has been more discreet, but his visitors are known to be interested in darkness as well. I put the man about thirty. He has no friends, no woman; pretty miserable if you ask me.”

The Elf was impressed, “How does he talk to his followers?”

The guardi grinned, “Ah, there he is not so subtle. One of his guests will leave and soon after, written bills appear on the public boards with some sort of nonsense. I think it is a code, but don’t know that either.” The chief took a sheet off his desk, “This one just happened to come my way.”

It was in Westron but with poor spelling and words out of place. Nag Kath would give it a closer look later, perhaps have a scholar of counting look too. He leaned forward and said, “I am sure Mr. Duramhir told you a little of me. My house is 577 on the fourth. I am not there but will stop by often. Let us keep Mr. Hallistrad comfortable. This next question is very important; what does he eat?”

_____________-------_____________

It was time to evaluate Mr. Hallistrad. The apartment building was next to the one Chûr stayed in all those years ago. If it was like his, the rooms were accessed through interior corridors and several had exterior doors too. By rent or arrangement, he could leave through any of four exits, three on the third and one on a stair up to the fourth. Nag Kath guessed he had one for when he would likely be seen and another for secrecy. 

The Elf reviewed his sketch of Mr. Danzail’s recollection of the spy's face and had leisurely tea three doors across the street. Good tips kept the waiter happy. Hallistrad did not come or leave, unless well disguised. The Elf had tea there the next day, amazing the owners with his bladder. Towards closing-time, his man stepped out the nearest third-level door and walked furtively towards the food markets. He filled his bag with loaves, butter, eggs and greens. Like many rooming houses, the only stove was in a central kitchen which was heated once a day for renters to prepare their evening meal. The man met no one, spoke only to vendors about the prices and went home through the same door.

The Elf had Danzail put men on the building to see if the fellow made any more trips from his public door. Three days later, he went out again nearing the dinner bell and got a baked-fish plate, greens and grain from a store-front that made them for the convenience of busy workers. Nag Kath thought that was a delicious idea and went by the same stall in the morning, asking questions about the spices. Later that afternoon, he returned with a guardi and made the owner a generous offer to let them help prepare food. The cook thought having two men pay him for the privilege of working the stove was heaven sent. The condition was that he never told a soul. 

It only took two more days until Mr. Hallistrad was back. Proprietor Blanksire poked his head into the kitchen with a wink and turned to tell the nervous young man that a fresh batch would be coming in just a moment. Warm with savory spices, it was taken home and enjoyed.

Nag Kath’s guardi cook was Selbroune. His next job was to mind the three front entrances. Watcher Mentier had the door in the back. At the late eleven-bell, Nag Kath went in the rear door and wandered the corridor. He sensed his own spell on the second floor. The door was not locked long.

Hallistrad was sitting in a chair and groggy. The first thing he saw was yellow light. The Elf pulled a chair over to the Visitor, for lack of something better to call him, and said in Westron, “I am come from friends. Are we prepared?”

Hallistrad did not want to answer but had no trained defenses. He croaked, “Prepared?”

“Yes, are our adherents ready?”

“I do not know. We seek ...”

Nag Kath had overestimated the man but he might be the obvious pigeon with higher-ups supervising quietly. He asked in the Black Speech, “**_What powers have you used?_**” There was no response. He tried the same in halting Southron. Nothing. Back to Westron, “Who must be told if there is news?”

Against his every fiber, Hallistrad groaned, “A greater one.”

“I must speak with him. Who is that?”

It took another jolt of yellow but the Visitor whined, “I do not know. I leave the sign. His servants will come to me.” After a pause with greater concern, “Is there danger?!”

“No, tidings are good. It is time for the arrival. Give the sign.”

Usually Nag Kath would have given the Visitor some sort of clearing. He would not remember anything from the Lostorin for a while. Uncleared, it would stay with him for years. That would have to wait.

Hallistrad might not remember the craft of signals and evasion, if he knew any. Nag Kath sat watching him all night. At light, the man stood and gathered a small bag in a trunk near the foot of his bed and walked out the back door. Mentier saw Nag Kath give the sign and followed some distance back with a distinct whistle for Selbroune. 

When a linen store opened on the far south of the fourth, Hallistad walked in. There could be no staying with him but Selbroune hurried through one of the rare alleys between buildings here to see if he ducked out the back. He didn’t. Hallistrad left the store a minute later, accidentally bumping into a tall man who failed to apologize. 

The same tall man scampered back up the stairs to join the two guardi. There was no back exit, unless the stores had inside doors. Neither of them looked like seamstresses but Mentier was newly married which earned him the job of getting fabric his expectant wife could not get herself. 

Mentier was good. He politely waited for a lady to a look around, knowing his questions would interfere with the owner’s first customer. She was there to claim an item that had already been cut, the only one of its kind on the shelf. The woman, forty-ish, thanked the proprietor and was out shortly without paying, as if on account. Mentier, scratched his head in confusion and said to the man at the counter, “I beg pardon, sir. Let me just see the size.” He left and walked out of view of the small shop window giving the nose-rub that their real quarry was the woman. Then he went back inside for a leisurely chat with the owner before buying two yards of lovely fabric that would be just right for the upcoming bundle of joy.

Selbroune and Nag Kath stayed with the woman; the Elf hurrying up the stairs to the fifth to watch from above, the guardi barely out of sight on her heels. She did not seem to be concerned with watchers, not stopping to window-shop and see who else did. She did turn into a dilapidated house. Selbroune could only wait. Nag Kath saw her make her only feint and come out the rear and backtrack to the next set of stairs up to the fifth. From there she was wordlessly admitted in the stout gate of a splendid home. 

Not knowing the guardi whistles, Nag Kath collected the two men and told them he needed eyes on the fine home as far away as they could get them, including one on the sixth. He would be with them most of the time. Normally, one of the guardi would discover who owned the place but Nag Kath just walked to the Kathen office and asked Lasthlo. He had married his girl who was expecting in four or five months. Lasth knew the home belonged to Mr. Keprand, a member of mercantile exchange board.

Hellistrand’s important message was that a runner from Tulbar arrived with refugees. Their friends in the capital should prepare for the next phase. Nag Kath assumed they had a next phase. If they didn’t, that was to the good. More importantly, whoever was in that house had work to do. Sure enough, that afternoon a servant left the main gate, stopping at two other august residences before returning. At twilight, their owners came to the place on the fifth and were admitted on sight. They left quickly. The game was on.

________________-------_______________

It was time to talk with the guardi. Templeblan called a meeting with Mr. Danzail and Mr. Duramhir. Chief Duramhir went first, “Keprand seems to be what he seems. Olaughdour is some sort of trader, gets things delivered in Osgiliath or at the Rammas but he lives here. The third is Hech Perandorn, formerly Colonel Perandorn. It seems he retired suddenly for things unmentioned in his resignation. The man comes from money. The home is his wife’s. He has a son in the army, a Lieutenant, along with a pair of daughters; one married, one still there.”

Nag Kath said, “Good work, gentlemen. Mr. Danzail, your men deserve praise. Here is what I can add; Hellistrand speaks no dark or eastern tongues. He is a believer but was not trained using magic to protect himself from questioning. The man will remember nothing of our conversation or taking the message to the linen shop.”

Danzail added, “The shop seems ordinary. Women take garments there for fancy embroidery and he hires-out the work so other customers come get pieces left by the seamstresses. The owner regularly visits the shrine of the Valar. One can never say for certain, but I don’t think he is involved. The fellow said the woman who came in for the message is a lady’s maid, so, probably on an errand for the lords of the manor.”

Templeblan sighed, “One less trail to sniff. I think I agree with what Lord Kath is about to say next; our main concern is the former Colonel. I will tell General Todl as soon as I can see him. They have their own methods. Chief, do you need more men?”

Duramhir shook his head, “I will take a few fellows off a new cut-purse gang. What about this Olaughdour?”

Templeblan rubbed his temples and said, “Yes, keep an eye on him too. Thankfully, he is not political.”

Nag Kath offered, “Let us not assume we have found the top yet. Does Keprand have friends on the sixth or seventh?”

The Minister chuckled, “You have a devious mind, Lord Kath. I like that. Perhaps with a small squeeze we shall see where the bubbles come up. Mr. Danzail, with the Chief’s permission, I think we should learn everything we can about the distinguished Mr. Keprand, who he knows, what he does, his children, the lot.”

Duramhir nodded as Danzail’s direct supervisor and added, “If the man is in the mercantile league; that could stretch some distance sideways, well out of my purview.”

Templeblan said, “Leave that with me. Lord Kath, do you feel like visiting the General?”

Todl was expected back shortly. This office was on the seventh to be close to the King but he did most of his work on the second at the staff headquarters, not far from their former stables where Nag Kath spent the war. This was important enough that the Minister and Elf waited in his office holding fresh tea. 

With time to kill, Templeblan thought to know his mysterious associate better. “How old are you, Nag Kath?”

“Just turned 134, quite young by Elvish standards.”

“But old by those here?”

The Elf chuckled, “There are older in the Woodland Realm. They keep to themselves. One of these days I will visit them again. Now; my wife is not yet fifty so she is youngest of those in the world of men.”

“I hope you do not mind my asking.”

“If I did it would still be your job to know. You serve a fine and just King. He needs to know things too.”

Templeblan said, “Very well. I understand you were not called with the other Elves because you were once an orc of some kind.”

It showed how far men were from the war that he did not know the different types of orcs. Nag Kath answered, “One of Saruman’s Uruk-hai. I was imprisoned for the Steward’s inspection and turned as I am in a gaol next to the stables on the second. That was why I asked about the dark ones and language. Anyone hoping for the return of Saruman is a fool. He certainly was." He chuckled, "I am as close as they will get.”

That was quite a bit more than Templeblan thought to hear. Just then, General Todl walked in and shut the door behind him. The Chief of Staff in Gondor had the status of the highest Ministers, but was not of their group. As much politician as soldier, younger men with cavalry, infantry and navy responsibility stayed with their forces, Todl knew Templeblan well and sat back in his own chair with a sigh saying, “I am sure this is going to be a full plate.”

The Minister gave him the report. Todl put his elbows on his desk and mused, “I remember Perandorn’s departure. He came up with me. It seems he had sticky fingers with an ordinance supplier. It was dishonest but not sinister. He was bitter, probably would have made the general staff. His wife is rich as a Dwarf’s widow. Usually men like that need independent means for secret tastes. Don’t know much about the son either, other than that he is a good officer. His old man’s departure did not affect his prospects. It was all kept quiet.”

That was the way of high office. No one wanted a magistry trial and the opprobrium that came with it for petty change. The General pulled one of two cords behind him and a staff orderly was in within moments. Todl said, “I would like a word with Captain Wheymier.”

The man said Wheymier was on the second and asked if he should send for him? Todl rubbed the bridge of his nose and replied, “No, I am going there now. Have my horse ready in five minutes.”

Nag Kath said, “Before you go …” and gave him the state of play in the Southron's army.

Todl and Templeblan were glued to their chairs. They knew the Elf had considerable battle experience but this was the sort of thing their planners would love to know. The General’s horse had to wait.

Lady’s maid Helta opened the door. This time her Lady’s husband was better groomed. She bowed and he walked around in silence before asking, “Is Her Ladyship out?”

Helta curtsied and replied, “She is at her Lady Sisters’, Your Lordship.”

Nag Kath did not like being ‘His Lordship’ but knew he had married into this and the seventh has rules. He thanked her and walked down the hall to Milli’s. This was a much larger suite of rooms than Inariel’s since it was Millicend’s permanent home. A steward admitted him to a reception hall and would tell the ladies that Lord Kath had returned.

Millicend was now seventy eight but looked fifty. Her husband, long retired, was only seventy two years-old and looked every one of them. Milli invited Nag Kath to join them. He had not been in these quarters before. They were decorated in Gondoran and Elvish styles. That was not generally a graceful mixture, better than Dwarvish, he supposed.

Millicend said in her bubbly way, “Inara tells me you are up to things that I am not supposed to know.” She had a fair raised eyebrow of her own.

The Elf said smoothly, “Just cleaning up a few old messes, bit of a bother, but no more.”

The Princess knew that was as much answer as she would get. Her sister reported, “I asked about the old records. Head scribe Bonthaulu is expecting you to call.”

“Thank you my dear. Is he in the blue hall?” She nodded. He left his eyes on her for any hints that Millicend’s condition had been broached. If there were, they were too subtle for his clumsy court manners. The girls did not seem anywhere near finished so he took his leave and wandered down the corridor to find Bonthaulu.

With a name like that, Nag Kath was not expecting a fellow who looked like a Numenorean. The reception was gracious and after yet more tea, the scribe asked, “How may I be of service, My Lord?”

“Many years ago, one of King Elessar’s counselors kept records of orcish military tactics. This would have been in the year 3020 of the last age. The author was Amiedes Tallazh who later became the first Minister of Trade. Do you keep archives that far back?”

Bonthaulu put his cup on the desk and said, “I do not know, but will certainly look. Most of those things are kept.”

Nag Kath came back, “It may be in a larger file of similar war records. I should like a look at the lot, if it is not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all, My Lord. Provided we can find it. I shall leave word at your apartments as soon as the archivist is done.” The Lord left reconsidering the advantages of being the King’s brother-in-law. 

Inariel was still at her sister’s when he got back to the apartments so he took off his boots and wondered about what came next. The army would look into Lieutenant Perandorn. The Guardi were watching the troika and, presumably, snooping into the merchant’s exchange. The Southron corporal was under no obligation to be available. Righters across the river were alert. That was where anyone coming up from south Ithilien would arrive, which made him think of the merchant who did business there. Might he be the king-pin of the three?

He heard from the scribes an hour later. They found Tallazh’s notes along with related pieces from one of the Steward’s officers who gave specifics into field tactics of the troops behind the orcs before the dead army arrived. Nag Kath was interested to see how Tallazh described him as he learned the tongue and drew his pictures. He remembered very little of this. Tallazh went from mildly disgusted to sympathetic as their relationship developed. 

The officer’s diary was not personal but well-ordered on how units were deployed. They might not still do things that way and did not have the Mûmikils as cover, but it was instructive. 

Inariel arrived after dinner. Nag Kath knew he was on his own and finding things to eat was not hard. She sat on his lap on the couch and said, “While you have been enjoying life, Milli told me more of her difficulty. I mentioned that was one of your healing specialties. She will let one of us know. Royal healers generally do not touch royal bodies.”

Her royal healer had no such restrictions.

Head Guardi Duramhir read down the list of the merchant’s exchange. They were important men, some better known than others. “This one, a Mr. Rellugh-Tur, has been with the group four years and works from West Osgliath. He trades up and down the Anduin, sometimes with his own ferries, sometimes hired. As near as we can tell, he is a proper citizen now. The man contributes to the Pelennor Charity, pays his bills and keeps his nose clean.”

Nag Kath asked, “Where does he live?”

“Big place on the southwestern bank. Here’s the address.”

There was no sense who to squeeze first. The suspects could already be ruined, or worse, for violating the King’s Peace, but if one of them wasn’t the top man, it would only drive him undercover. Nag Kath volunteered for another ride east.

_______________--------______________

He started with Ilvest Kathen. The Elf wasn’t a partner anymore but was still their biggest client so Harengred Ilvest received him in style. The rare meeting started unusually; “Gred, what can you tell me about Mr. Rellugh-Tur, lives on the west-side down by the old wall.”

The man had a sip of tea and said, “I know of him, don’t know him. I think he owns his own property.”

“I need to find out more, an old matter.”

The estate man knew the old matter was none of his business. After more tea he admitted, “Never had much to do with that corner, but my friend Renthiew does. I’ll need to introduce you. Are you in a hurry?”

“No.”

"Let us ride over tomorrow, not too early, and pay him a visit.”

They had dinner that night with the family and rode after porridge. From the office to the far south of western Osgiliath takes an hour on horseback. Renthiew didn’t have an office. He was a cantankerous old fellow who owned a few rental buildings and made his son-in-law do all the lifting. The man was sitting on his porch when they arrived.

“Hello, old Eried!”

“Good day, Gred. What brings you out here?”

The riders tied their horses to porch posts and walked up. Ilvest replied, “In the area. Eried, this is Nag, old friend of mine. We were wondering if you could tell us about your neighbor.” The tone of voice suggested this was business. Renthiew was alone so this was as private as anywhere. He gestured for them to have a seat.”

Ilvest said, “This needs to stay between us. Nag needs to know about Mr. Rellugh-Tur. He is making inquiries from Minas Tirith.”

The old boy leaned back in his chair and wondered, “Are you now? Mind my asking why?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm, what do you want to know?”

“Just if he has any friends who come to visit from along the bottom of the Ephel.”

Renthiew thought before answering, “Don’t know. You some sort of soldier?”

“I am.”

“That’s different. Twenty-two seasons in the Third Pikemen till I dropped a rafter on my toes. Swertings making trouble again?”

Nag Kath could give him that, “Not yet, but one of their hard men is pushing this way. We would like to make sure he doesn’t get very far.”

“I still don’t know anything about the man but I will tell you this for the cause; there is a rooming house across from the compound, only place around, run by a Mrs. Briel. Tell her I sent you. Cost you fifteen groats a night. Bring your own sheets. Any of the rooms facing that way on the second floor will give you a view. She’s a chatty sort. You bring wine, maybe chattier.” He chuckled at that.

______________---------_____________

There weren’t a lot of options for spying. The large mercantile complex was nearly at the bottom of the old wall and stretched west from the river all the way to this seldom-used road, much further inland than any of his neighbors on the river -- too far from the bridge to be highly-sought and further from Minas Tirith than the Rammas dock. The rooming-house was the only structure anywhere close to the back end of the property. 

Nag Kath left Orlon with Renthiew and carried his bag, telling Mrs. Briel he needed four nights and paying in advance. Leaving his things in the room, he made a wide circle around the businessman’s compound, peeking in the wharves on the river. It had a gate on the inland side across from the rooming house but there were no recent tracks visible from his quarters. He pulled the only chair up to his window and read a book. Boarding here included dinner. He would ask questions then. 

Around the table; the other diners started with the landlady’s elderly mother-in-law, a woman much devoted to pious living. There was Mr. Lenfulas who was here from Pelargir. Across from him was a Mr. Iriantha, who would have you know he was the man to see about the finest Poros roofing slates. There was no mention of what happened to either Mr. Briels. 

The two gentlemen had an animated discussion about roofing, river currents and the general decline in public decorum. Mrs. Briel the elder only commented on public decorum as it pertained to her lifetime study. The landlady said little and Mr. Solvanth ventured; “That is quite a place across the way. Stout walls too.”

It was the sort of comment greenbottoms make when they feel the need to say something but are out of their depth. The landlady smiled, “Foreigners, but quite respectable. I think he works at the docks.”

Her mother-in-law proclaimed, “Foreigners have foreign religions!”

She didn’t seem to think that needed any embellishment so the handsome man wondered, “I do not much about those beliefs. How are they different from our own?” The two merchants combined for the barest of groans. Evidently this had been covered the night before. 

The old lady glowered at them and snapped, “Young man, foreigners believe in black powers! They would murder us in our sleep!”

Nag Kath thought he should risk being a bit more stupid, “I should hope the people across the road have no such intentions!”

Mrs. Briel the younger felt paying customers did not need to be told that swarthy foreigners thirsted for blood at nearby rooming-houses. “Mother, dear heart, I am sure the family obeys our laws to the letter.”

Unmolified, the senior woman declared, “From the desert, they are! Just because they haven’t slain us yet doesn’t mean they won’t. Hughmmph, I lock my door at night!”

The Elf’s job was to get information, not be an accommodating dinner guest. With alarm, “Dear me! One of my neighbors is from, oh, one of those lands to the east and doesn’t seem at all the type to make trouble.” He looked at the old lady piteously and asked, “How would one know if their neighbors were murderous villains?”

Landlady Briel tried again, “Mother has always tried to keep us safe from …”

“HOW?!" the old lady thundered, "See them riding here at night, soldiers by the look with those curved swords. Oh, yes, they are dressed like traders, but my Hogun was a soldier and I know what to look for. He never abided cut-throats!”

The traders at the table decided they had enough to eat and made for their rooms. The young man looked forlornly at his cold meat before excusing himself shortly after. On the way up the stairs he heard, “Mother! You will drive us to the Charity if you …” Bloodthirsty Southrons, eh? Tomorrow he would have a closer look at the docks. 

No one was murdered. The two merchants were on their way after porridge. Nag Kath wandered to the wharf. The long compound had no obvious gates on the side walls. The company sign on the water belonged to the trading company from Duramhir’s mercantile list. It seemed just like all the rest with a slack crew waiting for ferries or small ships to dock. If the old lady was right and soldierly types with curved swords used the back door, this was a lucrative way for Rellugh-Tur to maintain appearances.

If dinner the night before was trying, tonight was excruciating. It was just the two women and the blonde man. He ruffled the bedding to make it look like he slept but did not need sheets. While he was out, he did run across a modest jug of red wine. It could wait until Mrs. Briel senior was tucked away. 

Mrs. Briel the younger became more solicitous and helpful to the young boarder. The old woman needed an existing conversation to interrupt so the landlady asked the least controversial question she could, “What brings you Osgiliath, Mr. Solvanth?”

“I was sent by my father-in-law to wait for a shipment coming upriver. Yesterday was the first day it could have arrived, but I am to wait until the ferry docks and make arrangements for the goods to be carted to Minas Tirith.”

She offered, “How interesting. I hope your wait is not overlong.” It took a very long time for her to lick her lips. The old lady was noisily working her remaining teeth and paying no attention. Briel junior gazed her way and asked, “Is everything to your liking, mother?”

“Fine, thank you, daughter-in-law.”

The landlady looked at her sole guest and empathized, “I know it can be lonely on the road, away from the ones we love.” Her lips were dry again.

Nag Kath put her at about forty-five. She was in the mold of the lusty innkeeper Whilmina along the Greyflood except ten years older plus another thirty pounds. This was when the old lady needed to say something but she continued grazing and mashing her food. 

Her earnest lodger beamed, “Yes, I am newly married with a youngster on the way. Fortunately, Granhulda’s father needed a man and I was retained, on a probationary basis, of course.”

Briel senior belched to shame a Dwarf and announced, “I shall retire to my room now. Good evening to you both.” 

The landlady rose and helped her down the hall before returning to the table saying softly, “She really is very sweet.”

“I am sure she is, Mrs. Briel.”

“Please, I am Verlia to my friends.” 

Nag Kath did not offer a first name. He did say, “I did not want to mention this in front of a pious woman of the Valar, but would you object if I had a taste of wine?”

That seemed to dry her lips considerably, “I think that would be fine, Mr. Solvanth.”

The Elf slipped upstairs and back with the jug, at first only filling his empty tea mug and then remembering that one should always share with others. She had a solid pull and sighed, “Yes, travel can be lonely.” He noticed that her top blouse button had undone itself.

Oh Eldarion, My Liege, there are some things you must not ask of me! He needed that window view above but might jump the wall tonight against two more dinners here. After her first cup of wine, Verlia’s every movement became a languid gesture of invitation. Nag Kath knew he could out-drink her but only had one bottle. He poured her another mug and said, “Your mother …”

“Mother-in-law.”

“Uh, yes, exactly, she seemed much concerned about the Southrons, if that is what they are.”

The mood of romance was shattered for the moment. Mrs. Briel gulped about half of round two and sulked, “Old woman is off the beam.”

“I thought as much. I hope these neighbors are not who will load our goods.” He topped her mug.

“Noooo, I don’t know what he does. Some sort of … something. Shipping?” Another button was loose.

The young newlywed said in relief, “Oh, that is reassuring. With that wide gate, I should think they handle large wagons.” He realized his metaphor too late.

This was not going the way she wanted with the dim-witted son-in-law. “They get wagons, sometimes. Mother-in-law gets so upset when people come and go. Her window is right below yours and she watches all day … watching and waiting … and WATCHING and WAITING!” Her second mug was down to a ring around the bottom. 

The young gentleman poured again and empathized, “My aunt was much the same, bless her heart. She would stay at her window knitting trying to catch perfectly respectable neighbors in heresy.”

“HERESY!” The landlady was hitting stride. Hopefully the old one was deaf as a mallet. “Heresy! I’ll give you heresy. Sometimes more foreigners arrive and they sing or chant or incant, drives mother-in-law to distraction!”

The skittish young boarder fretted, “That is terrible! I hope they do not do that while I am here!”

Round three was almost a memory. Fortunately, they were the little Hobbit-sized mugs that only hold a half-pint. Since he was sipping, there was one more left in the jug. Mrs. Briel erupted, “Who knows what the dougsh do? Saw one of those soldiers mother-in-law hates so much arrive today.” She burped, “Horse hadn’t been groomed since, well, for a long time!”

Her boarder was frightened, “Oh, I knew I should have stayed home! What if the shipment doesn’t arrive before they summon their demons?!”

She looked at him with a lip-lick as long as her tongue. He poured the last inch of the jug in her cup as she slouched in her chair trying to reach his shins with her toes. Being two seats across from center, they didn’t reach. “Oh, hold your water, boy! They don’t do that unless the big swarthy brute comes ... long stringy mustache.” She became sultry again, “Not my sort of man at all, if you take my meaning.”

He needed to hear about this fellow so he dumped his mug into hers to keep the conversation alive. Mrs. Briels slurped and slurred, “Sometimes he comes with two of the Swertings. Sometimes he’s alone. Mother-in-law … fair … howls …” With the damage to the last mug, her slouch became a sprawl as her head leaned against the chair-back. She was snoring when he tiptoed up to his room. 

Those late-season Dorwinion wines pack quite a punch.

_____________-------_____________

For some reason, porridge was not ready at the usual time. Nag Kath wandered back to the docks. A small, oared, freight-barge was being unloaded. Two warehouses upstream, another craft was filled for shipping later in the day. Nag Kath walked up to a muscular young man from one of the southern lands after the boat was made ready. Yellow light flashed. Money changed hands. 

The King's agent watched the entrance from up the street this time and made for his room at the three-bell. Mrs. Briel junior was cleaning with the least possible motion. She looked up and smiled as he went upstairs. After quitting time, the handsome stevedore walked in and wanted to rent a room. He paid for two days with cash he didn't have that morning and said he was here to wait for a package after work. If it didn't come, he still got to sleep in a room that didn’t have three other dock-men fighting for space. Mrs. Briel the elder was livid. The blonde newlywed went to his room right after fish. An hour later came proof the old lady was almost deaf.

Nothing much happened the next day until the fading sun. The swarthy horseman arrived and was admitted in the gate by someone waiting. His horse had long hair too. Mrs. Briel senior limped to the main window and nearly burned a hole where she stood. This was too much! Nag Kath was gone when they turned, slipping over the wall and making his way to the first of two rooms with lamps burning in the compound. A woman was doing needlepoint. The other was a conversation between Rellugh-Tur and his two guests. 

The Elf knew enough Haradric to parse through the Chelkar dialect. No, no one knew why the simpleton in Minas Tirith sent the message. No such tidings had come from the south. The Lord Tulbar had crushed the feeble Hûk Konsturdi of Korb Chelkar. When he crossed the Harnen River, there would be little resistance from the Khan of Harondor.

Mr. Rellugh-Tur said, “Then it is in place.” 

The younger Southron asked, “If we do not intend to strike the Elessar, why bother with them?”

Rellugh-Tur answered, “For the money. Foolish lordlings who worship the dead offer tribute, and we accept. Harondor is weak. The Gondor have no stomach for a fight. They claim lordship, but leave it to fly-meat like Houshuld to protect their underbelly. Once it is ours, they can only be glad we do not take more.” He thought a moment, “Friends in Elessar’s army tell us they bolster their defenses only above the Poros. Below that is ours for the taking." He turned to the senior rider, “Wennig-Dûk, you say our Huk’s progress is as planned?”

“No change. We must wait for snows in the Duath to melt and conscript the peasants to better purpose. The weapons you send go where needed. We cross the Chelkar next autumn if things go as we want. If it is later, there is still no opposition. 

The swarthy Southron added lustily, “Come; that is enough talk of what might be. I need food and ale.” He got his food. He got his ale. Late that night, he got a visitor. This man had not been conditioned against interrogation either. These people were susceptible to sorcery.

Nag Kath walked in the rooming house to get his bag the same time a sleepy young stevedore walked out. The man still had no idea why he stayed there but he knew the money could only be used for lodgings. No package arrived. The woman was useful. His mother warned him Gondor was a strange land! 


	60. The Face That Haunts

** **

** _Chapter 60_ **

** _The Face That Haunts_ **

Eldarion recalled the council, this time including the silent guardi Danzail and Captain Wheymier. Neither of the two junior men had spoken to their liege before but they were not tongue-tied. The King looked around the room and said, “Your progress deserves credit gentlemen. Lord Kath, will you begin?”

“Thank you, Sire. The trip to the river was fruitful. Rellugh-Tur in Osgiliath on the Mercantile Exchange supplies arms for Hûk Tulbar who is taking over his western neighbors by force in a fertile strip along Chelkar River just below the Duath mountains. His realm is Gizar and he has already conquered Korb Chelkar to his west. They plan to do the same to Imladrim which gives them access to Chelkar deep-ports. That consolidated, they will seize Harondor.

“I interrogated their main runner between east and west. This Hûk claims powers of old. I would have needed to kill the household to ask anyone else.” He continued as the men looked askance. “They have no aims above the Poros but rouse adherents in Gondor for money. That buys arms in Osgiliath which are then sent to the war-zone as Tulbar forces the conquered people into his army. That is why they have all three dead dark lords available for local worship. Gondorans can take their pick, for all it gets them.

“The consensus is that the ruler of Imladrim is weak and so is the Khan of Harondor. They also know from our army that we are hardening our positions north of the Poros, but not below. Once established, those are Your Highness’ new neighbors.”

Everyone in the room was stunned; partly because it was audacious and partly because it was possible. No one worried about harmless Harondor, officially part of Gondor, not that anyone there thought so. Assuming he could speak freely, Captain Wheymier said, “The young Lieutenant does not seem to be the traitor. I am sure his old da has an ale with friends who think the Colonel was unfairly treated. Bolstering the militias is not much of a secret.”

Danzail continued softly, “We have less on the other two. Perhaps the trader in Osgiliath has alternate sources of information or he could also be someone who also receives and ships goods to the tyrant.”

Templeblan played a royal card, “Consider this; Keprand is on his second wife. The new one is said to be a beauty of the east. The old boy dotes on her. From what everyone said, I have a bad feeling.”

King Eldarion had not expected to hear so much so fast. He summarized, “So, the chances are good that a despot from Sauron’s old breeding grounds seizes control of Near Harad and become a threat on our border. The Swertings are right, Harondor cannot protect itself. Umbar can, so this Hûk puts himself between the anvil and the sledge, but only if we raise armies.

“Gentlemen, I want options. General, think first of our borders and then consider what we might do to make Harondor stronger.” He turned to his scribe, “Have Minister Franscieth report to me tomorrow as the schedule permits. We are going to talk to our friends in Umbar. Lord Kath, we need a look at this eastern beauty. Then we will explain the fitness of things to these traders in Osgiliath.

“Anything else? Plan to meet again soon, gentlemen.”

As they left, Nag Kath said to Danzail, “Your two men were very good. May I borrow them?”

Inariel knew he was back but reporting to her brother came first. Eldarion would not keep him long and then he was all hers. She had not seen him in action before. As others noticed, when he was on the hunt he was more like a cat than a man. She wanted to go to the dance club again. Nag Kath did not have to be told twice. This night they stayed longer. There were more couples on the floor. She in her veil, they tried dancing and sat next to a woman she thought she knew with a handsome husband. Inariel was sure she had his attention tonight. In each other arms later she said, “You should grow your hair long.”

“Why?”

“I would like to see you as an Elf of old.”

He thought about that. Keeping his hair shorter like most southern men had been a disguise he needed many times. But these days, men would not recognize an Elf with long hair and pointy ears. There were no Elves so it didn’t matter what they used to look like. He said he would.

______________------_____________

The next morning the Elf met Mentier and Selbroune at the lower guardi office. All of their other projects had been cleared. He explained, “It might be Keprand’s wife we need. Has anyone gotten a look at her?”

Mentier said, “We don’t get much of a look at anyone. The man only ever leaves for lunch, usually by himself and never with anyone we suspect. There are servants who come and go, including the one at the linen store. She hasn’t been back and we have no idea how she knew to go that time. Sorry not to be more help, Lord Kath.”

Lord Kath said, “Between us, it is just Nag Kath. Now, the woman is said to be a beauty of the east. I do not know if she still is, but we are probably looking for someone shorter than our local girls with very dark hair and olive skin, probably dressed as a maid.”

Selbroune observed, “Well now, here’s a thought for you; that tall one we followed from the shop, sometimes she goes out with another lass who is half a head shorter, wears modest clothes, always with a hooded cloak.”

“Did you see her face?”

Both Guardi shook their heads. Selbroune added, “She did not want to be seen.”

Nag Kath said solemnly, “That is going to change. Was there any pattern to when they go out and does the small one ever go alone?

Mentier pulled a small notebook and answered, “Never seen the little one by herself but the last time they went out together was Thursday at the ten-bell and the time before that was the Friday before, also at the ten-bell.”

“Where?”

Mentier looked in his book, “Thursday to a baker and then the stationer …” he flipped back a page; “… Friday to a place that sells sweets and spices.”

“Dougsh!”

Both Guardi looked at the agitated Lord Kath. Selbroune ventured cautiously, “Spices like you put on that man’s fish?”

“Mr. Mentier, I need to stop by that shop.”

The man did not need his book, “Prohcarie, on the third, little place that sells kitchen things, just past the north fountain.”

The Elf said very gravely, “If this is a witch, she may well have heard of me, and not fondly. And if she can lay on a confusion-spell, anyone in her circle is a potential assassin. These folks are near the royal family. Please tell Minister Templeblan to keep your charges buttoned-up, and if anyone on our list gets near the seventh, kill them first and capture them second.”

Nag Kath went out to stock his larder.

________________-------_______________

The bell over the door rang when he walked in. A young lady came from the back and said with a pleasant smile, “Good afternoon sir. We can make you a fine price on cutlery today.”

The customer wore clothes that might have been nice at one point but past that now. He had a pair of spectacles that were not ground for his eyes so he had to keep moving them up and down his nose to focus. The man gathered himself and said, “Oh, and a good day to you ma’am. Just a moment.” He rummaged through several pockets for a folded scrap of paper. Fiddling with his specs again he said, “I am sent to get, uhm, let me see; salt, comfrey, tulus and bronego.”

She asked, “Borhego?”

He handed her the list and she asked again, “Might that be borhego?”

The tall man shrugged his shoulders. The young lady offered, “We are out of comfrey but have the rest. How much did you have in mind, sir?”

“Oh, not very much. Whatever the normal amount is. My Granhulda is not well this week so I am doing what I can.”

The lass said with no change in tone, “We get little call for tulus, more of a northern taste. Let me make sure I have enough. It does not keep well here in the White City.” She walked to the side of the narrow shop and climbed a folding ladder to fetch a jar from the top shelf. Bringing it down, she took the stopper out and showed him, “Will that do, sir?”

“Oh, dear me, I am not sure. May I ask the price?”

She poured it on the scale and said, “Six groats, the lot.”

“Perhaps two groats worth, young lady, and the others, please.”

“Certainly, sir.” 

As she folded the herbs into paper sleeves the distracted fellow wondered, “I suppose different people eat different things. Is this herb from Rohan?”

“I think so.”

Her hapless customer recalled, “I knew a fellow from Rohan, red hair, he had. Does a woman of Rohan buy this, ma’am?”

“It’s miss. She is not a northern woman, more southern, I should think. She orders it special. Perhaps she cooks for someone from northern lands.”

With more gravitas Nag Kath told her, “Young lady, I need to speak to you about your customer.”

She backed towards the door into the storeroom before shouting, “Father!”

Within moments, a stout fellow burst in with a sword and demanded, “You leave now if you know what’s good for you!”

“You will hear me out first.”

Da asked, “Who are you?!”

“You do not want to know who I am. I am with the Guardi and am following someone you want to know even less. Help me and I will help you.”

She looked at her father and he nodded. Da stood there with the sword while she hung the closed sign on the window before returning behind the counter. The proprietor looked at the customer and commanded, “Let’s hear it.”

“A woman came here to buy one of the same spices I just ordered. She is on the short side, probably very good looking and probably with another, taller woman. I want your daughter to describe her to me so I can draw her picture. Then you are going to go on holiday for a month in Pelargir. Others will manage things here while you see the sights.”

The girl was silent. Her father stated, “Expensive place, Pelargir.”

Nag Kath set a nipper on the plank. The shopkeeper stared at it for a moment, “I understand it is lovely this time of year.”

The customer had remained hooded, even inside. But the lass got a good look when the lady answered a question about an ingredient Nag Kath had not heard of. It took an hour of sketching and erasing but the girl was sure that was the woman captured exactly.

Nag Kath looked at the picture as if in pain before saying, “I was in jest about Pelargir. Come in tomorrow to teach my man how to run things and go to East Osgiliath.” The tall one wrote an address on one side of a fresh sheet and a note on the other before saying, “The man there will put you in a nice home with food and a servant free of charge. Take the whole family. Do not use your name, and no one else knows where you really went, not even anyone working for me.”

After a poor start, the shopkeepers thought the day had gone quite well.

_______________------_____________

Inariel had just comforted her man through grief and difficulty, but she had never seen him as lost in his own thoughts as that night. She lay in bed and held him, eventually falling fast asleep.

Listening to her gentle breathing, he thought of the recurring women of his family, ladies of extraordinary poise and beauty. There was a family like that in Khand. Without doubt, the woman under the hood was a great, great granddaughter of Nulvanash the Assured. And she was alive because the changeling saved Chûr.

In the morning, he went down to his house and flipped through the archive drawings until he found the one of Chûrran, holding it against the cloaked woman. Did you inherit dark powers? Are you here to claim what they could not? There would be no saving her like Chûr, here only to scrounge a meal. No, she was here for more, and she would know who he was. But he was still in Dol Amroth as far as the public knew. It would stay that way. 

Inariel was even beautiful when she woke. He kissed her softly and said, “My dearest, you are going for a ride this morning.”

“Where are we going, husband?”

“Not we, you. Visit Emyn Arnen and stay in the walls. Take two of your brother’s best in ordinary clothes but armed to the teeth. No one knows exactly where you are going, not even your family.”

By then she was up on her elbows with half of her penetrating stare. He kissed her again and said, “Keep a sword close.”

A retired guardi deputized for his long-lost second cousin who was visiting their aunt in Pelargir. The tulus spice got an unusual spell before it went back in the jar. Whatever would happen could not rely on her coming by the spice shop. She might have enough for six months. Mentier and Selbroune had help watching the home. The tall woman went out two days later and with a series of whistles and winks, Nag Kath arranged to be on her path when she returned. He felt no residual magic. That did not mean she could not summon it, just that she had not used it lately. This time he did get a good look at her face and it was not of the east.

Most things were delivered to the home. A good-sized man saw to the gate. Sometimes he and/or another fellow went out for heavier items. No women left. Mentier reported the hired men went out one night a week on different days. One was Gondoran and ate with his family on the second. The other was probably from the south and he ate food of that land. 

The break came days later when old Mr. Keprand was to play checkers again with Mr. Suraldan at the Pelennor Gate restaurant. Mr. Suraldan was delayed. As Keprand was waiting, a blonde stranger sat in the chair across from him and said something yellow. The man was already susceptible so it did not take much. Nag Kath told him that after dinner tomorrow, members of the Mercantile Exchange would be coming by his home. That was the southern man’s night off. The tall, reassuring guest said there was no reason to tell anyone other than the Gondoran gate-keeper since his lady wife already knew.

______________-------______________

The lads of the Mercantile Exchange were a hardier lot than usual. There were four of them, well-dressed, carrying weapons against a scare spreading through the city that thieves of Dunland were running amok. They arrived after dinner and were shown to Mr. Keprand’s large office. The host began a quiet conversation with one of the guardi about shipping rates. Selbourne and Mentier followed Nag Kath up the stairs where Mr. Keprand told them his wife would be after the evening meal.

The maid left the room making them pull into corners as she stepped downstairs. The trailing member, Selbourne, watched her all the way down before nodding. As arranged, Nag Kath walked in alone. Guardi swords would not avail them, not at first.

The woman was sitting at a small table reading by a lamp and said without turning, “That was fast. Was my husband still in his room?”

The Elf said, “Yes, still there.”

She looked up with flashing eyes and threw a bolt of power at him. It deflected off his ward as his bringing spell slammed her against the wall. She looked unconscious, or worse, but he kept a grip on her throat as he approached. She was not dead. Nag Kath whistled for the others who quickly trussed her in a chair and put a bag over her head before looking at the blackened walls behind them.

Then they waited. She could not fake being asleep any better than Chûr. Nag Kath kicked her foot and said in Westron, “Now you are going to answer some questions. Do you understand?”

She said in Khandian, “I no speak sir’s tongue.”

He repeated it in hers. She did not answer.

As Nag Kath told her great grandfather, he had all the time in the world. Downstairs, the fourth guardi had immobilized the maid and whistled that he was watching the door against either of the male servants coming in the main house. Mentier went downstairs to even the odds. The big bodyguard was probably not a black servant, but he would only get one chance to be good citizen. Cook and her helpers were hiding for their lives in the kitchen. With a signal from the window, half a dozen more men came into the house and grounds.

Nag Kath spoke in the Black Speech which, by its very nature, resonates with a foulness that almost sticks to the walls. She did not know it but she knew what it was by the way she tensed. The Guardi tensed too. In Khandian this time, “Young lady, you will tell me what I want to know. We will start with your name.”

She decided they would not start at all. Nag Kath threw a confusion spell at her but the bag got in the way so he pulled it off. Yes, that was the face. Her eyes burned fiercely. Chûrran’s was a soft, almost pleading, gaze. Same face, completely different use.

Nag Kath pulled a chair next to her and said gently in Variag, “I am sorry. I really am. Chûr was a friend to me.”

She spat, “You are no friend! You stole his heritage and forced him to peddle trinkets to feed his family!”

No, Vanteg Chûr came back to Khand to meet his mother and had a successful business. That was what he wanted in life. If he had wanted his loving da’s legacy, that would have been cheaper. Nag Kath leaned back and drawled, “Ah, so you do speak. Good. Now you will tell me why you are here.” When she pursed her lips, he hit her with the spell again. It barely took. He did it twice. In a drawing voice he asked again, “Why are you here?” The woman shook her head as if it might keep her from answering. Nag Kath would not torture her, but there were plenty who would if she threatened the King’s Peace. 

Her color tested foul. The Elf needed to get rid of that before he would learn anything useful so he walked ten feet from her chair and hit her with the spell to exorcise darkness. The woman leaned forward as far as her bonds allowed and screamed to wake the city. He saw the mist. It was faint, much less than Ghougash the orc, but it was there, and pure black like the Princess in Miraz. 

He walked back and held her beautiful face with one hand. She would be out cold for a day. Nag Kath had the Guardi load her in a man-cart and take her to a room he warded at their third-level headquarters. Then he went downstairs to Mr. Keprand’s office. The man was still talking to thin air about the difficulties of shipping perishables when the Elf administered a clarity spell against the Lostorin poison. The merchant would sleep like a baby tonight. So would Nag Kath.

___________________-----_________________

The day started clean and bright. Sauron would not have liked it at all. The Elf slept in. Guardi watched his house, everyone else’s house and a few other places where minions of the witch might be thinking of rescue or taking hostages. He thought she had been too secretive to have many allies. Colonel Perandorn and trader Olaughdour had official visitors. Hallistrad the firebrand spent the day reciting his list of friends and contacts two rooms over. 

Mrs. Keprand was sleeping in a cell with no windows. Her hands were bound behind her and her feet were also constrained. Nag Kath was admitted and watched her in the darkness. It wasn’t until late afternoon that he felt her waken. Like Chûr and he himself did, she was absolutely still. The giveaway is breathing. One cannot hide the change in breath.

He took a sip of the cold tea and said, “You had a sound sleep, my lady. I hope you are more interested in pleasant conversation.”

Angrily, but not viciously, she responded, “You are the Kath?”

“I am. Now I would like you to tell me who you are.”

“You already know.”

He held his chin, “No, I know your family. You are the very image of your great, great grandmother.”

“What do you want?”

“I told you. I want you to tell me your name. Have no illusions that I will not get that and everything else I need to know. The dark lord has been purged from you. All of your associates are taken. You are alone.”

“My name is Chievon Mantouh. My mother was Vanteg Chûreth.”

That could not be right. Nag Kath searched his mind. He had dinner with her thirty-four years ago. She was eighteen then. If the woman wasn’t lying, she was at least fifty two. He asked, “Do you recall meeting me in Lhûg?”

“Yes.”

“I must say, you are holding-up quite well, Mrs. Keprand. Mantouh was a first husband?”

“Yes.”

The Elf asked in his most soothing voice, “How is it you are as you are?”

“My first husband was born of the men you destroyed. He found me through my gifts and encouraged me, taught me how the vile ones sowed rancor and complacence against the rightful rulers.”

Nag Kath probed calmly, “And now you are on husband number two?”

“Three.”

“Tell me about number two?”

She replied tersely, “No. My cooperation ends here. Do what you will.”

He tried another tack. “What do you know of your great grandfather?”

“He was the rightful ruler of Mordor, now disgracefully called Nûrn.”

“I met him too.”

She said coldly, “You are an old evil.”

“Not as old a some. Nulvanash …?”

“The Assured!”

He granted her that, “The Assured did not age either. Neither did his northern version, Varsiig. They had some token of the Angmarach that was beyond their power to control.”

Chievon hissed, “You lie and will burn for that!”

“I have seen it. Your great grand-da had a ring of power.” That was bait. She would jump on his rightful tool of lordship.

She did, “He had a great ring, given by Sauron to bring our people to the true way!”

“No, my dear. He had a Dwarf Ring. I stole it and destroyed it. The Dwarves have only just forgiven me. It enhanced Nulvanash’s cruelty but only made him fat and greedy for gold. Is that what you seek, gold?”

The woman was incensed. “How dare you! Sauron himself made that ring!”

“Elves made the rings, except for The One. Sauron corrupted the nine that went to men who became his servants. Those were destroyed with his own. Nulvanash had one that belonged to a Dwarf Lord who perished at the hands of the northern orcs. The Assured would have eventually become a wraith but without a master, a weak, pitiful creature. Here, I have a picture of one.”

Nag Kath reached for Frodo’s recollection of Gollum. He sat next to her and tried to show her but she turned away. That got her a blaze of yellow followed by a firm twist of her head to the ill-favored River Man. “That is what the rings did to those they didn’t kill. They were slaves. I WAS A SLAVE! 

“Now, you are going to tell me exactly what I want to know or you will die like this. Do I make myself clear?!”

She looked at him with a combination of hate, fear and a touch of hope that her harsh education was not entirely accurate. The woman nodded meekly.

“Good. Are you thirsty?”

Another meek nod. Nag Kath unbolted her shackles and went to a tray in a dark corner of the room for a mug of tea and a Lembas cake. She sat demurely on her bed and nibbled the waybread. It did not make her retch. He sat in his own chair and waited. 

When she finished the small biscuit Nag Kath asked, “Now, tell me about your second husband.”

With satisfaction she proclaimed, “He is the Hûk Tulbar, High Lord of Chelkar!”

“What happened to Mantouh?”

“He surrendered me to a higher authority in obeisance.”

Nag Kath wondered how voluntarily that was but let it lay. She was a proud woman, not as young as she looked, and needed to salve a conscience littered with regret. The Elf twisted the knife in a different direction, “And now you engage in bodily commerce to pay for his ascension?”

It worked. “I do what is needed! When Harad is reunited and strong, we will deal with you.”

The Elf nodded to himself and said, “That’s what I figured. It might be a while. You will stay here until we have more questions.”

Her fierce conceit showed through again, “It is inevitable!”

Nag Kath said with no trace of emotion, “Tulbar’s head was taken twelve days ago by the traitor Wennig-Dûk. That is how we found you. Rellugh-Tur, Perandorn, everyone here, all dead or wishing they were. As I said, you are alone.”

_______________--------_______________

They let her sit two days in the dark after the lamp burned out. Men slid food through the door slot, just like they had for him. On the second day, she threw the last of her power to break the door. It bounced back off his hidden wards, singeing her eyebrows and the edges of her hair, a fire witch. No man would be allowed in. They did not have the protection. Neither did Inariel. He would not bring her home until he was sure the witch didn't have operatives here to settle scores.

Nag Kath returned the third morning with new lamp and a fresh privy bucket. Breaking her would start in earnest today. In Khandian, “Good morning, Mrs. Keprand.”

There was no response. “Or is it still Mrs. Tulbar?”

As if he was checking off lines on the most routine inventory list, “That’s what I thought. We took the Lostorin out of Keprand’s blood. I can imagine how you lured him to your service.”

“Imagine what you will.”

“Oh, so you are speaking today.” 

Then he was silent until she said, “You know everything then. Why do you not kill me like the others and have done with this spectacle?!”

“Because Vanteg Chûr was my friend. And in a cell just like this one, he convinced me he was redeemable. I thought to give you the same opportunity. You are not doing as well." He shifted and added as if an administrative matter, “There is also something I need to know. How were you given the black spirit?”

She said by rote, “I do not know what you speak of.”

She probably didn’t. “I removed the essence of a dark one from you. How did you get it?”

Her haughty demeanor returned, “Make sense! I was born with my gifts.”

Nag Kath came down hard. “You were born with the same weak gifts as Nulvanash. Yours were enhanced by sorcery. Either that was your doing or someone who did not tell you. I will discover this, and you will help me, or I will give you to the Korb Chelkar refugees who will ask in their own fashion. Do I make myself clear?!”

She finally broke. He remembered her as a sweet, quiet child. There may have been seething darkness but it had not come to the surface yet. Her family was strong and sufficient and ate dinner together to talk about the children’s happiness. It is always possible to turn from that. Dark lords must turn from that completely. But with a daughter of man, some element remains, be it as small as a gureeq seed. Only Elf ears could have heard the voice that murmured, “I was twelve. A terrible force passed through me. I kept it to myself. Mother felt something too, perhaps grandfather. I did not tell her.” She started crying, “I did not tell anyone! It was my shame.

“After you came, I married Mantouh who knew me for what I was. He taught me, used me, brought me to his purpose. I aged very slowly. When I was thirty-five, he joined the great leader who took me for himself. I was taught and used and remade yet again. When I was forty, another terrible burst of darkness ripped through me. I was nearly dead. Slowly, I was returned and bound to his destiny.”

That was as much as she had. She was sobbing inconsolably now. Nag Kath knew to say nothing, knew that there would be time later for rebuilding. He also did his sums. She was twelve years-old about when the mithril band was dented in Thân zîrân. He felt the power. Had some escaped to witches and sorcerers as well? That would have been about the time the Seer in Angmar got strong and the small boy was born.

She was forty when he smashed the Witch-stone. The healer said it doubled her over. Others were said to have perished along with thousands of ghosts prowling their graveyards. That which did not kill her and slew her rivals made her stronger still. Powers rising from earth, air and water find a carrier. With fewer creatures to receive, the more survivors get. The changeling had one more question, “Chievon, you must tell me of Tulbar's powers. Did they combine with yours?”

“Yes. His are not strong. You said my great grandfather had a ring. Tulbar had me. He said I must come here, prepare his way. I came. I did what I had to because his lands have little iron. Others came too, to awaken the weak Gondor and alert them to their doom.”

Nag Kath stood and said, “And your sister?

“She had no talent and married well, better than me.”

He told her, “I will return soon. Better food will be brought and a change of clothes. Do not harm the bringers. You cannot escape.”

_____________-------____________

King Eldarion was fuming. He had waited patiently. Only Danzail knew about the interrogation. Nag Kath arrived late for his own meeting. After taking a seat the King demanded, “I have questions. The first is; what have you done with my sister?!”

“She is staying with Prince Barahir, My Lord.”

“Lovely company. Do you want to explain why?”

“Yes, Sire, I do. It will take quite some time.”

The King continued tersely, “There is no time like the present.”

Nag Kath offered, “Thank you, sir, gentlemen.” The regulars were there in addition to Foreign Minister Franscieth. “The tale begins on the day you were first shown to the public on the anvil. I was with your royal parents and saw the heir to the King of the Mordor Visitors, a man who should have been dead three times. Have you heard that story My Lord?”

Eldarion said more evenly, “The man with the ring, yes?”

“Yes, Sire, his unacknowledged son. Chûr was just another refugee but he had small powers. I took him to Khand to meet his mother who was instrumental in our victory against the Witch-king’s adherents. There he was embraced by the Right-living order that weakened dark forces on the Pelennor.” Everyone else around the table was enthralled. They may have heard bits and pieces but this was the first time they got it from the horse’s mouth.

“Well, Sire, gentlemen, the man married, raised children who raised their own. One of his granddaughters also had sorcery. She was abducted by a dark adherent and eventually made concubine to the Hûk causing all the trouble now. She received a boost of power when Morgoth’s mithril band was damaged or melted. I removed his essence from her just as Gandalf removed mine. That was the only thing that saved her when the Witch-stone was destroyed, again, like I was spared when the One Ring was unmade. She only looks half her age of 52.” 

He passed her picture around the table. The men looked at the remarkable face quite a while. There were a thousand questions waiting to blurt-out but the King said nothing so no one else did either. "To get this information I took some liberty with the truth, saying her master was betrayed and dead, along with many we are arresting now.” The Elf leaned on his elbows and became graver, “What really matters is that she is his ring. She enhances Tulbar’s small strength. I have removed a great deal of it, but she is still a witch of the kind we seldom see in the world now. I warded her cell to keep her from escaping. They will not hold long. I suggest to you gentlemen that the woman may offer more use alive than dead for what she can tell us, but I must respect your decision.” He added, "I am the sworn-enemy to these villains for a century, hence her Ladyship's vacation."

Eldarion, clean-shaven among the bearded men, held his chin and pondered a moment before saying, “Well, that is our first report of the day. Going around the table, what say you?”

Minister Franscieth went first, “I spoke to the emissary of Umbar. Without saying as much, they are concerned. Harondor is weak there too but not worth their taking, lest it upset the trading advantages they enjoy with Your Highness’ Peace. I did not get the impression they were raising troops to reinforce their borders.”

Guardi Chief Duramhir was next. “The men we apprehended are singing like nightingales. We have a sizeable list of those who have given funds for this foul enterprise. Some are more contrite than others. I will leave it in the hands of the Magistry to determine if it is treason or an opportunity to contribute towards a more just and lasting realm. Perhaps that will be based on cooperation?”

Everyone at the table thought that masterfully stated. On the quiet side of the Guardi service, Danzail added, “A few of the higher persons fell on their swords or over switchback rails. One of those was Colonel Perandorn. Mr. Keprand was guilty of lusting after Lord Kath’s Khandian morsel, but his mind was disordered by sorcery and he recalls almost nothing of, well, almost anything. He is under house-arrest. A daughter in Pelargir has been summoned for his care.”

It was General Todl’s turn, “We have no information about how the Southrons knew of heightened training. It could have come from a hundred men planning their autumn or ordering arrows. Perandorn’s son was posted along the Mering, so, not in effective range of the Swertings. I have sent for him. His military career is over. 

“Sire, in addition to the company of your royal sister, Prince Barahir was been informed of enemy dispositions only a hundred leagues from his borders. That, I suppose, leads to my colleague …” 

He looked at Templeblan who nodded and began, “Lord Kath was good enough to read some of the shipping crates in Osgiliath. Foundries in North Ithilien were well paid by persons claiming to be from our army to make sword blanks and other quality steel. Those were ferried to the city or further south and taken by traders across Harondor. More stayed on ships south to the Harnen River and carried up the Chelkar River to the war. 

“As Mr. Duranhir said, they raised a lot of money from your subjects, Sire. We have started discouraging that and asking questions. Like Mr. Duramhir’s efforts, most folk are cooperating hoping to salvage their necks. The day after we started, a large shipment arrived at Mr. Rellugh-Tur’s warehouse. General Todl said he would find use for it.”

Eldarion relented, “Nag Kath, I suppose I deserve what you wrought. What conclusions have you?”

“Thank you, Sire. I suspect that means the Hurms of Mordor would not sell their enemy iron from inside the Nûrnen. We should reward such wisdom. This will greatly help us secure our borders but will not stop Hûk Tulbar from seizing the entire Chelkar River Valley in a year’s time. His only possible move from there is Imladrim which gives him access to the navigable Harnen and the sea, and more arms. Sooner or later, you will have to fight him. My Lord has to decide when and where, that or remove him.”

Eldarion asked gravely, “And the woman?”

“I have more questions.”

_______________-----______________

He went to the apartments down the corridor and wrote a letter to Emyn Arnen. Inariel could come home with her escorts and her questions to loving arms. Another quick note would go Gred Ilvest saying that the kitchen vendors were welcome to return early if they wanted. Both would go by courier the moment they left his hand. He had a bath and wondered what to do about Chievon. In the end, he would do what he always did and ask her what she wanted, after he said her lord and master was still his usual, vicious self.

To offset that, he would introduce her to a very brave little girl.

Corporal Hanieru was using his purse of groats judiciously. He was still at the south wall but found an apartment and was now in the business of repairing masonry. Nag Kath found him easily. The man bowed and called his son to help with language. The lass watched from the door in her new blouse and skirt with real shoes. The men sat on a pile of bricks to be moved to the second on their new donkey. The changeling said, “I am glad to see you are all well. You have every right to refuse, but I would like to borrow your daughter to meet one of those who caused your difficulty. I think this person can be made to help now.”

Father and son spoke in their dialect and the son asked for his da, “Is this dangerous, best of sirs?”

“A little. She is in gaol now.”

It was unfair. After all his child had been through, asking her to relive any of that horror could only make it worse. On the other side, the tall man kept them from starving. Life has risks. Hanieru looked at his daughter who ran over and told her in their tongue, “Hailu, the sir wants you to go with him. He says it will help our friends. I will leave it to you.”

Hailu scanned all three sets of eyes before shyly asking, “Father, would mother want me to?”

“Yes, child. Mother would want you to.”

“Then I will go with the sir.” She looked at Nag Kath and asked gleefully, “Can we have cane rolls after, best of sirs?”

“Of course.”

The tall Elf and tiny child walked hand-in-hand up the switchback to the Guardi headquarters on the third. He asked Danzail to see the sorceress in the courtyard. 

She had changed to the fresh clothes. Nag Kath said, “Chievon, I have something to tell you and someone I want you to meet.”

The prisoner sat on a bench positioned at an angle to where her captor and the youngster sat. He added in Khandian, “I lied. Tulbar is not dead. All the others I said are in our hands but the Hûk is still on the Chelkar.”

Everything else he said was so believable. She supposed it did not make much difference. He was there and she was here. She had lost much of the power he drew from her, a wearing exchange from this distance. Tulbar had other women. The witch had passed once more to a man for what she brought. She felt very tired.

When she did nothing, Nag Kath continued in Westron, “Hailu, this is Chievon. She is a lady from Khand.” 

The Child bowed her head and said, “Greetings, best of ladies.”

Nag Kath used a tone to make children comfortable, “Hailu moved here because bad men killed her mother and hurt her.” Chievon had not noticed much in her despondency but now she looked at the girl’s mangled hand. She closed her eyes. What good could come of using them?

Hailu asked, “Beautiful lady, why are you sad?”

The sorceress wiped her eyes with her sleeve and said in misery, “Because I have lost so much.”

The girl would help, “The sir takes me for cane sweets. Best of sirs, can she come too?”

“Yes, I think that would be lovely.”

The two guardi stayed discretely back as the trio walked to a little shop only four doors down. Hailu got a length of sweet cane. The two adults had tea. It was too hot so they kept blowing across the surface while the child made a mess of her good hand. The tea eventually cooled, they drank it, and returned to the Guardi headquarters. As Chievon was led back to her cell, Nag Kath said, “I will take her home. In a bell I need you to tell me what you will make of the rest of your life. That case I will present to the King.”

It took almost that long to return Hailu, wash her face and remove a couple wards he had protected her with. Chievon was brought to the courtyard where Nag Kath was already sitting on the bench. She stopped a few feet away. “I choose to live. I want no part of this curse. But I will not betray anyone. Both sides must get on without me. Tell that to the Elessar and I will wait.”

With that turned and walked back inside.

_____________-------_____________

“Thank you for seeing me, Sire.”

It was nearing the end of the day. Eldarion was indulging in a goblet of the pale Belfalas after long toil. His guest had tea. The King walked over to the low table and sat knowing the changeling would do the same. He put his goblet down and said gravely, “All decisions come to me. I am glad I do not have to make this one when north Harad is in flames. It seems close. We consider ways to dissuade the Hûk from his ambitions. It will mean war somewhere. Now; what of the woman?”

“She said she wants to live but will not fight for either side, wants to be quit of the gift that became a curse. Your father met Chûr before he made his decision. That is open to you, but she is more powerful. Chievon is being held at the Guardi on the third.”

“I will consider that. Your wife just returned. Go to her and let her know she is safe.”

Inariel already knew she was safe but it was time for her man to speak. He told her everything. It brought him no succor. Inariel curled up on the couch and he put his arm around her shoulder. Knowing he was mostly listening, she talked about the Prince and Princess, their children and grandchildren, Barahir had finally started on his secret lore project and asked her questions about her mother and father. It was conversation meant to let her husband think. 

When he smiled with distraction, she swung her leg over to straddle his lap and held his face, “You have served my brother as you served my father. I am proud of you. This is not solved. We may be called for more.” She kissed him. And as long as she was in this position, she kissed him again.

The King thought long and hard for a day. He had to prosecute, exile or execute any number of Shadow traitors in the months ahead. Most would cooperate. Some would flee. Some would be examples. It was a part of kingship he did not enjoy. After long consideration, he did not need to see the sorceress. The Kath’s were asked to attend Lord Eldarion after their porridge. He had them sit at the table and said, “I read the notes from when I was a babe. Father Aragorn made you fix the mess. Now you can do so again. On the table sits a pardon. Take it to the Guardi and do what you will with her. And thank you for your service. Know that I never take it lightly, Lord Kath.” He winked at his baby sister, “Glad you are back, dear.”

____________------____________

“What are we going to do with a witch?”

“We have three more levels to decide, my love.”

Inariel tried to be helpful, “What does she want to do? What can she do?”

“Well, I don’t know what she wants to do. She used to cast evil spells. Tal would make a match for her except she has three husbands. The first gave her to the second and the second married her to the third who probably doesn’t remember.”

The Princess offered, “Can she stay with friends?”

“They are all being arrested.”

Guardi are not used to royal Princesses dropping by the station. There was a mad scramble to bow and look useful. Mentier heard the commotion and walked out with a bow of his own. “My dear, this is Mr. Mentier who was very helpful. Mr. Mentier, this is my wife the Princess Inariel.”

“Ma’am.”

Nag Kath handed him the pardon. He looked it over and said, “Perhaps you could step into Mr. Danzail’s office?” He walked them to the only two chairs other than Danzail’s and said he would find him on the double. He did and the quiet-side man went through the same round of introductions before reading the pardon. This was properly a matter for the magistry, but given the parties involved, he would be glad to forward it to them. 

Two Guardi walked Chievon out the front door. She blinked in the sun after darkness. When her eyes adjusted, she did not bow. Was it possible she had no idea who the defiler of Ûniarra Nûrn married? If so, it should stay that way. He walked up to her and said, “Vanteg Chievon, this is my wife Inara. Inara, this is Chievon.”

They ladies gave each other a slight bow. Chievon was still a bit disoriented. The Elf offered, “The King has pardoned you. You are free to go or do what you want. Have you given that any thought?”

“Um, no. I thought I would be executed.”

Noblewomen are trained to calm situations, unless they are trying to inflame them. Her Ladyship said, “That will never do. Let us all have tea.” They walked up a level to the same respectable restaurant where Nag Kath bounced the drunk off the ceiling. Inariel was wearing one of her plain outfits with no hints of the seventh-level. Every man in the room sneaked peeks at the two lovely women together. 

Having the spirit of a dark lord dragged out of you takes a while to get over. Nag Kath had the disadvantage of doing it daily for nearly a year. At least he was used to it. Chievon seemed alright when she was walking but unsteady when sitting. The Elf told the server, “Why don’t you bring us a large lunch to share?”

It was out quickly and the Khandian lady ate like she hadn’t for a week, which was close to the case. Seeing her orc husband desperately trying not to say something stupid, Inariel repeated his question, “Now that you are free, what would you like to do?”

“I do not know. No one has ever asked me that before. You do not eat?”

Inara answered, “We just had porridge. Have you thought where you might stay?”

That was another question she had not prepared for. All of her things were at the Keprand house. Her welcome there would not be cordial, possibly fatal. The beauty said, “No, I cannot go to my old home. I was seldom allowed to leave except to shop for herbs or clothing. Aumpough was my minder. Is he taken?”

Nag Kath asked, “Which one was he?”

“Bodyguard at the gate.”

“No, I think he got away. It was his night off.” 

Chievon thought about that for a moment, “He will return to the Chelkar with news of this. They will think I am dead. That is good, I suppose.”

Nag Kath thought he would gather information since he had an opening, “And the tall woman?”

“She is the head maid. Aumpough threatened her too.”

Inariel had tried. When a luncheon guest’s best option is being thought dead in the eyes of murderous Swertings, topics familiar to ladies of the court dwindle. Chievon asked, "Did you remove Keprand’s anchor spell?”

“I did. It was strong.”

The witch looked at the ceiling, “Mantouh had me tutored by a woman of Khand before I was offered as tribute to Tulbar. She could throw fire also.”

“Is that what the compound Nieutul does?” That was the mixture he hadn’t heard of at the kitchen shop.

“Yes … and to hold wards longer if you use the blood pulse.

The Princess listened carefully. Here were two sorcerers talking like they were cooks comparing spices, which they were in their own way. It put them no closer to what the Kath family was going to do with the creature. Her husband saved the day by saying, “Chievon, I know a firm that can put you up for a while.”

“Put you up?”

“Find lodgings for you. Let us go there and find you a place to stay.”

Still a bit dazed she said, “Yes, thank you, Mr. Kath. Do we go to there now?”

They walked over to the Kathen office not a hundred paces away. Lasthlo was at the desk. As they walked in the door, the Elf, standing behind the two women put his finger to his lips. The young man did bow but that went unnoticed by the Khandian exquisite. The tall friend said, “Good day, Mr. Conath. I was hoping you could recommend a place for Mrs. Chievon to stay, somewhere furnished, and discrete? She is new here.”

Lasthlo was nobody’s fool. If Uncle Nag was here with his wife, he wasn’t trying to cushion the little stunner in a love nest. He also knew the Elf was up to something. “Why yes, Mr. …” and stopped realizing it could be Kath or Solvanth. 

“It is Mr. Kath, young man.”

“Forgive me, sir. I have a very nice apartment on the south-side fourth.” It was the building above Hallistad’s.

The Elf said, “I think that would be splendid. Mrs. Chievon, would you like me to have the guardi impound your possessions and store them at your new home?”

She brightened, showing the face that haunted, "Oh yes, that would be most appreciate!"

Lasthlo interjected, "That’s number 212, Mr. Kath. Mrs. Chievon, if you will follow me.”

All four were leaving the little office when Nag Kath gave Lasthlo a signal to wait a moment. He handed the woman a small purse saying, “This may tide you over until you decide your future.”

She held it like it could not be real. Tears were close. She whispered, “Why?”

“Because someone did it for me.” He kissed her on the forehead and gave a Lasthlo a wink to follow. As they left, the Kaths made one more trip to the Guardi with a repeated comedy of bowing and scraping. The Elf asked Danzail to impound all of Mrs. Keprand’s things as evidence and store them in apartment 212 at 418 on the fourth, pending review by the magistry. 

Walking back up to the seventh, Inariel asked, “How do you live like this?”

“Just lucky, I guess.”


	61. Fallout

** _Chapter 61_ **

** **

** _Fallout_ **

**The Map of Harmendor will help with this chapter. <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8> **

Fallout took time. Harondor authorities inspected shipments going too far up the River Chelkar. Militias would spend extra time on old-fashioned line drilling. Men of the Mûmikil breeding region below Umbar were told to treat their old allies suspiciously. Several large, established trading firms in Osgiliath were instantly out-of-business and the properties auctioned off with proceeds to the crown or Principality. Some of the King's best visited the Mordor Hurms to warn against the Southrons. They already knew that since they could also be on the menu, but appreciated a new round of gifts. Righters offered anonymous ideas on who was naughty as well. New Shadows over the Reunited Kingdom were squelched.

Not so in Harad. Hûk Tulbar consolidated his gains in Kolb Chelkar and Kas Auchel but took a beating trying to seize Bogath from the Khandians. His only option for empire was west. Word reached him through Aumpough that the Gondoran enterprise was destroyed. He regretted losing his witch but she had served her purpose arming his hosts. Eastern Harondor, called Imladrim by the Gondor, was still weak and poorly defended. Hûk Tulbar would watch it from his side of the Chelkar River for now. Their time would come. A like-minded warlord was expanding his influence on a like river south of the desert. They or their sons must join or fight someday where their destinies met at the waters of Amrûn.

It was only June. Both Barahir and his son Tyaldran brought their wives for a council about the southern border. Nag Kath was asked in for very specific details on troop formations, tactics and gear. Gondor’s troops stood ready to defend Gondor, but that presumed the Swertings would conquer Harondor first, not something to be given away meanly. Advisory troops would try to whip the lazy territory into some sort of cohesion. Umbar would protect their side of the Harnen but no further east or north. There was not much time for lore, though the Prince and Princess of Ithilien dined with the Kath’s twice while they were there. 

Nag Kath dropped by Chievon’s place at least once a week for the first couple months. She was learning on her own about Minas Tirith and already knew quite a bit about money. The sorceress never pilfered any of the cash that came through their organization so what Nag Kath gave her was all she had. It was quite a bit, plus a pair of small diamonds, and would keep her for years. She did not hire servants. Her clothes arrived but that was all she got from the house. Old Keprand had been poorly in the last year with a bad heart. He never left his home again. When he died three months later, his children, estranged because of his marriage to the unsuitable foreigner, quickly returned. Chievon made no claim so they forgot her. Since the only people who knew Chievon were dead or exiled, she had a fairly fresh start. Inariel hoped she would choose well when opportunity knocked.

The harvest came early followed by more intense militia training than the Kingdom had seen in generations. Tactics and formations were specific for known Southron battles. Nag Kath got Corporal Hanieru a favorable position advising the planners about how Tulbar tended to overrun a position and then fall back to loot his winnings. That might work against peasant militias but not cavalry. Horsemen practiced for that too. Nag Kath worked three of the four sessions in Minas Tirith and one in Ithilien, primarily on Orlon. Six of his three or four-times great-grandsons were in the call-ups. It wasn’t just here. Lebennin saw dirtier soldiers trudging home after training too. Nag Kath prayed it would not come down to central Belfalas holding the line. 

Now that the shadow of Southron operatives skulking across from Mrs. Briel’s boardinghouse was gone, the Kaths spent more time at his house. As often as not, Lady’s maid Hilta came too. One sunny day, the Princess’ husband took her outside and downstairs to see the first floor boasting an unimpressive collection of boxes and a large stove protected by a massive warding spell.

Her Ladyship said over-politely, “Nag, this is quite lovely. Why are we here?”

“Your birthday is soon, I have something for you.”

She looked at the dusty floor joists above wondering what he was about. But she had learned her Elf had a vast reserve of surprises. He stabbed at the bottom of the stove with a Klaus staff, knocking the hardening soil away from the front edge. When a large patch of it came out in one piece, Nag Kath got on his knees and reached in. Inariel hoped her present wasn’t a rat. 

It wasn’t. He removed a soiled cloth bundle and tucked it under his arm before showing her up the internal stairs to the main living space. In the bundle were two smaller bags. One he dropped on the table with the unmistakable clank of gold. Then he sat in his usual chair and unwrapped the second very delicately. The outer layer was the same dirty brown sackcloth. Next was a thick layer of swaddling. The inside layer was pristine white linen. Inariel sat down to watch. He carefully unwound the white bag and withdrew the Elvish hair circlet. 

Nag Kath gave it to her with both hands and said “I have had this for one hundred and thirty years. I believe it is pure mithril. I found it in a wall in Orthanc and Gandalf gave it to me when I left to make my way in the world. I never told my wives because I never wanted them to feel I wished they were Elves. They were women and I loved them as such; deeply and completely. I hope you like it.”

She placed it on her head. It fit beautifully. Inara ran like a child to the large mirror upstairs. She was an Elvish Princess, just like in the stories. She wished her mother could see her. Nag Kath slipped in behind her and kissed her neck, “Happy Birthday, my dear.”

Autumn folded into winter. Nag Kath and Inariel did what they usually did. Delandreth and Hastor had their Syndolan party and they saw all generations of the family often. News from Dol Amroth was good as well. Nag Kath sent several letters to the family in Dale after he left the ice cave but never heard back. That troubled him less as the years rolled by.

Being almost neighbors, they saw Chievon from time to time. She joined them for tea in January. Her Westron was improving. She made a friend who did embroidering and was about the age she looked. They went shopping occasionally. The woman had even learned how to tell a funny story. She went to the herb shop and the young lady nearly fainted. Her father came out with his sword and she was able to convince them that she was not dangerous and promised not to buy tulus. She even giggled after telling it.

Nag Kath probed, “Chievon, what powers do you have left?”

She furrowed those delicate eyebrows and said, “Confuse … make to not think is weak. Never so good as you. Still bring to me.” She flexed her hand and Inariel's spoon flew across the table into her palm. "Uhm, fire is strong."

Her fellow sorcerer asked, "You use the Nieutul drug and draw through?"

"Oh no, for that you must store and send." He had been doing it backwards. She didn't notice his bewilderment and continued, “Cats are not scared away now. That was Melkor the Morgoth?”

“Nasty brute.” 

Unlike many of the women in Nag Kath’s past, Inariel did not have a matchmaking bone in her body. Even she wondered about Chievon’s prospects. On the face of it, the woman was exquisite, dressed well and not poor -- maybe a little too good looking. Inariel had never needed to fend-off unwanted attention. For Chievon; she thought setting men on fire was probably effective. Working against was; being a witch, being twice as old as she looked and concubine to a Haradrim warlord against the interests of the King with two living husbands. Eligible suitors might be few and far between.

As usual, the orc in the family said something beyond outrage, “Chievon, you should get a divorce.”

Impossible at her station in life, Inariel wondered why these things came out of his mouth. Chievon asked, “Do you mean sunder the union?”

“Yes, precisely.”

“Why, best of sirs?” Where she was from, someone usually had to die.

His fourth wife was ready for that one too. He explained, “Because you are lovely and there may be men with good hearts who would like to court you but will not because you belong to another. With a public declaration that you renounce your troth to the villains, you state your availability to the right sort of gentleman.”

She thought about that and said, “That makes much sense. Would I need to divorce them all?”

“Only Mantouh. I think our rules would consider that your marriages to Hûk Tulbar and Mr. Keprand were not valid.”

She smiled, a habit she had lost in her servitude. “Yes, I see. How does one do such a thing?”

“I will have a gentleman contact you who arranges these matters.”

“Oh, Mr. Kath. I am much appreciate!”

“My pleasure.”

Walking back to his house, the astonished Quenda said, “I must hand it to you; that was a good idea. Are you worried that Harad spies will take a dim view?”

“They won't know who Mantouh is. As things stand now, only the sort of man she does not need will be interested. I learned these things from the leading practitioners of their time.”

That got Inariel to thinking, “Why do you think she did not have children?”

“That could be for many reasons, all good. Most men with powers are not interested in intimacy. More importantly, she was possessed by a tiny part of the darkest lord. Her body may have warded itself against bearing a child with the wrong fathers. Otherwise, we have to do this again.”

Again, her husband astonished. She took him home and snuggled against a coming storm. She would try walking on snow again. There were only a few flakes falling when Nag Kath visited the Notary to have a writ of separation filed against the husband who surrendered Chievon to his Lord. Since neither husband had good references, it shouldn’t take long.

_____________--------_____________

The late snowstorm was the first of many. The Anduin would flood in spring. Nag Kath wondered if Chievon had healing powers. He might take her with him if he went to the floodplain. 

Winter in the north was the time to move in the hot south. Hûk Tulbar indeed held all land from the Chelkar to Khand. Refugee traffic slowed. He was building his army the way dominant lords of those lands always had. If scanty reports were true that a like warlord along the western Harnen was bringing those lands under his banner, they would need to combine to push west or fight themselves where the rivers met at Amrûn. Umbar would watch closely.

That possibility would busy the Lords of Gondor for years. It was the first viable threat since the Ring War. There were other terrible, bloody battles in the last century but those were largely cleaning-up remnants. This was a growing enemy. Delaying them when they did made the rest of Harad consider their fortunes. Nag Kath bumped into Corporal Hanieru. He was still on staff and dressed better than a bricklayer. Daughter Hailu and her brother Vungsh were learning to read. The son of the twice-disgraced Colonel resigned as soon as he arrived but was quickly snapped-up as a militia officer with no residual taint. His mother was the one with the money.

The Anduin flooded. Fevers were mild and largely confined to the Anórien north plain. Nag Kath had a large tent erected for the ill. He asked Chievon to join him. She seemed to have no useable healing talent. That ran in the family. For several days she fetched towels and applied athelas compresses, some to men who thought their infirmity called for her extended care. It was over in ten days. Few died. Inariel would have gone but she was sick as well, no worse than the usual patient, but that wasn't Elvish. She was fine in a few days.

Having caused as much trouble as he could in Minas Tirith, Nag Kath thought it was time to take his bride to Dol Amroth again. They would spend the summer with the Ivandreds and the fall in Alas Forten. King Eldarion spent time with both before they left. It was no secret that the Principality of Belfalas had not maintained readiness. Forces on the water were still strong but if anything was coming from Harad, it would be a land-war since the Umbar navy would not ferry them as they did under Sauron. Gondor had contingency plans to send troop ships up the Harnen for supply or combat so the Belfalas lads better know their left from their right. 

Colonel-Lord Kath was created for him to discuss that with the top-heavy Dol Amroth government. One of Gondor’s advantages was that with only two Kings, there were few extraneous royals in fancy uniforms. Aragorn’s first priority was creating a professional army that promoted based on merit but it was primarily small, crack regiments that could move at speed. Eldarion needed to revive old-fashioned militia readiness. There were varied talents involved. The King presumed the Elf could manage the political aspects of the role as well as the fighting.

They took their horses to Lossarnach to stay a week with Milli and Gervaith. This was Gervaith’s last trip on horse and would use a carriage next time. It bothered them but they had always known this would happen. She was in the same boat as her mother. Living twice as long as a spouse was not that much different than living forever. They were practical. She would survive, respect her mourning and might remarry or find a companion to share her optimism. 

The woman also wanted her brother-in-law to attend her change-in-life difficulties. Anticipating that, he brought a fresh supply of herbs and remedies. This was a very personal examination and treatment. She had to disrobe and allow him to hold her abdomen and neck. No physician had ever done that. They hadn’t been very effective either. Unlike Inariel, she was seldom sick. The treatment helped and would be repeated in a week. The woman ordered her chambermaid to firmly remind her to take her tea and roots if she dithered. Her daughter and her family had come with them and also promised to have granna Milli take her medicine.

At this time of year, the first of the mares were coming into season. Lossarnach let them wait at least a year after foaling to recover. That did not stop them from wanting to try. Stallions on the other side of the farm thought the same. It was noisy at night.

With two Ministers and their guests on the public side and Millicend’s family and staff, the place seemed less lonely than if the Kaths were here alone. He wondered if the grooms would let him in the Dukks game. Milli’s second healing was also effective so the day after, Nag Kath and Inariel rode to the river and hailed a ferry that could take horses.

In Pelargir, Nag Kath paid a freighter captain extra to sail the long way south around the island of Tolfalas on the way to Dol Amroth. Traveling only in sunlight along the hundred-mile length of the island added four days to the trip. Captain stayed as close as he could to the shore without risking known shoals. The Elf had seen the west side of the island thirty times but never the east. If Chelkar forces made it to the sea, those old pirate havens would need to be secured.

Menalgir and Halita’s granddaughter Callistriana and her husband Poldarin took Caladrion’s home which made them neighbors when the Kath’s arrived in Dol Amroth. As always, dinners were organized. Pale wine was consumed. Groats were found. The family retained Cal’s boxes at the theater now only a month away. 

The couple would be at the citadel more this visit. Prince Armandor knew Eldarion had concerns about the fief’s preparedness. Hereditary officers were persuaded to take overdue retirement. New men, half without noble blood, were moved into position by the time Colonel-Lord Kath arrived to advise on training in the interior. He and different combinations of the Prince and his staff met several times to discuss getting farmers ready to fight.

Nag Kath drifted in strange currents. He was a born warrior who should have died with those like him. He lived in an age where warriors were less important and he hoped it would stay that way. A century after the peace, old enemies were rebuilding. They always had. Without magic, they could not seriously challenge men of the west. The Elf saw his job to keep it that way.

The new man in charge of Belfalas militia training was Colonel Paevon Pelandarith. PP was from Rosuldrié, one of the two large counties in the north where most of the soldiers were based. Promoted to Dol Amroth two years before, the man respectfully chafed at the leadership of old Lord Jurandor. 

Belfalas did not a storied history of infantry but the north was where one found them. Imrahil traveled upriver with his knights and seven hundred foot soldiers in the Ring War, most of them from PP’s home or Edhelion just north. Pelandarith paid more attention to greater Gondor than most ranking officers in Dol Amroth. Every generation they had to figure-out that Nag Kath was not as he seemed. PP knew people who met the Elf fifty years ago and that he was to be taken seriously, being the King’s brother-in-law notwithstanding. 

They met privately the second time. Wisely, the new militia chief asked his Lordship’s opinion. Nag Kath said, “I have trained both in Gondor and Dale for long years. I confess; the sorriest soldiery I’ve seen is on my own property. If this business with Harad is to be taken seriously, these men need to be trained to fight so they could join with other companies under the same flag, and they have to think they can win.”

Colonel PP asked, “How is your lot set for armor and weapons?”

“Weapons; fair. Armor; next to none. One hundred and eight showed in the district. I don’t even know how many able-bodied men Belfalas has.”

“The regular army has eighteen hundred, half of them in Rosuldrié. They are good. Four hundred are horse. You know the Marines as well as me. Militias outside of the capital; we get three thousand a year. Pushing we could raise four thousand but getting them out of those mountain valleys on time in any sort of order is like herding squirrels. Lord Kath, you have worked with more successful militias than me. What are your impressions?”

The Elf was succinct, “Make training two weeks. The first; they work on skills. The second; they go someplace and come back. Teach them how to make camp, organize their kit, not pee upstream.”

PP liked the audacity but admitted, “Convincing general staff on two weeks will be hard. Maybe you can soften them up for me. Failing that, they march in the mornings and train in the afternoon somewhere other than their local public house.” The soldiers talked about archers, horse, making due with local officers and signals. If men left home, they would need food. It would take years they didn’t have to rebuild, but they should be doing it anyway.

Pelandarith came from a well-off family with long military ties. With command of the militias, he was promoted from Major to Colonel which helped keep his family in the expensive city of Dol Amroth. They preferred Rosuldrié, but with a dozen senior officers put to pasture, this opportunity would not come again. The most important thing he got from Nag Kath was the conviction to tell his superiors he wanted eighty more regular-army sergeants seconded to the hinterlands for backside-kicking. That was how Dale did it, and it worked.

The Catanard season was upon them. It wasn’t the same without Cal, but then, it wasn’t the same without dear Legorn before. New relatives and friends made their own memories to treasure. The highlight of the season was when a young man Enoria Libron was seeing made his singing debut. It was not a featured role, but he was on the biggest stage in the musical form. Uncle Nag kept the wine coming and encouraged the younger members to visit their cousins in the capital and Emyn Arnen, or even Dale for the adventurous. 

They created a system of fewer bows to Her Ladyship; once hello and once goodbye. Sometimes she would shake hands too. Royalty did that if they wanted but Elves did not use physical touch in their greetings. She let the ladies kiss her cheeks and learned to like it. 

One attribute that was coming slowly was wakeful rest. She was a heavy sleeper and still needed a few hours a night. Nag Kath showed her what he did but was sure that was wrong. Inariel used to watch her mother, she thought secretly, but Arwen knew and let the little Princess enjoy. Her Elf started lying with her in his arms for his rest to see if that would transfer. She needed less regular sleep after a few months. Doing it on-her-own would be a while longer. Inara was getting stronger, but she was still quite human at times.

By the end of July, good men were in place in Dol Amroth including a new High Quartermaster with fresh Princely coppers. PP got his two weeks and his sergeants after a blunt presentation to the general staff by the King’s brother-in-law. Knowing he had support, PP moved his headquarters to Rosuldrié where the bulk of the regular army was stationed beside a long and cordial relationship with Lebennin to supply them from the Gilrain River.

The Kath’s left for Alas Forten a little early this summer in view of the Colonel-Lord’s expanded role in defense. Majordomo Lieutenant Kouphal, formerly a crack soldier, had the same unspoken view of local militia training as his employer. In the last week of July, he, Sarn't Brittanal and Nag Kath went to Rosaldrié where PP moved his headquarters. They spent two weeks learning or relearning how the regulars trained. With Brittanal up to speed, they did not need one of the loaner-Sarn'ts for their little piece of Dudhrandir but they traveled back with several who were dropped on the way. 

Nag Kath had beater swords made from the hard local wood. Local swords were a mix of old and older but most were in fair condition. They weren’t supposed to kill anyone in training so beaters and blunted spears would serve until proper weapons could be hammered in the forges of the Peace. He ordered armor privately from his own pocket but that would be months in coming.

After a fair harvest, one hundred and thirty-one men, mostly farmers, arrived a mile away from Alas Forten at the town of Forten. Nag Kath let the Lieutenant and Sarge move men around and do the organizing. He taught archery, basic swordsmanship and worked with recruits on kit. Trainees weren’t worn ragged to prove a point but they had aches and pains for their duty.

The travel week was more revealing. The basic plan was a four day march around Lake Galibur, some ten miles north. These weren’t parade soldiers. They didn’t have to walk in step. Sarn't taught them a few songs to keep their pace consistent. Only the Lieutenant was mounted. Nag Kath walked with the rest and showed conscripts how to pad their pack straps to not dig into their shoulders. Six men could not take the pace and were given permission to return home. The rest trudged. Nag Kath bought extra socks expecting blisters. 

Who would cook, clean, dig fortified trenches and take the watch was not consistent with civilian life, on purpose. There were a few arguments. Some men had easier jobs than their employers. The second night there was a fist-fight between two farmers over a long-standing boundary dispute. Sarge rewarded them with latrine duty for the rest of the excursion. Day three was uneventful and on the fourth, they returned with some sense of camaraderie. That was the intent. Hopefully it would not be needed, but if an officer of the regular army gave an order, it had a better chance of being obeyed.

____________------____________

The Kath’s settled into their fall routine at the beautiful estate. They walked, practiced wakeful resting, read, wrote and painted. They enjoyed the first Coloma fruit from trees that could not have survived.

Nag Kath continued to advise on the military situation along the Harondor border. It remained the same. Imladrim was no stronger but that was because there was little reason to go there. It was a desert surrounded by mountains except for the fertile banks of two rivers flowing from the corner of Mordor to the Harnen. Tulbar could take it any time he wanted. He could not feed his army if he did. To take usable territory, he had to push south on the Chelkar River and challenge for control of the confluence of the Harnen and the Chelkar at Amrûn. Hûk Sakûn had conquered the eastern Harnen from Khand to just below Amrûn. Khanates supported by the Umbars had finally reinforced their garrisons at Amrûn maintaining trade routes from the sea to both upstart Southrons. The next war would be below Gondor. The losers were the peoples of the small states under the conquerors. No one would free them. No one would try. It might not be much different.

** **


	62. Marriage in Matching Time

** _Chapter 62_ **

** _Marriage in Matching Time_ **

The Kaths settled into a pattern of a year in Minas Tirith and a year in Belfalas. Barahir worked on his books but never neglected the army. Fertile Ithilien provided both infantry and cavalry to the Kingdom and they had the most vulnerable border. Gondor also had excellent spies. When Umbar was hostile, that was hard. As a mistrustful trading partner, ‘eyes’ could come and go more easily along their end of the Harnen. 

Chievon was doing rather well. She was introduced to a man of the city who owned property and didn’t care about her past. He was not of a social class where any of his many friends cared either. She was still exquisite and did not age any faster than everyone else. He treated her like a lady. They married in 133. She kept her powers to herself.

In the year FO 134, Nag Kath accompanied Crown Prince Elhidron to a conference in the Harnon mouth port of Gobel Ancalimon, the highest level meeting among the nobility of Gondor and Umbar ever. The symbolic gesture told the eastern Hûks to enjoy what they had.

That was also the year they lost Reyaldar and Heuris Conath within a month of each other, ending that generation of Nag Kath’s great grandchildren. Both were eighty seven, always devoted, always constant. Nag Kath was by their sides. Raniece, Borond, their son, his wife and three children sailed to the city for a memorial. It was also to see her sister in for the first time in eight years. Rey would not have stood for more than a few days in mourning and the rest of the time the families talked old times and let the young people enjoy themselves. 

Since he was there, Nag Kath rode, shot and marched in the last two militia weeks when the Zurowen family went to Emyn Arnen. With Tulbar and Sakûn bottled along their respective rivers, the fervor of the last few years had waned, but men were much sharper than five years ago, even in sleepy Belfalas. Raniece’s family caught a ferry from a newer dock on the east bank directly across from Barahir’s capital after telling her sister that it was her turn to come for home for Catanards!

Tensions to the south had dominated politics for over four years but that was only the bottom edge of the Reunited Kingdom. King Eldarion consulted with Rohan, Dale and his peoples of Arnor agreeing to hold a council in Edoras in the summer of FO. 135. Among the topics was formally ceding the areas west of the River Running to Dale. Everyone there thought of themselves as Dalish, paid taxes to the Buhrs and looked to that King for protection if the Easterlings misbehaved.

This was the first convocation of its kind in ten years and was, in large part, a reminder of who the friends were. Matters of trade were more important than armies in this day and age along these safe paths. Frör was sending his second son and heir from Erebor. Representatives of the Glittering Caves would come along with a half-dozen Hobbits. Arnor annexed Lindon while Nag Kath was in Angmar. It was at least seventy years after the last ship sailed, a grace the Elves had requested, reinforced by wards (probably Galadriel's), and was honored. That opened the entire coast for the trading ships of the west. 

Inariel had her wakeful rest on better footing. She still slept once or twice a week. Her husband gave her unlimited time, which they had. Considering the turmoil in her body until the change, this did not seem undue. She had been a Princess, a widow, important every moment of her life, but she had not been an Elf very long. Inariel remembered her mother singing to her in words she did not understand. Songs must have meant more than a lullaby to enter sleep. 

When the conference was announced, Inariel met her liege privately to ask, “Dearest brother, I would like to go with your party to the moot with Nag Kath and then to the Woodland Realm, perhaps to stay some time.”

“Of course you are welcome. Have you spoken to your husband about this?”

She smiled, “Over the years he has mentioned it many times but has never insisted. Somehow he knew I would want to learn more of what I have become. I am finally learning his patience.” She smiled again, “Mother had all but given up.”

Eldarion considered, “I cannot speak for Stelhorn of Dale, but I expect their own Lord Kath would be welcome to travel with them on their return, if that is your intention, little sister.”

“I should think so, but I will discuss it with Nag. There are places that may have unpleasant associations for him.” She said very quietly, “I am ready to see Lorien. It might give me peace and help me understand mother's songs to me. Perhaps that is better done on the way back.”

The King smiled at his immortal sister. She would never have the gray hairs now lining his temples. “Just let me know what you decide.”

_____________------____________

Inariel was not sure how Nag Kath would take being invited to travel the length of Middle-earth but this was important to her so she gently broached, “Dear husband, I have decided to take your advice and visit the Mirkwood Elves. I think I am ready.”

He looked up from his book, “Splendid! I can show you Dale and Lake Town! If you are not in haste, perhaps we can ride along with your Lord Brother and see some Hobbits.”

She was expecting that to be much harder. Nag Kath never seemed to mind long travel. He had certainly done a lot of it. Men would rise sore and a day older. He didn’t. In for a groat, in for a Florin she admitted, “I have already asked.”

“Good, when do we leave?”

At seventy-five, Barahir would let his son and heir Tyaldran deputize for the Principality. Lord Olberan of Dol Amroth was doing the same for his da. Eldarion was older than either prince at ninety-two but would probably live longer than his own father. He hadn’t seen the Governor of Arnor in three years and it was time. Queen Aranthal in her eighties was happy to follow Barahir’s example and stay home. Barahir took his old job back as Steward so Prince Elhidron could come with his father. The heir needed to know these people more than anyone.

There were relatively few women this time and they were mounted astride so the progress moved at almost the speed of cavalry. They made Edoras soaking wet from storms but in reasonable time with no injuries. As royalty, the Kaths were entitled to quarters in the Meduseld. He would rather have stayed at one of the new inns. It was a small price to pay.

Since they were not passing-through this time and not part of the deliberations, Nag Kath took his Princess to the seamier quarters and showed her where he drew the fateful picture of the young girl. There was Dornlas’ house, and Lord Altheras’ apartments near the great hall. King Halath was poorly but forced himself to greet the lords steadied by Prince Theodred. His interest in hosting the event was to introduce the man they would know as King before long. He remembered the Elves fondly and the return of the sword. 

King Stelhorn of Dale arrived two days later with his entourage. Nag Kath made a point of introducing himself, apart from his lady wife. It was forty-four years since Nag Kath was in Dale. How could it have been that long? Stelhorn was Barandor’s grandson, thirty three years of age and clean-shaven. The last of Bard the Bowman’s Northmen were in Minas Tirith! 

The Arnor contingent was the last to arrive. That was typical because they stopped for the Hobbits and traveling with Hobbits is a very slow business. If you are patient, it is also the very best way to travel, but Arnorans are not known for taking their leisure. One of Governor Durantir’s counselors was Tougas, a Dunedain of Aragorn’s northern peoples. He was stock of the longest-lived men in Middle-earth. The man looked fifty and was not quite twice that. It happened that one of his kin was in the Angmar raid of 101 and a more distant relative was in the troop felled by the pox. They spent several hours together, some with Inariel, discussing the details and supposing the gaps. There were very few people on the Arnor side of the Angmar claw and none of them saw the need to visit. The spitted pig story lived on. 

Nag Kath was called into one meeting to explain what he knew of Southron tactics. Most was from the Corporal Hanieru’s description. The Elf had actually seen those mountains and his maps were long copied as the standard for armies of the west. He and Inariel finagled a dinner with the Hobbits. Five representatives of the Shire came on their ponies. Among their concerns was; now that Gulf of Lhün was open to mortals, men and Dwarves wanted to use the East-West road to take goods to the port. That contravened the understanding that the Shire was for Hobbits only. Against it was the case that the Hobbits could use it to get their goods to the harbor too, but ships would not come for their cargo alone.

After endless meetings on the subject (and Hobbits can do this for years), a compromise was on the table to make a new road above the Shire. The lay of the land meant cutting across a tip of their homeland. Men would have to buy the land of the folk it would displace. It was not especially good land but one old farmer refused to sell. When he died, his son was glad to take the coin and they finally had a proposal to bring to the council.

The Lords seemed to get what they wanted. Dwarves were friendly. People were not quite sure what to make of the Elves. Few had ever seen an Elf before. These two seemed like ordinary folk. They were here to see the last of their kind in the northern forests. 

King Stelhorn was more than happy to have the Kath’s come home with him. Nag Kath was not forgotten at all. His drawings of the rulers of old were special to His Highness, and would Lord Kath be so kind as to draw him and his Lady Wife Intarciel if he was coming to visit? Anymore there was no reason to take the River Road west of Mirkwood and cross it on the Old Forest Road. A new road veered right in the Brown Lands and stayed to the eastern edge of the great forest until it joined very close to the Dwarf road at Celduin Village. It was still a journey of five hundred miles so when the conference was complete, it was time to get cracking. Sister kissed her brother goodbye and set off on a great adventure.

The King of Dale traveled with twenty four outriders, a secretary/scribe, the most senior counselor who could ride twenty-five miles a day for a month and a junior man who did a number of jobs. Inariel was the only woman. And as one of the beauties of the world, the men had to keep their minds on protecting their Lord. She did not travel with servants and helped with camp chores. The Princess also rode well. 

Around the fire, the male Elf told stories of their land they had never heard before. Some seemed too fantastic to believe. Others confirmed tales they heard as children. What was most interesting was the spur bloodline of Dale through Ardatha. The King knew of her but she was either in the Buhrs or Gondor all of her life. The story of Carstor’s portrait showed how a small thing could change a nation’s course. 

Woodmen were more prevalent on this side of the great forest. Men of Dale had come here to farm well away the brown lands. As the company moved north, it got greener. Nag Kath would have liked to see one of the shape-changers but they were said to be reclusive. Once he sensed being watched by other than cautious men. Perhaps changelings could tell. Hosts of new citizens lined the road to cheer the King of Dale. As planned, the Thain of Nauthauja was at Celduin Village to receive the good news that his lands were now officially expanded to where they had been unofficially for a hundred years.

After three weeks of mostly good weather, the company made Esgaroth. Nag Kath and Inariel said goodbye for a week as the King’s company continued on to Dale. The couple got rooms on the lake facing east and took a few days to rest the horses and tour the sights. Smaug’s tower was somewhat the worse for being made of wood on a lake, but they climbed it just the same and imagined the epic shot. 

The King’s Arrow was still the place to stay for a night. They had a standing invitation at the palace but it was late and pleasant to just arrive and be pampered after sleeping on the ground. Inariel enjoyed the city. It was a little Minas Tirith with different faces. There were Northmen much like the Rohirrim, northern Easterlings with their curious braids and sheepskin caps, fishermen up from the lake, Dwarves by the wagonload and a thriving community of Halflings. They decided to spend another night at the inn and present themselves to His Lordship the next morning. 

One stop they made early was Golord’s shop. As always, Nag Kath had to prove he was worthy of begging entrance and the royal couple waited on the same stone bench. A more senior longbeard came out after a reasonable amount of time and showed them inside. Master Golord was 267 years young with fully white hair and beard but he rose as always and gave the Elf a hearty two-handed hand-shake saying, “Welcome back, prodigal Elf. I have nothing but good memories of you!”

“Thank you, Master Dwarf. My I present my wife, Princess Inariel?”

He made his version of a mannish bow and shook her hand too. To the lady he said, “I had heard you married this rogue. I hope he has not put you to sleep with his stories.”

“He keeps me up at night with them, Master Dwarf. Thank you for your gracious welcome.”

Tea arrived and they sat to drink it. With forty years to catch-up, Inariel listened patiently and added a few recollections of her own. The orcs were behaving, Frör was not gold-sick but kept Dwarvish business under the mountain. Very little of Nag Kath’s mithril had seen the light of day, not that Golord hadn’t tried to get his hands on some. Nag Kath got on rather well with Prince Rahrbagh at the moot so a trip to Erebor was in the offing. 

It was good to see the Master, now the oldest living person in Nag Kath’s life. He ran his shop as he always had. Golord was a natural bridge between the confusing world of Dale and the orderly Dwarf realm. They mentioned their plans to see Thranduil’s Halls and would be back through to say hello at least once more. The Elf floated that idea in case the canny craftsman had heard anything about those lands. Nothing surfaced.

The Kathen office was in the same place with the same name. The youthful-looking couple opened the door and peered inside. A stout young woman was coming from the back with tea and saw them. They were not scheduled so they must be looking for lodgings. She said, “Good day, sir, ma’am. I have a lovely home just off the Chandler’s District that came available last week.”

The Princess was gracious, “We have accommodations, thank you.”

Nag Kath added, “I was associated with the firm some time back. I wondered if any of Brenen’s or Bard’s families are still involved.”

There would be no commission from these two but she could be helpful, “They still own it, don’t they?”

“Is there family at the 118 or Pine View properties?”

She wondered how he knew that and slowly said, “Could be.”

He said, “We will wander by. My name is Nag Kath and anyone who is interested can leave a message at the Arrow.”

The woman had a sip and said, “I will let them know, sir.”

The next stop was Wallach Grandenar’s, the helpful young relative who organized the party forty-four years ago. He might still be around. He was but had moved when he retired. They visited that house and the elderly man swung the door wide open. He didn’t recognize his Uncle Nag because of aging vision but when Nag Kath said his name the fellow exclaimed, “Why yes! Yes indeed! Please come.”

Wallach showed them to a modest sitting room and fetched his wife. They had more tea, talked about the vast number of children generated by the two families and something of Dale itself. Members of Brenen’s line were now Lords in high-society, one of them a retired Minister of the Purse. Wallach and Shielda were not shareholders but had made a solid living and enjoyed their retirement. In the end, it was good to see someone from the old times and they wished each other well.

Nag Kath was quiet walking back to the inn. Inariel held his arm and said, “I do not suppose there are dance clubs here?”

“No, we will have to hum.”

_______________------______________

King Stelhorn welcomed them warmly. After three weeks on the road, they knew each other well. His father died young so he became heir-apparent when he was in his twenties. Queen Intarciel was of the East Emnet region of Rohan, near to Dale. They had a girl and a boy with hopes of more. The Queen joined them for luncheon. There were topics that hadn’t surfaced on their journey for a reason. Nag Kath explained the original orc deal, the mithril, the political situation in Rhûn after the war and the state of magic in the land. Hardened troopers only like ghost stories around the fire when the ghosts aren't telling them. 

For his part, the King had more details about relations with Erebor. Confidentially, he wondered if Durin’s Folk were fading like the Elves. In the light they were their usual boisterous selves but still had made no quests to reclaim old lands. Nag Kath took a bit of time to explain what little he knew of the seven cursed rings. It seemed likely that they had driven the great age of Dwarvish expansion with the ensuing collapses. Sauron could not bring them to his service, but he knew no good would come from his sorcery.

Queen Intarciel was a pleasant woman nearly as tall as her husband with the broad shoulders of the plains. Like most Rohirrim, she was not well-read. She made up for that by being sharp as a tack and seeing to the heart of matters. Inariel was the first Princess to visit here since a state visit from Rohan for their marriage. Inariel put her at ease admiring ‘upstairs’. They agreed to stay another week and Nag Kath would draw them tomorrow. 

By prior arrangement, the Princess stayed in the palace while her husband strolled the healer’s district. No matter the city, healers were never in new buildings. He wandered into most of them getting a few herbs and elements not available in the south and generally acting the Gondoran tourist. 

In the second to the last shop, he found a thin woman and asked if she could pull a mild infection.

“Usually, depends on what else you have tried. Let me have a look.”

He admitted, “My question was just for general knowledge. I try to keep track of these things.”

Inductive healers had not been in favor when the Easterlings were encroaching but this generation was not so bashful. She looked at him and said, “You’re the Elf, right?”

“One of them.”

“One of one. You’re a legend. And no, I can’t put anything in, just take it out. What brings you by?”

He sat on a stool and answered, “Like I said, I keep track. You ladies are hard to find. I know a healer in Minas Tirith who gave a drunk his hangover back. There is an actual sorceress there too, but she is retired. Some of the bad ‘uns died in the surge.”

“Remember that, like I was gut-punched. I was just a kid.”

“That was it. The last of Sauron’s tools. I’d like a silver’s worth of herbs. While you are getting them, do you mind telling me if any girls have been born since then with the gift?”

She stared at the silver on the counter for a while and would get herbs later. “Not that I’ve heard. That was you got ate by wargs?”

“They were saving me for later.”

“Just curious. My cousin married one of the Kathen boys, Grevault?”

Nag Kath admitted, “Then she knows them better than me.”

“To your question; no haven’t heard of any. There was tell of a woman in the Buhrs long ago. Never came here.”

“That is my old stomping grounds. Did some of my best work there.”

The woman stared at the silver again and said, “What did you need for that?”

He gave her three names only found here, about twenty groats worth if you took a handful. That seemed a fair deal to him and he thanked her before wandering towards his first house. Two small children were playing in the yard. As he looked at the home, they looked at him. A lass of about ten demanded, “What do you want mister?”

“Just looking. I used to live here.”

She gave him a stare and followed with, “Da said the roof needs repair.”

“Forgive me, young lady. This was a long time ago. I am just visiting friends now.”

The older girl wasn’t sure about this and said, “Maybe you should come in and look at the roof just the same.”

“If you insist.”

He trooped in with the girls to the consternation of their mother. She put her arms akimbo and demanded, “Who are you?”

“I am Nag Kath and your daughters wanted me to look at a leaky roof.”

She relaxed a little, “About time. Are you with the landlord?”

“No, I was just wandering by and was told by your young ladies that I needed to do something. I used to own this place but that was a long time ago. In fact, I think I had this same roof put on when I lived here.”

Mother became concerned again and said, “This roof is a hundred years old.”

The Elf walked around looking at the large beams and said, “One hundred and thirty. Cost me dear, it did.”

“Then I thank you for looking and I will speak to my daughters about bringing strangers into our home.”

He looked at her as if he hadn’t heard a word she said and asked, “Do you have a long pole or rope?”

“See here, mister. I think you should go.”

Still looking up he said, “I think so too, but there may be money on the beam just over the window. Brenen used to leave a coin hidden against an emergency. If no one has been up there since then, it is worth a look.” He could have just pulled himself up there with sorcery but that might not soothe nerves.

Now she was in the cleft stick. A woman and two girls with a stranger full of nonsense in their home was balanced against the possibility of cash. It seemed absurd so she split things down the middle and decreed, “All right. You look. Then you leave or I call the guardi.”

He looked up again and repeated, “Stick or rope?”

She managed a coil of clothesline. He tied a stone from the garden around the end and threw it at the beam. It took three tries but when it was over, he pulled either end back and forth like a boot-shine as he dragged it towards the wall. A foot from the end, the rope caught something that fell to the floor with a clunk. It was a Numenorean nipper. The younger girl grabbed it on the bounce to keep her sister from getting it. Mother walked over and demanded to see what she had. Her mouth dropped. Was the blonde man a spirit? More importantly, had he come to claim the coin? He solved that by saying, “Check the beam over the door too. You never know. Are there still Hobbits down the block?”

She nodded with her mouth still open and he bid them a lovely morning. There were Hobbits enjoying their little yards with pipes and tea. He waved but did not stop. Upstairs, the palace guards let him in on sight.

Picture drawing went well. The children were attractive and well behaved. In wondering where to put the two they would keep, Queen Intarciel asked about his other works. “Lord Kath, there is this picture of the lake. Can you tell us about it?”

Nag Kath was a little surprised that story had not stuck. The King walked over too. The Elf said, “Your Highnesses, that is the view from the tower on the lake where your kin shot Smaug. I have it on good authority that the beast had circled and was returning for another attack when Bard put the arrow in his heart.”

Inariel added, “We climbed it just a week ago.”

The man was speechless for a long moment. He looked at the Kaths and his lovely Queen before saying softly, “I had no notion. Has it been so long that the Kings of Dale have forgotten?”

Nag Kath answered just as softly, “I took my grandson up there when he was a young man ... the spitting image of his grandfather Brand, he was. We imagined the shot just like every boy with a bow has ever done in your realm; the last chance to get it right.”

King Stelhorn exhaled, “I have never climbed it, not once." He called over to his children and said, “Grath, Fanni, that is where your grand-da of old killed the dragon.”

Seven year-old Bengrathan announced regally, “I will do the same, Father King.”

Inariel offered a little royal advice, “My Lord, the tower is a bit the worse for time. Please be careful if you take the Prince.” The adults could see in the King’s eyes that the landmark would be restored starting tomorrow. It was a superb way to remind his family and the softening gentry of Dale that sometimes a price is asked for what they enjoy.

______________-------_____________

Two days later they were on their way to the Elven Halls around a turn that only an Elf would find. Nag Kath knew it well. They rode slowly and quietly through the dappled sunlight filtering among pines and leafy trees by the Forest River. It took an hour to reach the turn and there they made sure their horses made noise. Two sets of Elf ears listened for others.

About where expected, two ohtars walked onto the path and one raised his palm. In Westron he proclaimed, “Men are not allowed here. You are in the Elven realm and must turn back.”

Nag Kath said in Sindarin, “Your pardon. We are not men and wish to visit our kin. I am Nag Kath and am known to Fearnold if he is still here.”

What he said did not matter that much. Nag Kath looked mostly Elf but he had made his life looking like a man. The Quenda was another matter. One glance at her and they knew she was very much of their kind. 

The soldier who raised his hand said, “We will take you. Please dismount.”

They walked past the noisy falls flowing from the bluff where the hall stood. One of the ohtars stayed with them as they tied their horses to a stone post while the other went inside for the steward. He emerged a quarter-bell later and walked down the steps to receive them. All three bowed and he said, “Nag Kath, welcome back. I am Peransöe. We spoke at your last visit.”

“Forgive my forgetfulness, Peransöe. This is my wife Inariel.”

The Elf wracked his memory before saying, “I do not remember you, Lady. Welcome. Are you new to these Halls?”

“I am, good sir. I have always been of the south.”

The Steward said, “Please, Fearnold knows you are here and looks forward to seeing you.”

Inariel marveled at the place. How could those columns possibly be so tall?! Thranduil’s throne was still intact but not used. It was little changed since Nag Kath’s first unintended visit. Elves coming to and fro were dressed less ornately than in the Elvenking’s day. They looked at their kin in mannish garb without staring.

Fearnold was sitting at his same long table with two other Elves when the couple was presented. Nag Kath had told her these were not formal Elves so be respectful but not fawning. Her blood was of those gone so they might be cautious at first. The others left as the leader walked around the table to exchange equal bows and said, “It has been some time, Nag Kath.”

Fifty years, if I remember correctly. Sir, this is my wife, Inariel.”

Leader Fearnold said, “We have heard of you, young lady. Welcome to the Woodland realm.”

She said, “Thank you for your hospitality, sir. I am honored.”

“Please, sit. Have you eaten?”

She replied, “Not since porridge.” Elves eat twice a day so that wasn’t longer than anyone else. 

Logass was right; they were aging. Fearnold always looked about thirty. That was more like thirty-five now. He, and everyone else they saw, were fit and moved gracefully. The difference was the understanding of time. It had begun to matter. In the years of men it was lifetimes. By theirs; it must seem very fast.

They talked quite a bit about the rest of the world. Woodland Elves still had dealings with men trading goods and materials. Fearnold knew Nag Kath had useful tidings and did not mind sharing. The Southrons were rebuilding. The Witch-stone was destroyed. They felt that. The Elves already knew about the mithril circle and that it was destroyed in exchange for some of Thranduil’s gems.

Nag Kath asked, “There wasn’t time for chat but was the necklace his?”

Fearnold smiled, something these Elves still did. “He would have said so. We tease the Dwarves we see in good humor, but our kind has their obsessions too. His were the stones. Thranduil got quite a few back but I have it on faith that the Dwarves kept some of the best. You did not take the box. I commend you for that. There is always more to take than one should grasp.”

That was high praise from an ancient soul. Nag Kath appreciated it and said, “Yes, the world has many who only take. I used some of the diamonds to build a retreat in the old enemy lands for people to heal and count their blessings.”

The leader nodded that he hoped these halls offered the same. Then he said, “Lady Inariel, your arrival was unseen. Do you come with your husband to see the old things?”

She replied, “It was time to understand myself better. I have only been an Elf these eight years. Like my husband, I did not start this way.”

Fearnold recalled, “I remember your great grandmother when she was of the north. You look quite different but have her eyes. I think you favor your grandfather more.”

She giggled, not an Elvish reaction, and responded, “I never met any of them. In mannish and Elvish count, I am but forty-nine.”

Addressing his question to her he said, “You are welcome to stay as long as you like. I am sure Nag Kath told you that we offer nourishment and shelter in exchange for honest labor.”

“He has, sir. I will do my best.”

_____________------___________

Inariel had not told Nag Kath how long she wanted to stay. She did not know and had gotten used to immortality enough to understand he did not care. If they were here a week or two years, it was all the same to him. They would miss family in the south but knew their lives only intersected.

Nag Kath liked physical labor in the morning and was instantly appointed assistant archivist in the thin library late in the day. Inariel purposely chose to work primarily with women gardening and weaving. Everyone spoke at least enough Sindarin to be conversant. Both Kaths started learning a bit of Silvan which had been nearly dead for thousands of years. She had the advantage of growing up with her mother and knowing that silence was not awkward among the Firstborn. They showed her craft that would have given her fishwife's hands if they did not repair themselves so quickly.

The Kaths were given modest quarters near where the artist Denethiur had lived. After intimacy one night, they lay together wondering about Logass’ other prediction that there would be no more births. They were rare during Nag Kath’s first visit, but rare was more than none. Inariel considered if these beautiful people joined like they just had for no other reason than pleasure with the one you love. Perhaps Elf hearing would inspire passion. 

Most meals among the Silvans were communal. Food was prepared in quantity. Folk could eat it at the tables or take it to their quarters. The Kaths almost always sat with others. It took two weeks for real conversations. He was his usual self but residents were a bit intimidated that she was of the highest royalty in Elvendom. Her rank among men mattered as well. The lady was happy to do the same chores as everyone else so she was one of them. Sometimes the couple ate apart to make them more approachable individually. Later that week they had the evening meal with another couple who was fascinated with life outside their borders. It was on the tip of Inariel’s tongue to ask why they didn’t go to Dale for a month. 

The Elven Halls had two artists. It was not a court position like in the Third Age. Two women used their spare time to draw or paint the things around them -- entirely self-taught but inspired and worth keeping. Nag Kath joined them one evening before the sun set. They were astounded that one could add perspective and shading the way he did. He had thought little of it since it came naturally after Quastille showed him the rudiments. On a whim, he walked around to the throne room to see if his waterfall picture had surfaced. It hadn’t.

Inariel paid special attention to wakeful rest. Her husband was a poor example but she was the only one who still slept. Her ability to submerge unwanted thoughts improved. There was less to think about. Maybe that was how they did it. Nag Kath still held her while she rested and made her feel a part of him. She was. Half of her was him. 

The couple settled-in. Weeks became months. Time passed very quickly as winter was on them. Warm clothes were provided. One of the benefits of Elvendom was that they don’t wear through clothes fast, or even get them very dirty. The Kaths were about the right size. Silvan (Nandorin) Elves were a bit shorter than the Ñoldorin or Teleri. Her mother had an assortment of Silmaril-age bloods but they had no idea where Nag Kath’s ancestor hailed-from. Inariel was about the average height here. Like Phylless, she was taller than most women but shorter than Tal, Eniece and, especially, Florice. Nag Kath was the tallest Elf here, but not by much. 

As they got more comfortable, Fearnold shared more. He let it be known that the Kaths could be trusted, but that is not the same as broaching any subject. The leader thought there might be six hundred of his people. The estimate was rough because some Elves had completely independent communities in the forest, including another three hundred who came with Galfandros from Lorien and made their home about twenty leagues further west. They saw each other as friends. Nag Kath asked about the effect Radagast might have had. The wizard was at the other end of the huge forest but that made him much closer than many other forests. Fearnold did not see the change. The little wizard’s healing may have been directed at Dol Guldor below him. None had seen an Ent since before the war.

At three months, folk finally started talking about not sailing west. There was finality, but not sadness. Nandorin Elves still did not want to live under the same social restrictions as in the Third Age. But there were folk of other lines here who made a conscious decision to stay because this was their home and there were worse things than living an entire life where you loved. They said they could feel the taking. It was not like aging in the way of men. They did not get sick. Injuries still repaired themselves, even if slightly slower. Nag Kath helped set a broken arm the month before and it was fine in a week.

Quenda alone with Inariel were more forthright. None had been fertile in fifty years, even women merely a thousand years old. The Princess got the tiniest hint that her nocturnal pleasures had been noticed. The Quenda were curious how that was possible but could not bring themselves to ask. When asked about Valinor, Inariel told them she had not felt the pull to the west yet. At only eight years an Elf, it might simply be too soon. Her mother never talked to her about it, but she had chosen mortality and relinquished Aman’s claims. Inariel did not mention her transition to this life was a result of sorcery with black origins. Nag Kath’s unconventional mix of life force was not common knowledge and it could stay that way.

Nag Kath’s manly conversations were not as intimate. There were three Elves of Legolas’ Emyn Vieren community who chose to stay. They had journeyed first to Lorien and then here when Lorien was abandoned. He did not remember them. They certainly would have remembered him. Legolas understood the healing need of fresh water but never liked the Dwarvish water pipe from the mountains. The three knew the stranger was more than just a stray Elf. 

The couple stayed until mid-April. Inariel felt she knew herself better, just as her husband had in eastern healing after being reborn. Like ladies anywhere, the Quendi of the Woodland realm baked them a going-away treat, in this case, a sizeable batch of genuine Lembas bread from the Lorien recipe. Against all his whining against making it in penance, he spent a day in the kitchen watching closely. That might come in handy. 

One of the Quenda who was friend to Inariel approached Nag Kath privately. She told him his wife would eventually feel the draw to the Undying Lands. Inariel had not escaped by being late. It was not terrible, but she would have to decide just as they had. If they must leave and could find a way, would he please tell their people on the other side that they would someday see them in the Halls of Mandos?

He kissed her on the forehead and said he would try.

______________------_____________

Dale is pretty in the spring. They stayed at the Arrow this time. As promised, Nag Kath and Inariel visited Master Golord again. He was glad to see them. Prince Rahrbagh was long returned from the Glittering Caves. If the couple would like to visit Erebor, he would be delighted to welcome them on behalf of the King. That seemed like a splendid idea so a note was sent by one of the daily carriers and they got a reply three days later that that two days hence was satisfactory.

New to Elvendom, Inariel was not squeamish about caves. Just as in the Elven Halls, she drank in every line of the massive Dwarf city. Nag Kath was sorry to learn that Tombor had died a few years back but he was nearly three hundred and had done well with his chances. Prince Rahrbagh welcomed them and showed the Princess sights Nag Kath had never seen before. He was a changeling Elf but she was the daughter of the Elessar. Her father’s line mattered a great deal here.

That evening they had dinner with King Frör. He was as lordly as the great Dwarvish Kings of old and spoke with the couple with a glint in his eye. For the occasion, Inariel wore the circlet Milli gave her from Arwen’s things and a necklace with the Traybor stone received from Nag Kath. She had worn neither in the Elven realm. The conversation was mostly about old deeds favorably remembered. The King raised no new issues about the direction of his peoples so the Kath’s didn’t either. They spent the night and were back in Dale by lunch.

It was time to go. They nosed their horses back down the Celduin but then took the Forest Road across Mirkwood. Merchant traffic was strong and the road was no wider so they took their time. The water had been clean for three lives of men. Nag Kath still checked the streams. He was tempted to find Radagast’s home but decided that chapter was closed. From there it was down the Anduin to Lorien. It rained a lot. They had their slickers and Elves are tough, but not so tough that they didn’t spend a night at the nice inn positioned on the Celebrant for a dinner and evening of snuggling, as she called it. They didn’t get an early start either.

Powerful wards against men remained, probably Galadriel’s doing. It was late afternoon when they turned the bend into Caras Galadhon and beheld the Mallorns that looked like thunderclouds with the rain as their trunks. Nag Kath unsaddled the horses and let them graze while Inariel explored the flets in other trees.

She found what must have been a lordly flat two trees deep from the opening. They nibbled their Lembas and watched the stars. There is no silence in a forest. Squirrels scamper. Branches break. Water flows. Her changeling sat holding her in front of him in wakeful rest. 

He surprised both of them. “Orc Six. Welcome back. You have a friend.”

“Hello Mr. Logass. Thank you. This is my wife, Inariel Telcontar.”

The gnome walked to a few feet away and said, “Yes, yes I see it.”

She answered, “Good day, Mr. Logass. Thank you for having us.”

The gnome growled, “Hughmmmph, you are welcome. Will you be staying long, Orc Six?”

“A few days at least. Inariel is new to this life and wanted to take in Elvish places. We are also here in respect to her mother.”

Logass chewed on that for a moment and wondered, “Are you here to see her grave?”

Inariel had been gazing in the distance but she snapped her head like a hooked trout, “Do you know where it is?”

“Certainly, we buried her. She rests on a hill about twenty miles from here. Cerin Amroth it is called, near King Amroth’s house.”

She gasped, “Can we go?”

“Hughmmm, yes. I could take you, but it will be faster on your horses. I do not ride horses. Keeper Ohdouth and I were here when she came. We spoke to her but she asked us to let her be. There is a small stone on the mound. It is unmarked. You can tell.”

Nag Kath said, “Forgive my manners. May I inquire after the estimable Mrs. Logass?”

“Same as ever. She assists me in my labors. It will take you a day to get there. The path is overgrown but it is the only one. Take care and we will watch for your return.”

Inariel neither slept nor rested that night. She wanted to go but did not want to see what she would find. Her mind ran back in time. Milli was daddy's girl. Inara was her mother's, so close, so very close to the Eldar. Arwen saw her people in the beautiful child. She raised her as much like an Elf as she could. She could not have known that Inariel was already on the path to half-Elven, but that getting there would kill her first. The Queen ran out of time. Her eyes had lost their light when she kissed her children goodbye. 

The keepers had done her an honorable service. She rested under a small mound, now grown over in grass but for the rock placed in the middle. Inariel knelt beside it and started crying. Nag Kath was not needed now, but he soon would be as never before. Inariel stayed two bells, holding her hands and wiping her cheeks with her sleeves. After the sun was down she returned to the little clearing where the great King Amroth’s home stood thousands of years ago and sat in the grass by their bedrolls. He walked behind her and sat with his legs to either side of her and held her like he had the night before. She was absolutely still. She needed this. A little piece of her heart had been restored, first in pain, then in understanding. 

Later in the evening, her husband fetched Lembas and fresh water from the stream before sitting behind her again. She sipped the water. When the sun rose, Inariel asked in a tiny voice, “Must it be this way?”

“Pain is the price of love. Love is always worth it, thought it breaks our hearts. I have buried everyone I ever loved. I cried for them too. But I will do it again because without love, we fall into darkness.” He kissed her cheek and whispered, “You are stronger now. You fell into grief like your mother and now you are reborn. This is the chance she did not have. Treasure it, honor her and be happy with me.”

She walked up to the mound and put her hand on the grass for a moment. Nag Kath saddled the horses. 

They were back in Caras Galadhon in the late afternoon and camped back on their little Flet. Mr. and Mrs. Logass walked underneath. She said heartily, “Hello, Orc six. I have baked fish.”

He looked at his wife to be sure she was ready. She nodded and he called down, “Thank you, Mrs. Logass. This is Inariel. We will be there presently.”

At the flet used by the keepers, Inariel was reminded of Mr. and Mrs. Fencïl. Logass seemed much the same. They were homely little creatures with those beaky noses and curious legs, but their hearts were true. She asked him more about her mother’s decision. He only knew what he had already explained to Nag Kath but hearing it first-hand made a difference. Before story time, Nag Kath told the Keepers of their stay in the north, confirming Logass’ conclusion that the Elves were diminishing. He asked, “When they are gone, where will you go?”

“Hughmmmf. We will be called away.”

Inariel asked, “Will you need to take a ship?”

The missus answered, “Oh no, child. We are where we are needed. Now we are here. Later we will be somewhere else. It is not so confusing.”

The Princess thought that was very queer, but if it made sense to the gnomes, that was all that mattered. Perhaps they were a form of Maiar who the Valar could move by thought. Nag Kath asked what seemed like a related question but addressed Arwen’s difficulty and possibly Inariel’s if she was called, “Will you return to Valinor, Mrs. Logass?”

They couple looked at each other and he said, “I don’t remember ever being there. We go where Elves have left and, by all accounts, there are plenty there now.”

Whatever happened, they would not need a ship. Nag Kath was suddenly struck with the question; was Aragorn really asking about him returning to the sea on behalf of his younger daughter? Just how long had they seen their girl as near to immortal? For story-time, Nag Kath told a romantic tale of kissing a beautiful Princess awake and falling in love with her. The gnomes agreed that was one for the ages and Logass would use it in his repertoire when other keepers gathered. 

Before they retired, Nag Kath took out a sheet of the troll papers that Fencïl thought might be of the Valar. Logass had a hard look and said, “Before my time. Hughmmmph, before anyone’s time. It was said the Valar created a language to speak to themselves when in their physical Fana (form). They tried teaching it to the Elves, but the Elves thought the sounds displeasing so the Valar used Elvish tongues with them ... and you know what a fright they are.”

In the morning, Inariel was more herself. Her mother was properly mourned and remembered. She would tell brother and sister to put their minds at ease. Now it was time for Nag Kath’s next adventure. He took a swaddling rag from his saddlebag and a handful of clay from the creek-bank before following a rivulet into a gully. Then he started tearing vines away from a very old stone base revealing a tarnished bowl on the top. Access secured, the Elf put the clay in the bowl and poured water on top before rubbing the surface with the rags.

Inariel watched patiently but was not sure what this was about until he stepped away to get more water. It was the mirror! Her husband wiped the surface with the back side of the rags and filled it about half full. Satisfied, he held the edges with both hands. Power seeped into his arms but the reflection would not speak to him. Turning away he looked at her and said, “It was your great granna’s.”

She had imagined this since she was ten. Inariel held her hair behind her and bent over to look straight down into her reflection without touching the basin. Nag Kath knew it would only seem a few moments but she was there fully two minutes completely motionless. Whatever she saw had an effect. The Princess stepped away and started walking up the path to the flet. Her Elf collected the trash and followed. He did not ask what she saw. She did not say. She was Elfkind and Elves have secrets. 

__________--------__________

They were gone exactly a year. Inariel was different, more confident, more comfortable in what she was becoming. They returned to the palace first to see her family. Learning of Arwen was bittersweet but both Milli and Eldarion were glad she was at rest. They saw the Conaths over the next week. 

After so much travel, they would spend the rest of the year in Minas Tirith and look to Belfalas in the spring. Fieldar Conath was now a grandfather twice over and pleased as he could be. Nag Kath presented a proclamation from King Stelhorn wishing Shurran’s line all his best. There was another for Eniecia’s brood on the coast. The youngsters though it was very special to be related to a King. It all came from imagining Smaug closing on the tower. Everyone greeted, the Kaths made for Emyn Arnen to see the bookworms.

Little had changed in Harad. The Hûks had the eastern rivers, Umbar clients controlled the west, Harondor was still not worth invading and Gondor would not be caught off-guard. Righters whispered in the Elf’s ear that Khand took the same view on their side of the world. Nag Kath spent one militia training week teaching slow-swords. 

They intended to spend about half of their time on the seventh and half at his house but his house saw more of it. There was not a lot to do on the seventh or the sixth levels unless you worked there. They saw Chievon and her husband at a restaurant and had them join their table. She was much more alive. Both Nag Kath and Inariel thought despite all her looks, she was like other women they had known whose husbands had never considered their desires until now. 

The Elf never got around to taking his failed Elvish language papers to the scholars. This generation of well-heeled men embraced the discovery of the Black Numenoreans and argued over texts coming up the coast, replacing the old halfers who replaced those seeking the Nuralth. He studied there sometimes but did not give them anything to fight over. 

Kathlie, who named Orlon ‘Daisy’, was a big girl and married her childhood sweetheart in October. Uncle Nag was good for another generation of diamond earrings. He found it easier to give them all at the same time. Haldor had his Syndolan party and before you knew it, it was 137. 

Light snows that winter would make going downriver easy whenever they chose so they chose the first part of April. Nag Kath presented the Dalish King’s proclamation to his relatives in Dol Amroth to great acclaim. Inariel renewed a few acquaintances and used her Sindarin from the Woodland realm conversationally. There were still pockets in the city that spoke it as their preferred tongue. They enjoyed themselves, saw the next generation take shape and gave Raniece her sister’s best. The Kaths even caught a few Catanards in the Ivandred boxes and one in the Prince’s box. Nag Kath was secretly relieved that none of the next generations here or in Minas Tirith was elderly. When the next group got old that would be continuous owing to the range of ages but the oldest of them was in her mid-sixties and quite healthy.

Alas Forten was pretty, as always. A fire consumed about a third of the town. Patron Kath funded the restoration. The Coloma trees produced a bushel of fruit that did not last the day since everyone was invited to enjoy. The other crops ranged from excellent to a complete loss of the peaches because of a rare freeze in the spring. Nag Kath had a special place in his heart for peaches. A'mash seemed happy with oats.

He trained with the militia this year. It was not the shambles it had been although the two farmers despised each other more than ever. After-hours, he taught slow-swords and youth archery. The march was orderly. Sarnt Brittanal was getting up there in years but he still demanded his men be soldiers the whole time. In the pretty autumn they decided to visit little Inara in Nargond. The mineral springs in Zevalth were relaxing and they made the farm in the mid-afternoon.

Delthander and Bekas saw them ride up and walked out to investigate, recognizing them after the couple dismounted. Everyone knew a high Elf had married a royal Princess in the lordly parts of the realm but they had not made the jump to Nag and Inara. The Kath’s were prepared for either contingency.

Beksa had filled-out but Delthandir was spare as ever. Inara was their only child and she ran in a few minutes later from her chores. Miss Enedith was still the cook/housekeeper. Pati had been quickly courted by a more honest young fellow and had a family of her own. 

Inara showed visiting Nag and Auntie Inara that she would count and read from the modest collection of children’s books that made their way from the scribes of Osgiliath. After dinner, she read to them by candlelight and the blonde healer told a story about great deeds in the north. The child was ten and tall, like her father. She looked like her parents too with no distinctive Telcontar features.

Since they had forgotten his last name, he didn’t mention it. Uncle Nag was good enough. Inara said they continued to travel and while they were close, wanted to stop by to see the lass. The girl beamed that anyone would want to see her and asked the pretty lady to explain a few words in her books no one in the family knew.


	63. The Message

** _Chapter 63_ **

** _The Message_ **

Gervaith Bathralas died in the spring of 139. Milli was very quiet but not despondent. It was expected. That did not mean easy. Inariel wanted to stay with her that summer. Understandably, the girls did not have many true friends growing up. They became much closer when Inariel met Nag Kath and was here again. Milli needed that now.

The threat in the south had stabilized. Occasional refugees escaped but the new lords weren’t much worse than the old. Chievon and her husband Deolfar went to Lhûg, intending to stay. That would be new for him but he was dedicated to her well-being. Being dishonestly taken from her family left scars. She suspected growing up, and from Nag Kath more recently, that the retreats might heal. Nag Kath advised them to join a caravan using the same route he had on the Rhûn side of the Ash Mountains. That was safe generally and safer still if you could cast fire. The Elf was glad for her as he had been for her grandfather Chûr in his time.

In November they took the ship to Sarlond and stayed a few weeks before making for Alas Forten. The estate called Inariel back for tranquility. Winter was mild and soon gave way to the riot of pinks and yellows as bees circled the blossoms. This year they didn’t travel to Dol Amroth and invited the Ivandred clan out to stay. A number of them were the right age for the easy journey, even if they had to hire horses to make the trip. From May until October, they often entertained folk from the city with country life. Milli came with her son for several weeks after a state visit to Dol Amroth. When the spring of FO. 141 bloomed, it was the longest they had stayed in any one place since they met.

After planting, Nag Kath and Inariel returned to Dol Amroth to spend the summer. The mood was different. Family guests had mentioned that too. Disaffected men were more anxious for change. A poet was banished from the city for sedition after penning a play calling for the Prince to abdicate. Little symbols of their cause were inked or posted to gain attention. 

The Elves had other concerns. Inariel fell ill shortly after they arrived. It seemed a mild fever, but Elves shouldn’t get fevers. He examined her gently. In a person he would have called it exhaustion or lack of water. 

The color test was the key. He could not be sure but he thought she was feeling the draw of Valinor, and more intensely than those who had always been Elves. Nag Kath infused her with his own life spirit, a small version of her transformation, and it made her whole within two days. It took him just as long to recover. 

When they were strong, she walked out to the main room in just her nightclothes and socks with tea and sat with him on the couch. Putting the mug on the table she stated, “That was a message.”

“I think so too. It was coming, I just did not know when or how. Are you fine now?”

“All better. It felt like an ague.”

He considered his feet on the table and said, “It will come again.”

She agreed in a small voice, “It will.”

“We should prepare to go west.”

Inariel put her tea on the table and asked, “Is that wise for you? I do not remember you being esteemed by the Elves who left, never mind the ones already there.”

He leaned over and kissed her cheek, “I have not packed my bag. We must consider the possibilities. I think we should spend the winter in Minas Tirith. Before then, we will do a little sailing.” 

They saw the second Catanard and enjoyed a city that relishes its summers despite tension building in the city. More people were arrested. There were assaults. Conjecture was that there were high people involved who wanted to get higher. The fourth Catanard, was to be performed in the afternoon. That was the showcase for the season and usually brought the Prince and his family. Guardi were more obvious. It was Nag Kath and Inariel’s turn in their family rotation and a comedy so they went. She felt fine. Menalgar and his wife Octonal brought their son and daughter to fill the first box with a like assortment in the second. Patrons should find their seats then rise and bow as the Prince is seated. This was the most conservative audience in Dol Amroth. Rabble-rousers would not have many supporters here. The first act went fine and the audience was pleased.

As Prince Armandor and his family filed in from a room set apart for them during intermission, his lead guard was tripped. Three men ran up where space had been cleared for the Prince’s return shouting; “New Men Ascend!” while pulling short swords from their jackets.

The assailants had a clean run of ten paces directly at the Prince. Just before they reached striking distance, a silver blur swept past his Highness. It was ‘the fast’, but not so fast that the audience didn’t see the specter inside. The lead man’s body collapsed but his head rolled up against the Prince’s feet. The second man's torso was cleaved from collarbone to stomach and the third caught an elbow in the mouth. The tripped guard scrambled to his feet and the rear guard ran up in front of the Prince within moments. The accomplice who tripped him got away in the panic.

Nag Kath yanked the sword out of the second man in real-time and stood above the unconscious assailant to see if he was alive. Guardi flooded into the seating area. The Catanard Sayer told those who had not already run screaming to calmly return home. Prince Armandor stood stock still, staring at the head against his boot. Then he looked at Nag Kath before allowing his men to escort him, his wife and several grandchildren back to the safety of the citadel.

The Elf handed the sword to a guard and walked to Inariel. She was shocked but her new Elf instincts held her steady. The Ivandreds in both boxes had whistles for contingencies. This one was to meet at Raniece’s house. Raniece and Borond’s steward answered the door and let the white-faced family inside. Granddaughter Hortence was in the middle of the pack and all business, “Granna, there was trouble at the opera.” Inariel sat but Nag Kath remained standing, paying no attention to the blood spatters on his clothes and arms. He had done this before.

Menalgar’s son Menalthorn was deputized to tell the tale. It did not take long. All eyes went to Uncle Nag who seemed lost in his own thoughts. When he realized he was the attraction, he asked, “Who were they?”

Menalthorn glanced at his father and answered, “With that call before the attack, New Men ... agitators.”

Nag Kath looked at the faces, “Was anyone hurt?” Siorscia’s daughter Heiri had not stopped crying the whole way here. Two others were stunned to silence but there were no physical injuries. With everyone fine, the Elf continued, “Raniece, Borond, please watch Inariel for me, else she settles these New Men.” Inara nodded. The Princess of Gondor knew she was a target.

He added, “I will make my way to the citadel and answer questions there. I expect a few.” 

With that, he kissed his wife and made his way up the hill.

________________-------_______________

It took a few confusion-spells to reach the palace but he arrived quickly and said he was here to assist his Highness. Then he sat on a bench and wiped his hands on his trousers. The Prince’s head of security stormed out of the main hall. He might have just lost his job. His deputy noticed the Elf and said, “Lord Kath? A moment, sir.”

Prince Armandor was talking to his men in his bloody boots. He was angry, not scared. When he saw the sorcerer, he knew he would get answers his lot hadn’t given. “Lord Kath, I am in your debt. Can you tell me what you know of this foul attack?”

The Elf bowed and answered, “Probably not much more than you sir. I saw the three come at you and pulled your sword for the two in front.”

The Prince asked, “That is your sorcery?”

“One of them, sir.”

The mortals in the room were stunned at the magic. Valantir of the Palace Spearmen, standing next to the guard who had been tripped, asked on behalf of his Lord, “Sir, did you see someone attack this man?”

It might be to catch the accomplice or be sure the guard hadn’t been involved. Nag Kath could not help him, “I am sorry, I was watching between the Prince and the stage. I will tell you this for nothing …” he gathered his thoughts; “… a man walking in front of My Lord’s family was not watching them or looking for a seat. He was making sure no else approached from where the attackers emerged ... gray jacket, dark blonde beard." When no one said he was one of theirs, the Elf added, "They had more friends than we have yet counted.”

Prince Armandor looked at his boot again before sitting at the conference table saying, “Everyone, take a seat. What happened to the man with no teeth?” 

A guardi reported, “He is in a cell one level below, sir, out cold. His hands and feet are bound so he cannot kill himself before we ask questions.”

For half a bell they debated why someone would attack the Prince at such an event. It was messy and complicated with a crowd in the way and little time. Were they hoping to make a statement in front of the higher orders? The Captain of the Palace Guards asked, “Lord Kath, you have been silent this whole time. Why would someone try to assassinate His Highness in such a fashion?”

Without looking up, the Elf said, “They didn’t, or the tripper would have done it. Killing him would not be enough. Whoever arranged this was not expecting it to succeed. Watch for the man who tries to make himself indispensable.” Only then did he look to reactions around the table.

Everyone seemed stunned except the Prince who asked, “Lord Kath; is your Lady Wife safe?”

“She is, sir.”

“Then comfort her and thank you again for whatever you did. I expect we will be in touch directly.”

On the way downhill, Nag Kath realized his idyllic years in Dol Amroth were over. Other than healing, all of his other magic here had been discrete. In this city more than anywhere else in the world, he was just Uncle Nag. The entire audience saw him mow-down the New Men. Everyone assumed the heroic Elf had seen the danger to the Prince and sprang to the rescue. Nag Kath would have told them that the only one between the assassins and Inariel of Gondor was the elderly Prince. No one asked so he didn’t say. New Men would be riled, never realizing their fellows were martyrs. Inariel would be the perfect way to settle the score. The Prince had dirty work ahead of him.

The Elf walked to the Quay and doubled-back to his house from the far side to collect his sword and change shirts. Not hearing any lurkers he knocked next door on Callistriana’s window to tell them what happened. They already knew. Everyone in the city knew. He told them to lock their door and warded it before returning to Raniece’s where most of the family was still sitting in the main room trying to understand. All conversation stopped when he entered. Inariel wetted a washcloth from the kitchen and tried to rub the gore off her husband’s face. He took it like a man. Heiri started crying again. Menalthorn got the Elf a goblet of pale wine. They weren’t talking much but did not want to leave either. Nag Kath felt the same way and slumped next to his wife. 

At Caladrion’s burial the family saw emotions. This was their first look at the grave Elf-Lord face and it was terrifying. All these years he had been the quiet, peripheral relative who seldom talked about his past. They had all heard the stories but now they knew this really was the creature who rained death on the hardest men of the last century. Inariel came to the same conclusion walking home at sunset. Quaint Dol Amroth had never been ready for the real Nag Kath. As hard as he tried to blend, it only took a few hapless assassins to ruin everything. The Princess got a mug of cold tea from the dregs of the pot and asked, “That was ‘the fast’?”

“That was ‘the fast’. I do not think the man I hit will wake. If he does, he’ll wish he hadn’t. The Prince will want my aid. I must decline. You have more enemies than you did yesterday and I cannot protect you here.”

She knew that too. Inariel sat on the couch next to him and handed him the mug for a sip of very strong tea. He gave it back and she drained it before saying, “I think we should visit Minas Tirith for a time.”

‘Umhmm.”

______________-------______________

This was a trip of unknowns. Dol Amroth was in a lather but Nag Kath’s part would be forgotten in the blink of Elvish eyes. In mannish time it seemed forever. Inariel had been ill once. Did the pull of the Undying Lands cause her relapse into Agar lhîw sickness? The treatment was effective which made it the leading suspect.

The couple did not know if this would be their last visit to the city of the King. With all their hearts they hoped not. It was too painful. Both of them loved Middle-earth and wanted to stay with their friends, family, places that beckoned with wonder and grace. After the usual round of visits and meals, there was important work to even consider trying to sail to the Undying Lands that fell short of wishing everyone goodbye. They stayed primarily at his house. 

Not long after they arrived, Nag Kath pulled the ship-building file from the papers he brought here years ago and poured over the two smaller ships – boats, really. He was up late that night doodling with ideas how two people could sail a craft capable of withstanding blue-water passage. Inariel was reading next to him. With Elf-eyes, two lamps were enough. Not finding what he wanted, he brought the big file over to the low table and flipped through the sheets from the Grey Havens. She had seen these before but watched his face. He found the sheet he wanted. Lifting it exposed the Elvish drawing of Varda and Ulmo. Inariel saw that and said gleefully, “Oh, you have one too.”

“Hughmmm?”

The Princess picked it up and recalled, “Mother had one of these, or near enough. Milli kept it.”

Trying not to lose his concentration he gave his stock opinion, “Sorry, I have never learned to appreciate Elvish art … too rigid.”

She stared at the witless orc and grinned, “No, silly. It is a map, a map to the Undying Lands.”

Gobsmacked, he dropped the sheet. She seemed very pleased with herself. “There, you see, the hair and water-weeds form currents to the straight-road. Only Elves and those with the countenance of the Valar can travel there, lest they be lost or drowned. Mother hummed a poem to go with it.”

He leaned back on the couch and sighed. It wasn’t quite Gandalf’s eye-closing in Orthanc but near enough. They spent another few minutes looking at what he had taken to be an uninspired sketch as she explained the fish and then the stars. She did not know what they meant in navigation.

Was this the arrogance of having lived so long that he did not consider possibilities? Here he was; creator of the greatest false treasure-map in the history of Mordor, and he dismissed the drawing out-of-hand. As her reward, he took her up to the bedroom.

In the deepest night, Nag Kath walked out on the porch to look at the sky. Passing clouds interfered a little but he saw the same stars he knew. Men positioned their maps using the Carnipal star at the top of the page. Inariel’s little map used a different guide-star, perhaps her great grandfather Eärendil 's. He wondered if they changed getting closer to the Undying Lands. This map might be from before the sundering of heavens in battles with Morgoth. They could not have all been recorded.

Inariel dearly wished she did not have a secret agenda but she did not want to tell her family she was leaving if she did not have to go. On their second visit to Milli’s apartments, Inariel round-aboutly asked if she still had their mother’s little map. Older sister furrowed her brows a little and said, “Yes, you know, I think I do. It is with the things in her little study. I just left them there. Look in the drawers. Mr. Bentrae has the key.”

After lunch, the Kaths had the steward unlock the door for them and walked inside. Considering the expansiveness of Aragorn’s office, this was a closet, but it let Arwen get away from the palace with her own things and thoughts. Nag Kath looked at the discoloration on the wall where the Princess’s masterpiece had hung. She carefully rummaged through a chest of wide, low, sliding drawers until she saw the map.

They took it outside in the hall for better light and she showed how her mother had imagined the sailing of Elrond and her kin. Nag Kath wondered again if the Queen had anticipated that her little girl might need to leave. Arwen never said it directly. Elves seldom do. The picture was slightly different than his, but the star pattern was the same. Legolas probably had one. That was no guarantee he found his way.

________________------_______________

It was just as hard for Nag Kath to pretend that this was just another visit with the Conaths. He and Inariel might not leave for a generation but his time was at last finite. Over the years he tended to think of these folks as the Northman branch of the tree and the Dol Amroth folk as the Dúnedains. By looks that was certainly the case. Both tended to have small, close families. Neither thought themselves as pretenders to rule. They had a lot of money in property. Some were indolent but only a few had ever been black sheep. As heirs of Kath and Reyald of the Celduin, however many generations removed, they took their militia training seriously. At least one in every clutch was an archer and someone in the family always owned a horse. Nag Kath was very proud of them and told them so.

Against the backdrop of troubles in Dol Amroth, the Elf watched the Kathen families quickly learn to be jewelers or builders or do something other than wait for their parents to die. That seemed a harder lesson after twenty eight generations of Princes in Belfalas. High-born boys of Dol Amroth were marrying rich merchants’ daughters to maintain appearances. Inariel’s infuriating Elf grinned, musing that he had married above his station, given his origin; well above. She gave him another reason to smile that evening and then lay on his chest to say, “You have not asked me about the mirror, husband.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“That was for you. I told you what I saw because it affects you. I am sure you will tell me if I need to know.”

A little of the petulant Princess showed through, “That is so unfair! Men are supposed to ask their ladies so we can refuse.”

After one hundred and forty years, he still did not recognize gentle teasing from the gentle sex. Orcs only had vicious teasing. He responded thoughtfully, “That does not seem wise.”

“Oh, you are a nuisance! Now I cannot even gloat!”

Over the winter, Scholar Kath scoured the archives for Elvish navigation. It was thin. They always seemed to know where they were going, having done it for ages and seldom going new places. Inariel spent the time visiting her brother and sister and their families. Neither sibling remembered their mother’s poem for the drawing. 

There was no actual plan for the Kaths to leave. Inariel’s illness seemed far away. That came crashing down in February. Nag Kath returned from visiting his newest niece to find Inariel listless on the sofa. He ran over and felt her neck. She was breathing but cold with little pulse. Her Elf dashed to the kitchen and downed an entire Lembas cake with half a pitcher of tea and returned to his wife. The healer applied the same spell as in Alas Forten but brought it up very slowly and held it for several minutes. Then he fell into deep sleep. She woke him the next afternoon by stretching and hitting him on the ear. Both were disoriented but could stand. That confirmed; she flopped back on the couch while he fetched the last cold tea in the kitchen. 

She drank almost all of it and said softly, “Same thing, my dear. Are you sure it is the call?”

“No, but I cannot think of what else. You will not survive another bout.”

“Then I must go.”

“Then I will take you. You are my wife and we will face what we find together. It is time to tell those we love.”

In the Kingdom of Gondor, the King comes first. Inariel and Nag Kath walked up to their apartments on the seventh and asked both the King’s and Princess’ stewards if they could meet shortly. That was arranged in two hours. The three children of Aragorn and Arwen met in the King’s quarters with Queen Aranthal and Nag Kath for moral support. 

Inariel started to cry and begged their forgiveness. When she was able, she said, “Brother, sisters, I must go to the Undying Lands. My difficulty has returned twice, near to death the last. My time in Middle-earth is ending. I had fourteen years more than I would have and was returned to you, for which I am so very grateful. We will sail to Dol Amroth after settling our affairs and take a craft across the waves in hopes of finding our kin. I will miss you all so terribly …”

That was as much as she could bear. Her siblings were stunned. Eldarion managed, “When must you go, dear sister?”

When Inariel could not answer, Nag Kath said, “We will leave here in two or three weeks and make for the sea. There we will have a boat made to follow those who have gone before. We may not find it or not be accepted, but there is no other path for us now.” He looked at his wife who could still not speak through her tears. Millicend was in shock. “You will see us several more times, my friends, and we hope to say goodbye to the Prince and Princess in Ithilien as well as your families.”

The Elf was tearing-up too. However many times he had repeated this in his head, this, the first admission of finality, was another piece of his endless emotional puzzle. The Queen was able to say, “I will arrange a dinner with all of our children as soon as may be, perhaps when you return from Emyn Arnen. Husband?” She looked at the King who nodded gravely.

Nag Kath took Inariel back to her apartments and let her sleep. He would need to sleep tonight too but he willed himself to visit the Conaths first. Inariel would see them before they left but he wanted her to give as few heartrending tidings as possible. 

It was late in the day. Fieldar was home. He and Mazienne had seen Uncle Nag only a few days before and invited him in to share their evening meal. He shook his head and sat on the couch muttering, “Field, I remember teaching you to shoot when you were seven. You had a little bow with padded arrows. You were so good that your da and I got you a real bow. We were so proud, like the hero of the lake reborn to men ...”

He broke down. All those years of loss for everyone he had loved became the loss of everyone left. There were so many. Nag Kath had told himself over and over in times of terrible doubt that with love he could conquer because it alone kept him from the pit. And now, for the love of one, he must leave all else. It was as long as an immortal could live in the Fourth Age of men. If the slaughter in Dol Amroth was any guide, his time here was ending as surely as Inariel’s. 

He cried while Fieldar and Mazienne waited patiently. After a pull of tea, he composed himself enough to say, “Inariel is failing. I must take her to the Undying Lands or lose her. We make for the sea in two or three weeks. I will not return.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve and made himself finish, “I want to tell everyone. Can you arrange that for me? There is much to do.”

The Conaths were as stunned as the royals. Mazienne finally breathed, “Of course, Uncle Nag. When?”

“Ten days, or thereabouts. The King and Princess Millicend will be doing the same thing on their end and their schedules are harder to change.” He let himself chuckle at that. “We will see Barahir and Talienne in a day or two. And this is not a funeral! We are off on a long journey like many I have taken before. Throw us a party to remember.”

Ten days, or thereabouts. For someone who had all the time in the world, it seemed the blink of an eye.

Nag Kath and Inariel slept until the afternoon three-bell, unheard of in their years together. When they woke, they felt fairly good and decided to ride to Emyn Arnen with the dawn. They helped themselves to two Lossarnach mounts from the officers’ stables and rode hard to Osgiliath, feeling the wind in their hair. The couple made the palace just after the lunch bell and waited to be announced.

Barahir was seventy-eight and Talienne sixty-nine. Time was catching them too. Since the Kath’s were seldom the bearers of bad news, the Prince started almost immediately by apologizing that his book was in the second draft and not fit to be seen.

Inariel smiled and gently touched his hand, “Then I am afraid we will miss it, old friend.”

They stayed three days. Inariel did read the draft. It wasn’t very long. She even had the presence to note a few things His Lordship might consider before offering the tale to a wider audience. Their children and grandchildren joined them the night before they left. Nag Kath made heir Tyaldran swear that he would never replace the name under the Dunlending. Talienne might be the last of the Queen Nepthats. Time would tell, time they did not have. 

The Kath’s spent the night in Osgiliath. He wanted to say goodbye to Gred's family and let him know there would be new partners shortly. Mostly he wanted to hear the water, feel the place one last time.

________________------_______________

There is a lot to consider when leaving a legacy. The morning after they returned to Minas Tirith, Nag Kath walked to Hermiston Calader, a fine notary, and said he needed his undivided attention until his affairs were settled. A nipper secured that. All of the property was to be divided between the Shurran and Eniecia branches of the family along with all of the bank accounts. There was the possibility that they would be rebuffed in the ocean and return, but they would not arrive any worse off than they left. Nag Kath would take a sack of gold and half of the remaining diamonds, which he reckoned were fungible among the firstborn. 

The hard part was his art. It was a large collection since he hardly ever sold anything. Nag Kath made three stacks. One was for the archives. They could catalog it or burn it as they saw fit. Most of those were architectural renderings including the aqueduct but also spares of the great buildings of Middle-earth. A second, much smaller pile was for the families here and in Dol Amroth. It had pictures of places too but it was more of people and commemoration of time. The third, of about the same size, were the ones he would take with him. Those were mostly folk too. Some were places that meant a great deal to him but it was the people he would hold dear.

The Princess had seen him sort through these before but there was more to learn. This was his measure of time, how he created the childhood he never had. Other than Pelargir, her Elf seldom visited cemeteries. This was his burial ground -- faces rather than stones. She watched him burn the illustrations back into his extraordinary memory, adapting Saruman's dubious legacy. On many he hefted the sheet in his hands as if weighing it before finding the pile.

Inariel did her legacy planning too. She owned a lot of little things, some worth quite a bit, but they needed to stay in the family. Her two large assets were the half interest in Lossarnach and Alas Forten. The horse farm was easy. When she was gone, it was Milli’s. Alas Forten she decided to give to the people who had served her so faithfully. Mr. Calader devised a transfer for the Kath’s to take with them. 

Eldarion’s farewell was solemn. Nag Kath had no sense of the history but he was, by any stretch of the imagination, the greatest hero of the Fourth Age. He never saw it. He just tried hard. As requested, the Conath family party was anything but somber. The heirs of the Bowman sent the Kath’s out in style. There were tears at the end, but there was no avoiding that.

Two days later, they took the ferry to Pelargir. Here were two more goodbyes; Helien for all the children who never had a chance, and Phylless for his mortal loves. 

In Dol Amroth Nag Kath booked a room at an inn under the name of Solvanth near the commercial harbor for a month to stash the things they brought with them. Inariel waited while he walked to the respected shipwrights Laksiel and Teranfirith. They specialized in very fine smaller ships and boats, mostly for the navy but also private citizens. 

Nag Kath took the Elvish sketch of a four-man boat that could me managed by two with skill and a number or drawings he made to Mr. Laksiel Junior. The fellow looked them over closely and said, “I remember da used designs like this years ago. When the Navy went to the forward-keel models, they fell out of fashion, but elements remained. Where to do you plan to travel?”

“We have property near Nargond. There are times I would rather sail than travel by horse.”

The boatwright did some chin-holding and said, “Tricky waters, and you might see swells. You would not want anything smaller. Will you be carrying cargo?”

“No, or so little we may need ballast in a squall.”

Laksiel Junior asked, “This was built for that. When do you need this, Lord Kath?”

So much for keeping this quiet. “I want it to be the next craft you make and will pay whatever that costs.”

“Normally it would be four Florin. If we drop everything else and make apologies, call it six. I need two weeks.”

“I will be back then.”

Nag Kath stopped at a mercantile office for half a bell and then he and his Princess rode to Alas Forten. 

Usually there was advance notice that the Lord and Princess would arrive. This time they rode to the stables and walked in the back door. Over the next week all noticed the couple was not their usual selves, not something identifiable, just a different sense about how they approached the same things. Inariel spent time with Miss Told. The woman had done very little lady’s-maiding in the last fourteen years. Nearing seventy, she would not have to do even that much longer.

At the start of the third week, they explained themselves. It was not the collective gasp of the first farewells. The folk of Alas Forten were dear but also employees. The gasp came when they were told that the farm was theirs. Inariel presented the deed and shares along with a purse of twenty-five Florin in gold. Folk could take their interest in the property or cash. The Lieutenant and Miss Told would see to the arrangements. Again, they were sad except for Miss Told. Her fairy Princess was going away with her love to live forever in the land without strife. It was romantic.

There was one more chore on the mainland. 

The farm hadn’t changed much in the last four years. Even in winter there was work in the garden or caring for their animals. Delthandir and Beksa were planting the late cabbage. Inara was further down their lane tending the lamb pen. They saw the Elves arrive and came to greet them. There were handshakes and hugs all round. Auntie Inara said to her namesake, “Child, look how you have grown!” Inara grinned and shrugged. She was at least two inches taller than her mother. 

The girl looked behind her and squealed before sprinting back to open gate of the pen. This was not the elbow and knee run of a lass. She covered the ground quickly and did not take the feint of an escaping lamb. 

Delthandir agreed, “She is tall indeed. We had thought she might be more womanly at this age.”

Lady Inariel said evenly, “That is why we have come.”

Beksa thought a moment and called to her daughter, “Inara, take coppers from the cup. You and Enedith go to the village and see if Mrs. Hellith has any more of her rhubarb pies. If not, see what else you can find for dessert. Uncle and Auntie will be staying for dinner. Be back before then, mind.”

That meant she would have time to see her friends. Inara showed the same closing speed she used to nab the lamb and collected Cook. Enideth left the house draping a shawl over her shoulders, looking at her employers with a mix of curiosity and understanding. The Leavens needed privacy. Delthander motioned for his guests to go inside.

The Elves and Delthander sat at the table. Beksa took a pitcher of cool tea from the pie safe and brought four cups before taking her seat. It was the Elves turn to talk. Nag Kath began, “This is not bad news. It might be very good news. And it might not be news at all. We …” looking at Inariel “… need to reintroduce ourselves. I am what I said, a wandering healer of Elvish extraction with small sorcerous powers.” He looked again at his lady.

“And I am the Princess Inariel Telcontar.”

The Leavens started to rise and bow but Inariel quickly said, “No, please. In this happy home I am Auntie Inara. We are just old friends.”

Both sat down. Nat Kath continued, “Only three days before your Inara was born, I had to heal the Prin … Inara from a malady unseen in thousands of years. She had been born a woman but the Elf in her blood rebelled. I restored her in favor of her mother’s people to save her.”

Inariel took the next leg, “We believe that the orange glow we saw was my father’s life spirit transferring from me to Inara. If so; she may have become a Dunedain, after a fashion.”

The parents looked at each other. This was not how they thought the day would go. Delthander asked, “Is my daughter healthy?”

Nag Kath took that one, “I imagine she is healthier than anyone you know. Is she ever ill?”

Beksa answered for him, “She has never been sick a day in her life. A jagged cut she got two years ago healed without a scar.”

Nag Kath observed, “She is fast, too.”

The tension broke. Delthandir laughed, “None of the boys will race her anymore.”

Inariel said thoughtfully, “She is taking after me and my father. I was tall and athletic at her age too. Both of my bloods are slow to develop. We are still not certain, Nag Kath will have to do a simple test, but she could live 200 years. The difficulty is that she will probably outlive her grandchildren. It is an adjustment.”

Beksa looked at both guests and ventured, “It would be hard to wed ...” and immediately put her hand to her mouth, put in mind of Princess Millicend's recent loss. 

Inariel reached to the mortified woman’s other hand in silent comfort.

Nag Kath thought it was time to come clean. “Delthandir, Beksa, I do not offer an apology. I had to save Inariel’s life and then we had to save your life and your daughter’s. I would do it every time. That is why we have returned to see our niece. She is a lovely child and will become a fine woman.” 

He became graver, “Right now, only we four know. The story will need to stay that way.”

It was time for the segment Inariel had rehearsed, “There is more. Through spirit and magic, if not blood, your daughter is my sister, and daughter to Aragorn, Lord of the Reunited Kingdom.”

The Leavens were taking this well. Nag Kath continued, “We have had fourteen years to think about this. It seems Inara is indeed who we thought. Inariel and I suggest you consider taking her to Arnor for a year, there to spend time with the King’s Dunedain kin and see if you like it. They are mostly farmers, just as here. I will make sure you are welcome. It is there she will most likely find a match to last her lifetime.”

Beksa handled the family finances and said, “I’m sorry to tell you, Nag, but we really can’t afford to take a year away from the farm.”

Lady Inariel cleared her throat and looked at her husband as if he had failed to buy a promised round at the tavern. Nag Kath caught her gaze and righted, “Oh, yes.” He pulled a fat purse from his jacket and set it on the table. “There is thirty Florin to ease your time away. Please do not think of this as a bribe. Inara is your daughter and this is entirely your decision.”

Beksa blurted, “Thirty … ! Nag, your Ladyship, I hate farmin’. And I think Delthandir is getting tired of it. For thirty dented, I’ll gladly go anywhere you say.” She looked to Delthandir who nodded enthusiastically.

Nag Kath thought to practicalities, “You will need to wait until spring. Have you traveled much?”

They shook their heads. He added, “It is not the hard road it was, but it is still no casual stroll. Delthandir, can you handle a sword?”

He said, “I practiced with the militia every summer but I’ve never wielded it in anger.” With that he went to the storeroom and produced a dusty sword and scabbard for Nag Kath’s inspection. This was my grandfather’s.” 

The Elf looked at the hilt and guard then thought for a long moment. “Delthander, a northern name, yes?” 

“My great grandfather, a villain as the story goes. He came here after trouble in Arnor and died in an Umbar raid.”

Nag Kath said, “Please give me your hand.”

After the slightest hesitation, Delthander did. Nag Kath took his wrist gently but firmly and closed his eyes. In a matter of moments, the farmer’s arm began to glow, yellow at first and then deepening to a light orange. To his credit, the man stayed calm. It was over in a few seconds. There was no pain but Delthander did feel a residual tingle.

Nag Kath looked at his hosts and said, “Well, it seems little Inara is getting Dunedain from two places. Do you come from long-lived folk?”

Leaven replied, “Aye. My mother is over seventy but looks fifty.”

Inariel asked, “Will leaving cause her hardship?”

Beksa stifled a laugh through her nose. Delthander explained, “My mother is a harridan of the first water. Not only did your miracle save our babe, it gave us the best of reasons not to name the girl after mum.”

Nag Kath said, “The leader of the Dunedain people is Tougas. I will give you a letter of introduction. May I suggest that you visit as retired farmers with your young daughter to explore family history from that proud land? You will need a guide. A Dunedain who is often in Dol Amroth for trade has been engaged and will contact you in that city at the Inn of the Knight on the first of May.”

The Princess offered another small cough.

“My Lady reminds me that the fellow is a bit coarse and perhaps not the most genteel company for ladies of the blood.” That did not relieve him of the stare. “I will speak to him about that. His name is Wallandar.”

Unimpressed, Inariel took charge, “You can tell anyone about Nag Kath. It might be better if you leave me out. People will talk. And do not mention the passing spirit, lest some might seek to elevate dear Inara and put her in jeopardy.” The next sentence was said as the daughter of the King, “Passage from Dol Amroth to Mithlond will be arranged next spring and thence to the city of Annúminas. People have been retained to be sure you are properly provisioned.”

After dinner they played a game to see what colors Nag Kath could conjure from everyone. As with the horse ride years ago, Enideth declined. Auntie and Uncle were silver. Mother was yellow. Father was slightly darker and daughter giggled because she was the shade of pumpkins in the garden.

________________------_______________

Prince Armandor dug deep. The man with the broken face did live long enough to answer questions. New Men were not as tough as they thought, including the Prince’s second son Albreton. Lowly New Men were banished. Those in government were executed. Higher men got a mix of the two. Albreton fell on his sword after using it to kill his son. That wounded the Prince and Princess to the heart. His line had taken casualties in service to their beloved land before, including many who did not deserve it. Breton was buried in a lime pit.

Expecting as much, Nag Kath and Inariel waited until they were nearly ready before reporting to Raniece’s. The older Ivandred line knew for weeks. Talienne’s letter arrived with them. After having done the presentation so many times, it became a trek for health and new adventure. There were tears, but the pain of having said it once was the worst. Shares, money and jewels were spread here too along with the pictures and two horses. Orlon and Shadro were getting up there in years. A soft Dol Amroth billet was the best retirement a horse could ask. 

The younger folk were told what they already knew and assembled for a farewell dinner. Word of the royal return would be known across the city. They would visit if the Prince asked but did not request an audience. The man might feel having the avenging sorcerer leave this world was a heaven-sent way to salve raw wounds. Lord Kath had never really been a creature of the new Fourth Age.

Saying goodbye was mostly for afternoons and evenings. In the mornings, Nag Kath and Inariel practiced sailing in deep water. She had watched the many ships she had been on and understood how to position the hull based on the waves and wind. Fishing with Nag Kath helped. She learned quickly and, more importantly, was not afraid. Inara did take the luxury of bringing several pairs of dainty Princess gloves to protect fast-healing Elf hands. 

Raniece’s home was the last party. Everyone came except for Salvie, her husband Rohtho and sister Callistriana. Salvie was expecting a child any moment. The royals were prepared to run to her aid if she went into labor. If not, they would sneak by in the morning. It wasn't the bash at the Conaths, but not somber either. The youngsters were excited to hear how Uncle Nag slew the traitors. Heiri was not. Nag Kath explained that on the porch.

In the morning the Kath’s did drop by Salvie and Rohtho’s house to check on the expectant mother. The baby would be her second and she was fine. They spent a few minutes at Callistriana and Poldarin’s next door to leave diamonds and get hugs. Inariel decided she liked hugs and had better get them on this side of the sea.

Hand in hand, they walked to the boat. 


	64. Harvién

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I had divided Nag Kath into six books, this would start the sixth. sh

** _Chapter 64_ **

** _Harvién_ **

** **

**The rest of the book works around the map called Valinor Topo. <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8> It is borrowed from the excellent Mark Fisher and I’ve added rivers and Principalities to describe the factions I need to make the story work. sh**

They packed light. There was a large supply of fa;se-Lembas, carefully wrapped and stowed in the small compartment. Nag Kath brought a number of his drawings and papers stored in the leather art tubes that had served him so well. They had clothes and slickers against the weather. No courtly apparel was included. Nag Kath brought about one hundred fifty diamonds and a hundred Florin in gold. All else was left with family and friends where they would matter. Neither of them knew what to expect. After clearing the point sheltering Dol Amroth; Nag Kath said, “Well, my dear, now we follow your nose.”

“What nonsense is that, husband?”

“You are the one called. I am only hoping to slip in as your servant.”

They both grinned. The actual plan had been drawn well before and it was to round the point at Andrast and sail north-northwest as if making for the Grey Havens before veering due west into the deep sea. There was considerable doubt that the hints on the maps would be clear to them.

Least certain was the right of entry. This was not purely a voyage against waves and wind. Powers too great to imagine decided access to the ‘straight road’ -- said not to conform to the curving of the world. The Elves who knew were on the other side and brought their records with them. Cirdan must have been back and forth many times. The Lady Inariel might have more sway since she was Half-Elven by legitimate and distinguished ancestry, her husband; considerably less so. The decision was made. If they were rebuffed, they would turn back. He would not fall into the sea to increase her chances and let her die in grief like her mother.

The Belegaer was the same as usual; choppy this time of year with swells from the northwest. Further from shore, waves rolled more than they broke so it was simply a matter of holding the prow into the surge and tacking to keep the direction. In the first three weeks they got several nasty soakings. 

The voyagers did not stop at Harlond. Supplies were sufficient. Rain had filled the barrel. It was time to go past the sight of land. Wind was mostly against. It would not have been possible for men needing sleep. Nag Kath and Inariel alternated in wakeful rest when it was calm but that is difficult on a rocking boat. Three days after the turn they headed into a winter storm. Swells came over the bow and they were glad of having had a deck put over the hull with gunwale ports to shed the water.

The sea calmed to its normal patterns and they tacked in tight zigzags towards familiar stars for another week. One surface current formed a pattern similar to the map for two days but then the waters got calmer as they entered thick mist. What wind there was helped. For three days they drifted west. If large swells were coming, they would not know in time. The stars were gone as well. Then the wind died altogether. For two days, in water no rougher than Lake Nennûrad, they went nowhere and hoped, wondering if the Valar or their servants were considering their admission. There was also the chance that there were no Holy eyes on this part of the sea. Everyone coming should already be here. 

On the third day, they took a risk. Nag Kath had never tried a spell for wind but he thought he had some of the skills on water so he borrowed a page from his old da Saruman and summoned a westerly breeze. Compared to the weather called by the powerful wizard it was a mere zephyr, but the boat started to move. Inariel unfurled full sail and they started forward, listening to the little waves lapping against the hull. It was still another two days not being able to see more than fifty paces but then they broke into bright sun and beheld the coast Nag Kath saw in Galadriel’s mirror.

From here, the Daisy was guided in a current towards a fair harbor quite like the Grey Havens. It was huge and splendid, though in a much smaller bay. They coasted towards a small wharf guided by unerring current and gently bumped the dock. Two Elves came from a building on the land-side of the pier and watched them tie Daisy to the cleats. The Kath’s saw them walk over and one said in Sindarin, “Good day. Are you just in from Eldamar?”

Nag Kath replied, “Nay, sir. We are come from Middle-earth.”

They looked at each other for a long moment and one said, “A long trip on uncertain seas, sir, ma’am.”

Inariel smiled a lovely Elf smile and agreed, “We have been some time coming but do not know where we are.”

“This is the port of Alqualondë, young lady. This is most unusual. How are you here now?”

“My husband and I are just now called to the Undying Lands.”

The second Elf saw no difficulty and said, “It was the custom of those arriving to go where their people live. Do you seek someone in particular?”

The Princess replied, “I am of Lord Elrond’s house. Does he live nearby?”

“He lives in the foothills of Eldamar, about two hundred leagues south.”

Nag Kath asked, “Forgive us, sir. We are quite young by your count of years. Who are the people of your fair city?”

The first Elf answered, “We are mostly of the Teleri under the lordship of King Olwë.” People started coming from other buildings to look from a respectful distance. He continued, “Though, there are many bloods to be found in all of Aman.”

Remembering the traditions of western sailors, Nag Kath asked, “May we disembark, sir?”

The second Elf said, “Oh, yes, certainly. Come, we should see the harbormaster.”

Nag Kath and Inariel hopped off the boat and were glad to stretch their legs on stable ground. The two harbor men bracketed them on the short walk, passing several other boats or small ships moored closer to land. On the way, Inariel asked if this port served vessels of their own coast. Elf Two said, “Yes, but most Teleri are near the Calacirya River mouth where they are protected by the Isle of Eressëa to our southeast. It is strange that you were not drawn to Avallonë."

She had heard of the city, "We were in thick mist for the longest time. Perhaps we passed by."

Five minutes later, they entered a pleasant building that would be dangerously close to the waterline in Middle-earth. It did not seem the worse for surges. At a small desk was an Elf who looked a bit like Nag Kath. Their second greeter walked over for a word and the Quendu rose to meet them saying, “Fingaron says you are just docked from Middle-earth.”

Nag Kath replied, “Yes, sir. A long voyage.”

“Are you alone?”

Inariel answered, “It is just the two of us. No other craft follow.”

The harbormaster was here to see to safe docking and transport. They seemed safe enough. There were no protocols about stragglers coming in from the east. They got here, so the powers that allow such things would have given their blessing. Neither newcomer mentioned stealing a little of Middle-earth's air in the crossing. The couple introduced themselves by name only and repeated that they would seek the lands of Lord Elrond. The relationship of the Princess was not asked or revealed.

That was by design. The Princess has royal blood of all three original Elvish clans in her veins, including the Teleri through both King Olwë and his brother King Thingol in Middle-earth. They had not always gotten along with each other or the Ñoldorin, though the bloodlines were quite tangled. Almost all of her royalty came from those born in Middle-earth and that might not count for much here either. The plan was to find her maternal grandfather who she had heard of all her life. Gandalf told Nag Kath he was a reasonable sort.

Being helpful, the harbormaster said, “That is a fair distance. You could sail some of it but his realm is inland. Have you given any thought how you will travel?”

Nag Kath admitted, “Nay, we had no idea what to expect. Your welcome has been most gracious. I suppose we will seek lodging for the night and perhaps you can direct us where we can purchase horses.”

Harbormaster Tenguil thought a moment, not knowing if these castaways were entitled to Teleri accommodations or had any money for a commercial inn. He decided to send them to a modest inn where their purse would be discussed by the proprietor. He directed, “If you walk up the lane towards the tower, there are rooms at the White Jewel. They can tell you where to find mounts.”

Nag Kath asked, “Can we moor our boat and things here for a time?”

“Of course. Just come get them when you are settled. What will you do with the boat?”

Inariel said, “It has served us well. When we leave, perhaps you could find use for it.”

The Harbormaster had not seen it, but any craft capable of getting here was worth something. It would find a home. Thanked for graciousness both ways, the Kaths returned to the boat to get their essential bags and walked up to the White Jewel.

Elf two from the wharf observed, “Strange accents for both of them. They look familiar too, in different ways.”

The first said, “Two more Ñoldorin, methinks. They had best go no further south than the other banished.”

__________------_________

The inn was different than they were used to as well. In western Middle-earth, inns are generally the second or higher stories over a tavern. The denizens of the tavern defined the quality of the inn. Here there was a respectable dining area with no bar. Rooms went back or up. They approached a desk and were greeted by what back home would be a pretty young lady. She might be two thousand years old. The Quenda asked, “Good afternoon, how may we help?”

Nag Kath said, “We would like a room for the night and dinner, possibly a longer stay.”

“She had no booking page. Just from knowing she said, “I have two rooms upstairs. The charge is two Delsui.”

Nobody said anything about money. Even Easterlings took gold and silver Numenorean coins. Nag Kath said, “We have money of the east.” He laid out two silvers. 

She looked for a moment and said, “Another of those will serve.” She got it and took them up the staircase to the third floor. It was small but had a window and smelled like it had never been dirty. Come to that, they hadn’t smelled anything bad, even at low tide. There were no bells. Elves know when to eat. They wandered back down at what seemed like dinnertime and were seated for a meal of fish, grain and altogether new greens. Tea came with it. Wine was extra. 

So far, so good. No trolls had exploded out of pits to reclaim their brother orc. Inariel felt fine, so fine they tested the other guests’ hearing after long, unromantic confinement on their tiny boat. The bed was very small too but there were comfortable chairs for rest afterwards, if they were so inclined.

Breaking their fast, both of them determined that porridge was what everyone ate in this world and any other worlds unknown to them. One could add honey from a small pot on the table. There was tea and also unique fruits that seemed very fresh in winter. At the desk, an Elf with rather shorter hair was on duty and Nag Kath asked him where they might buy horses. That was not a usual question but a respected stable was several hundred paces further south and inland about that far. The Elf did not have the usual fawning smile of a concierge looking for a tip. Risking offense, Nag Kath put a silver on the counter and asked, “Do you see these often, sir?”

In this land, no one had to get close or far and squint. He said, “Every so often from people who came on the Swan Ships after the last war. Three of these are a bit more than two Delsui.”

“How about one of these?” He put a nipper on the counter.

The clerk said, “Same as a quarter Fluren.” 

Nag Kath picked up the gold but left the silver with thanks as they made their way to the stables. Here; differences in doing business were smaller. Men or Elves working with horses have the same wares. The horses here were very nice but Inariel doubted they were any smarter than hers. At a smaller paddock they saw a half dozen promising animals where a Quendu in leathers was loading grain into the trough. 

Our Elf asked, “Your pardon, we were told there might be three horses available here for purchase.”

Nothing brown was spit between those white teeth but he was a tough horseman, and no error. He replied, “Just the horses?”

Nag Kath said, “We will need two with saddles and tack. The third is for light packs so a pannier saddle for him or her.”

The stable boss thought they looked good for the money. The youngster was a strapping fellow with a queer accent. She was a lovely child, his daughter perhaps? They could do business. “Hmmm, let me see. I could let you have that bay, the chestnut and the brown gelding in the corner. Outfitted as you said, make it two Flurin for all.”

“That was probably a high offer to be negotiated. Nag Kath countered, “Make it the dapple rather than the bay and we have an understanding.”

His best horse, but that was still a good deal for the stable master. These greenbottoms were not here to haggle. He nodded and said, “Give me an hour to get the pannier.”

Nag Kath caught himself before reaching out to shake hands. They bowed and walked back towards the inn for sightseeing. The city was beautiful but seemed a bit sad. It was not as populated as it could be. Buildings back from the water’s edge were sometimes empty. This was the site of the great Kinslaying, not that either knew. In Elvish places, the spirit of such things lingers.

________________------_______________

An hour later, they collected their horses. One saddle and tack was fairly new. The other; fairly old. The smaller was the better so that was Inariel’s mount. The gelding got the packs. According to directions at the inn, they wanted to go south on the only road and then turn at the mountain pass. Inara kissed The Daisy's gunwale in thanks for faithful service. On the way out they agreed this would be a splendid place to visit when they had more time, but finding their feet was the first order of business.

It was not as cold as it would be in Middle-earth under the same stars. Here on the main road, there were quite a few travelers. Some had horses, some were on foot and others drove small wagons. Those seemed to be farmers. There were crops still in a few fields too. The Kath’s fell in with two merchants who took silver pigs from the mines below Tirion up to Alqualondë for fine smithing. Most mining was done nearby. 

They traveled with others about half the time for two weeks, always with places to stay and good food that kept getting cheaper as they got away from the Teleri capital. After a few days of that, they realized that many travelers stayed on account, if that was the right phrase, on the business of their Lord or people. Somehow the cost was settled later. Reaching the first gap in the imposing range of mountains that formed the spine of the island, they took the road heading further inland. Folk they met thought them queer but unthreatening. 

Tirion was even larger then Alqualondë. The closest dubious comparison from their world might be Annúminas but with tan stones. There were elements of Khand too. Khand must have gotten them from this lot but Nag Kath had no idea how. If asked, he certainly knew more about the Easterlings than anyone in their world. It seemed large parts of the city were vacant, or thinly populated. This was the Ñoldorin realm. The Princess had considerable of their blood. Nag Kath’s was unmentionable but they kept both heritages quiet.

The couple took rooms at a very expensive lodge that also bought good answers to their questions. Lord Elrond and his followers were better known here. His capital was another ten day’s hard ride south in the foothills of the Pelóri Mountains which split the entire length of the continent. Tirion was built on the only easy gap to the interior but was seldom used by Elves. The ones who lived there stayed there. That was also where many of the Valar and their servants dwelt. 

The north-south road stayed busy. There was an inn at the end of the first day’s ride with good hay and oats for hungry mounts. Four days later they passed the tallest mountain, Taniquetil, where the Vala Manwë and Varda were said to live in a magnificent palace in the clouds. It looked bloody cold.

________________------_______________

Two weeks out of Tirion, the ground rose. Scenery offered subtle similarities to Imladris. It was nothing tangible, more of a feel. The innkeeper at the last stop before Lord Elrond’s capital told them exactly where to turn. 

This was not a secret place of hidden trails and illusion among the boulders. None of the complex was visible from the road but after only a few miles, ground opened onto a more pastoral valley than Imladris. The way in was farmed fields rather than rock formations. Set in splendor was the next homely house with another bell at a good pace to reach the central courtyard. An attendant tied their reins to a guest rail and another said, “Welcome to Harvién.”

Nag Kath smiled a polite Elf smile, “Thank you. We have come seeking a few minutes of Lord Elrond’s time.”

Not many people came here unannounced and those were always known to the Lord’s staff. The Quendu said neutrally, “Lord Elrond does not receive unscheduled guests.”

Inariel suggested, “We are just here from Middle-earth and have tidings, sir.”

That was more unexpected than they were. He told them to wait and loped up two flights of stairs. The complex was different but the main building was a near copy of Rivendell. The attendant walked into the station of the house steward and said, “Good afternoon, Lindir. A couple has just arrived from the north to see Lord Elrond, a young Quendu and a child. They have no appointment.”

Lindir did not look up, “You know the Lord does not receive unannounced guests.”

“I do, sir, but they said they had just arrived from Middle-earth. It seemed worth mentioning.”

Lindir looked up for that and walked to the window where he could see the courtyard. Turning back to the attendant he nodded slightly, “Thank you. I appreciate your noticing. Young, you say?”

“Quite. He is a strapping fellow. She is very fair. Curious accents.”

The Steward considered that a moment and said, “I will let Lord Elrond know. He has told us to keep an ear to news of the east. Wait here.”

Lindir walked up another flight of stairs and gave a slight bow to Elrond Half-Elven, son of Eärendil and of several great houses of Elves and men. Elrond looked up from his desk giving Lindir approval to speak. The steward said, “My Lord, two travelers have come from the direction of Tirion and asked leave to speak with you briefly … they said they are arrived from Middle-earth”

Elrond did the same as Linhir and walked to his window looking down on the travelers waiting by the hitch post. “I do not know them. Middle-earth?”

“I have not spoken to them, My Lord. Should I question them further?”

The Elf Lord shook his head slightly, “No, I am curious now. Please show them up.”

His Steward hurried downstairs and walked to Nag Kath and Inariel with the slightest of bows which they returned more deeply. Linhir said simply, “If you will follow me. I caution you; Lord Elrond does not have much time.”

Three flights of stairs would tire many visitors in the east but Elves climb easily. Lindir led them to Elrond who was still looking down on the horses and beyond. The Steward noticed the Lord’s hands were behind his back which usually meant he was deep in concentration. Hearing them, the ruler of Harvién turned, waiting for their bows.

Nag Kath started, “Thank you for making time to see us My Lord. I am …”

Elrond interrupted, but not abrasively, “You are just come from the east?”

“Yes, sir. We docked in Alqualondë.”

The Lord’s stare would not rival Inariel’s but he did his best when asking, “How many were on the ship?”

Inariel answered, “It was just my husband and me on a small boat, My Lord.”

Nag Kath completed the thought, “And we will be the last.”

This was not how Elrond thought this would play. They were clearly not Woodland folk. He said more sternly, “Who are you?”

Our Elf answered, “I am Nag Kath. You may know of me from Gandalf.”

Elrond thought a moment and said, “Yes, I do. We will deal with that presently. And you, child, you look familiar but I am sure we have never met.”

“I am your granddaughter Inariel, My Lord.” She bowed again.

The sun shone on him. Yes, a blend of Arwen and Aragorn. In disbelief, he walked to her and put his hands on either side of her face wondering, “How is this possible? I was told you were mortal.”

“I was, grandfather.” He looked at a ring he had given Arwen. She added, “When I was little I wrapped yarn around the back so it would not fall off.”

Her husband added, “It is quite a tale, when you have more time, sir.”

All other thoughts banished, the elegant Lord waved his hand to his study table and they sat. Another wave brought Linhir, who was told to see what the kitchen could manage before the evening meal. Then he leaned on the table and queried himself as much as them, “Again, how can this be?”

Inariel turned to Nag Kath who answered, “Agar lhîw caught her in her forty-second year. I only knew it from your own notes. With wizardry I was able to infuse my own line to break the impasse. To my good fortune, I fell in love with the Princess and we have been together since.”

Elrond leaned forward, “Wizardry?”

“Yes sir. It was the only way I saw to transfer enough of myself into her. An Elvish draw would have only taken from her and been replaced by the same imbalance.”

“Show me.”

Nag Kath reached his hand over to Inariel who put her wrist in his palm. He sent a faint silver pulse from his arm to hers and gently kissed her hand when the spell was done. She was healthy so it should have had no real effect, but they both felt some transfer.

The Elf master nodded, glad to see his earlier work had value. Then he brought the conversation to the present, “And why come now?”

Inariel replied, “With my change, the call of Valinor was killing me. We think that strengthened father’s line to create the impasse. I had to try.”

Elrond looked at the large changeling to say, “And you?”

“I have never felt the draw. I came with the one I love. We hope to make a life for ourselves here.”

They talked an hour. Lord Elrond’s scant education on Nag Kath had primarily come from Gimli. Alas, the Dwarf Lord died ten years before in honor, glad he came. He rested in Legolas’ father’s lands. Tea became dinner with an equal exchange of information about both worlds. Elrond was especially interested in what Nag Kath had learned about the old enemies and destroying dark remnants. Gimli had already told him about the mithril band. 

By the middle of the meal it had not come up so Inariel ventured, “Grandfather, it is always a risk asking about those never seen, but what news of my uncles and grandmother?”

Elrond held his chin for that one before answering, “Elrohir is visiting your great grandmother and father in their home. Elladan planned to return here by the end of the week.” 

The Lord became graver, “Your grandmother never recovered her grace from torment at the hands of the orcs.” A glimpse at the former Uruk-hai got no reaction. “She lives here in her own quarters, attended by caring retainers. I will take you to her when she is receiving.”

As rehearsed, Inariel said, “Husband, we should get to our inn before full dark.”

Her grand-da proclaimed, “I will not hear of it. You will stay with me.”

That was planned too, but the changeling’s reception might have gone much differently. Thus far, their luck was holding.

___________------___________

The next morning as Lord Elrond finished what he postponed from the day before; the young couple was invited to explore the home amid curious glances from the household staff. The home and estate were like a huge Alas Forten but this was also the capital for Elrond's gardh (domain), much larger than his holdings in Middle Earth. Ground was farmed communally, bounty was distributed and people knew their jobs. Warming her heart, two children of the homely house were fascinated by the newcomers. 

Nag Kath had a task to perform alone. In a meadow towards the farms were three small headstones in Hobbit fashion. Nag Kath walked over, head bowed, and read the inscriptions. Bilbo died only a few years after arriving. That was expected. Frodo died at the age of eighty-one, young for a Halfling, but not one who had been stabbed by a Morgul blade. The changeling took a measure of pride in having ended its former owner’s legacy. Sam made it another twelve years after he arrived. Each had been honored. The Elf didn’t cry. This wasn’t a visit in mourning. He did gaze on the small graves for quite a while. Then he walked towards the stream bank and planted several of his Coloma seeds. They weren’t a Hobbit fruit, but the little people loved growing things. One day they would give nutrition and shade for folk who might visit this special place.

________________------_______________

On their second morning here, they broke their fast with Elrond. Before finishing, a retainer approached and whispered in the Lord’s ear. Elrond put his napkin on the table and said, “This seems a good time for you to meet your grandmother, Inariel. Both of you; come this way.”

He led them down a corridor that hugged the hillside with windows looking over the fields. That let onto an exterior staircase that gradually worked down to a building set apart from the main home. A chambermaid opened the door and the three passed inside. 

After another turn they came to a very large room that seemed to be a complete home with few inside walls and no kitchen. In one corner was a mannish bed with dressers and cabinets. Across from it was a loom and sewing table used for tapestry. Near the entry door was a sitting area to catch the eastern sun through glass windows. The fourth corner was open, as if waiting for the right use. 

A lovely woman with long, golden hair was sitting at her dressing table, unaware she had company. Her female retainer, who, in the land where people aged and ate too much would have been a tough old lady’s maid, bowed to her Lord and touched her Ladyship’s shoulder. 

Celebrían slowly rose to greet her guests across the room. They approached her until the two youngsters bowed deeply from twenty feet away. Elrond said rather formally, “Dear wife, I have brought your granddaughter Inariel just come from eastern lands.”

The woman gave a vague smile but could not focus. Her husband continued, “And this is Nag Ka …”

Upon seeing him, Celebrían’s skin turned gray as she seemed to grow to eight feet tall the way Gandalf did in shadow. She raised her right hand and howled, shooting a spray of power and fire at the three. The blast intended for Nag Kath glanced off his instinctive warding spell into Elrond and Inara. Elrond was hit hardest and flung against the far wall next to the door. Inariel took less energy but was still spun ten feet away.

The changeling raised his own hand and put the orc-removal spell on his attacker with all the strength he possessed. Lady Celebrían screamed like a wounded animal as his magic overcame her spent effort. Nag Kath held the spell as he approached her writhing in mid-air. A nauseating black miasma emanated from neck and surrounded her until vanishing into the room. He cautiously got closer and caught her when he ended the spell so she fell into his arms, nearly a repeat of Tanûerv of Thân zîrân.

By now, Inariel was standing and Lord Elrond was limping back. His left arm was broken above the elbow. Nag Kath slipped his charge onto the sewing-table face down pushing the work and implements on the floor. Elrond joined the Kaths and watched as the Elf passed his quill knife over her neck until the blade glowed faint blue. The changeling turned to the reddened lady’s maid and spoke firmly, “Water, towels.” He then turned to Inariel who was pouring a pitcher of tea over her head to douse her smoldering hair, “Dear, can you see if there a yarn-puller in that mess?” The chambermaid found the long tweezers-tool before Inara and set it next to her mistress while the lady’s maid brought the basin and towels. 

Elrond showed astounding patience watching Nag Kath pass his hands above Celebrían’s body making her pale and cold. She showed no pulse or breath. Then he used his quill-knife to cut a deep incision in the back of her neck and pulled the flesh apart. The surgeon delicately probed the cut with the knife, searching until he hit something hard. Then he used the tweezers to extract a small, bloody object. It sizzled when he swished it in the basin revealing a gold coin. Nag Kath dropped it in the water along with the tweezers and commanded sternly, “No one touches that!” That done; he passed his hands over the prostrate Lady again, bringing her breath and color back. Inariel finished by applying healing on the wound which sealed almost instantly. 

It was only then Nag Kath turned to Elrond asking, “Did you see the black mist surrounding her?

“I did.”

“That was a remnant of Morgoth. I have removed it from others just as Sauron was removed from me. It was bound to that nipper.”

Inariel squeezed the tea out of her hair and smiled to let him know she was not seriously hurt. Elrond was supporting his bad arm with the good. Nag Kath nodded, “Sir, I should have a look at that.”

“First things first, Mr. Kath.”

Nag Kath asked the attendants to help him take their Lady to her bed. Elrond and Inariel followed. The changeling said to the worried husband, “She will sleep for a time. I cannot tell after long years of fear and doubt but, with luck and love, she may be herself again. I will need to test her in a few days.”

He smiled at Inariel, “My dear, you were superb.” He kissed her red, sooty cheek. “I am a lucky fellow. And now, sir, that arm.”

Elrond felt his wife’s pulse with the good hand. He was still the senior healer in the room. Celebrían had gone from white to pale. The Lord removed his robe and pulled at his blouse with a wince. Nag Kath sliced the sleeve up to the shoulder and cut it away. The upper bone was broken but not coming through the skin. Elrond never saw his arm stretched and set but the Lord grimaced in pain and surprise. Nag Kath said as if it happened every day, “I will need to splint that.”

Inariel took charge, “Let me attend grandfather, husband. See to your other patient.”

Elrond allowed his granddaughter to secure and sling his arm but he would not leave Celebrían’s bed. Nag Kath and Inariel then sat as well allowing the lady’s maid to clip and brush the burns out of her hair. Elrond leaned back in the chair and said to the young couple, “Morgoth! Are you sure?”

Nag Kath answered, “A spirit of pure black. Sauron has a green tint. I should imagine in My Lady’s torment that cursed coin was placed in her neck. She moved away. Sauron was destroyed. The coin retained enough power to prey on her mind causing grief and confusion.” The changeling took her wrist and felt the pulse. “She will wake in another day.” 

Inariel looked at the maids, “When she wakes, My Lady will feel unclean both inside and out. I suggest a hot bath and a mild purge.”

By then, the house was alerted. Lindir sat by Elrond’s side. Nag Kath and Inariel stayed the day but returned to the main house for dinner and sleep. He would be tired for a few days. Lord Elrond sat vigil holding his wife’s hand, willing it to wake. For six hundred years she had been lost in madness. If the changeling was right and she could come back to him, he would be patient and hopeful.

At high-night, Lord Elrond of Harvién looked out to the moonlight and thought afar to Celebrían’s mother, Galadriel. She should come here. It was important. It was good. Please come.

________________------_______________

Inariel and Nag Kath sat in one of the lovely side gardens waiting for the visitors to arrive. Celebrían was truly meeting her family for the first time in six centuries. A dozen riders arrived a quarter-bell before. Thinking that would be time enough to reach the main rooms, the Kaths started climbing the stairs when a tall figure rounded into the garden from the courtyard and stopped. He had long white hair with no beard. His face was unlined yet not at all young.

Nag Kath looked at the face quite a while before crying, “Gandalf, is it really you?”

The wizard grinned and came for an embrace, “It is, dear boy. It is. I wondered that you might make it here.”

The Elf drew away and said, “Gandalf, this is my wife, Inariel Telcontar.”

The man drew closer to her for a good look and said, “Yes, yes, I see them both.” Then to the couple, “Come, the others are already upstairs.”

There would be no mistaking the four people standing in the main room. Two were warriors, lightly armored despite the peace. Another Elf was nearly as tall as Nag Kath with silver hair and penetrating gray eyes. The fourth was a vision of grace with long blonde hair. As they approached, Gandalf deputized as host proclaiming, “Friends, allow me to introduce my old student Nag Kath and this lovely woman is Inariel. Inariel, these are your great grandparents and your uncles.”

Galadriel approached and put her hands on either side of Inariel’s face as Elrond had saying, “I never saw this, not once. We must become great friends.” She smiled at Nag Kath knowing the story was coming. Celeborn and his grandsons gathered around moments later to greet them. Twin Elrohir said with joy, “Father was right to send us these superb tidings!”

With gravity beyond her tender years, Inariel countered, “Thank you uncle, we are but a line in the pageant unfolding.” With that she cast her gaze up the stairs where Elrond was leading his Lady Wife, hand held high in the old-style. She was radiant and steady on her feet.

Elves would tell you they are never stunned, but the family and Orórin were slack-jawed nonetheless. They quickly gathered for a larger, longer scrum, leaving Gandalf and Nag Kath watching. The wizard asked softly, “This is your doing?”

“Umhumm.”

Elrond stepped back and said, “Let us go to the reception room where some of your questions can be answered.” Galadriel glanced at Nag Kath again more intensely. The party trooped down the hall where chairs had been arranged in something of a circle. The Lord and Lady of the house took the head and everyone else sorted themselves, still talking excitedly until Elrond cleared his throat loudly enough for attention. “Thank you all for coming so far so fast. There are two sets of tidings today, both good. I have asked Nag Kath to start since he has a hand in both.”

This was planned in advance to make order of such a volume of information. As he always did, the Elf started slowly and softly, “Thank you, My Lord. I suspect you all know something of me from Gandalf so I will be brief.”

Orórin interrupted, “And stories from Gimli as well!”

Nag Kath said mostly to himself, “Ah, dear Gimli, I wish he was here too.” Then louder to the group, “I started life as one of Saruman’s Uruks and was changed to the form you see when the One Ring was destroyed. Better minds than mine are not sure how, but I also inherited some of Saruman’s sorcery. Gandalf saw that early on.”

Gandalf, Nag Kath would have to remember he was Orórin here, chuckled and added, “Aye, had to take a bit more orc out of him, and none too gently either.”

The Elf smiled at him saying, “We will come back to that in a minute. Much of my time in Middle-earth has been spent finding and destroying remnants of the dark ones but I have also been a builder and mostly a healer. Not long ago, I was called to attend a woman who was in dire straits.”

Inariel said, “That would be me. I developed Agar lhîw as grandfather described. With sorcery and Elvish medicine, Nag Kath was able to tilt the balance to mother’s side. It returned not long ago. My coming here seems to have restored me and I am happy to meet all of you.”

Nag Kath beamed, “As luck would have it, we fell in love and have been together fourteen years.”

“Fifteen.”

“Fifteen years.”

The group had not expected magic. Celeborn ventured, “Why did you come here now, child?”

Inariel replied, “With my changing, the draw of the Undying Lands was killing me. We loved our home and families but I would not have survived another attack.”

Elrohir asked, “And your ship had no trouble with the shoals and tides?”

Nag Kath answered, “We saw rough seas for two weeks but then dead calm in heavy mist, as if waiting in judgment. I borrowed some of Middle-earth’s air to nudge us into the light of Alqualondë.”

Elrond took command, “They arrived here and I am very glad they did.” He looked at his wife who seemed serene even knowing how her story would shock. “After two days, I took them to meet Inariel’s grandmother. Celebrían became a terrible gray specter and threw a bolt of flame and power at us. Inariel and I were thrown to the back wall and singed along with Fillisha and Rohirie. I will let Nag Kath explain.”

The changeling looked at the relatives who were gaping again. “I protected myself with a warding spell. When My Lady’s power was spent, I hit her with the same enchantment Gandalf used on me all those many years ago. A second spell brought her nearly to death so I could remove a small coin planted in her neck that held the spirit of Morgoth.”

Elrond handed his son Elladan a small iron box with the nipper along with a warning not to touch. Against the solemnity, Nag Kath smiled and said, “That is the bad news. The good news is, My Lady?”

Celebrían was tearing but did not cry, “Yes, the good news is that I am returned to you. It may be some time before I can put the doubts and fears from my mind, but I am … I am back with my family.” She managed to smile as well. 

Galadriel leaned back in her chair gripping the armrests and murmured softly, “Morgoth!”

The changeling answered, “Yes ma’am. I removed almost the same specter from a young woman in the kingdom of Thân zîrân. If Gimli told you the story of the mithril band, she was possessed the same way.”

Elrohir did not care for orcs, reconstructed or otherwise, and asked tersely, “Why did you take mother near to death?”

Nag Kath held his chin for that, “I believe that coin feeds on living flesh. I did not want it to restore itself, or kill her in defeat, so I took My Lady to the barest signs of life. Then she was given back her vitality and Inariel repaired the incision.”

Celeborn asked firmly, “Why did the coin attack?”

“I think it takes one to know one, sir. I showed my Lord Elrond some of the magic of Inara’s healing. Residue tends to linger about one for a time, that and I have fought Morgoth before. It must have seen me as a threat and defended itself ... not for the first time.”

Elrond had been waiting to know this since the attack and wanted those present to hear the response, “Nag Kath, you said your powers are not strong and yet you swatted Morgoth like a gnat.”

“It was just a residual spirit, a snare forgotten in the forest. The Dwarf ring was like that and Ar-Balkumagân’s stone held great power even after he was killed.”

Celeborn furrowed his brow in question, “Ar-Balkumagân, the King of Numenor? He was deposed by one of the faithful.”

“Aye, sir. He was your Witch-King of Angmar. A powerful sorcerer brought into Sauron’s service. Of all the wounds I have taken in my halting career, the only scars I still bear are where the shards of that rock exploded into my shins.”

The group talked until Elrond said, “We can discuss until we are famished. Let us take nourishment and continue afterwards.”

Inariel interrupted as everyone was standing, “Grandfather, before dinner, Nag Kath and I would like to present gifts we have long held. I fear some of you will have to wait until after our meal.”

Grand-da smiled and nodded. Inara removed the white bag from Nag Kath’s satchel and unwrapped the circlet that sat under his stove. Handing it Galadriel she smiled, “I believe this belonged to your Aunt Írimë, My Lady.”

The Elvish Sorceress looked at the Princess for a few moments before examining the tiara. She found Orestë’s mark inside the band. It was the only thing that remained of her after the massacre of Beleriand. She put it in her lap and closed her eyes barely saying, “Thank you, my child.”

Nag Kath pulled a twisted tan crystal out of his pocket and handed it to Orórin saying, “Radagast became one with his forests. I think he would have wanted you to have this.”

Gandalf silently accepted the staff-end, wishing it could light.

Not to be outdone, Inariel took a larger box from Nat Kath’s satchel and presented it to Lord Elrond saying, “We thought you might like this for your library. We could not read it, but it is very old.”

Elrond opened the case and froze. Nag Kath added, “The Elf-keepers thought it was a failed language for the Valar to talk to Elves. Not even Logass could make sense of it.”

The Lord lowered the case so the others could see. The older Elves and Gandalf were silent. Finally, Celeborn managed, “Children, where did you get this?”

The changeling answered, “There were advantages of being the last in Middle-earth who could smell a troll-hoard.”

Questions lasted well into the evening. Finally Nag Kath said, “I can tell you, but showing is better. Will you let me share my story?”

Most heads nodded. The Elf slipped up to their quarters and brought back his large folio. It was less than a quarter of the former size but was still Nag Kath’s life history. He sat on the floor and took them through from the beginning. There was Gandalf trying to light the Eregion pipe-weed and Radagast, birds, lovers and wives, Gimli’s Cascade, secret lands and flowers. There were eastern retreats and men of those lands, not at all as the firstborn imagined them. 

Nag Kath mentioned Orlo as leader of the resistance in Sauron’s lands but only as a dream in the cavern of ice. The Elf had a few riddles to solve first. His draft of Aragorn and Arwen was near the bottom of the sheaves. Nag Kath handed it to Lady Celebrían and said, “We would like you to have this.”

She closed her eyes and nodded. Like him after Angmar, her thoughts would benefit from fond memories.

After an hour's indulgence, everyone had a better understanding of the newest Quendu. Inariel sat by patiently. She had seen these before but the presentation varied with the audience. Inara liked watching the faces.

________________------_______________

The next day the senior Elves and Orórin met privately. Celeborn began gravely, “Tensions have risen greatly with Naitë Mélamar and Farnëmar in just the last year. Merchants have been harassed and some have not returned. Cirdan has the same tidings on the coast. The neutral gardhs remain so, but they are wary of their borders as well. Elrohir, can you share your news?”

The twin nodded and said, “Thank you grandfather. The rulers are inflaming their subjects against us, and any who are recently returned from Middle-earth. Those sentiments are strong in the armies and militias as well. Naitë secretly increases its permanent soldiery.”

Elrond surmised as much from travelers in this land as well. He looked at Gandalf, “You have different sources, old friend. What do your ears tell you?”

“I have heard the same, but have not been in the south for two years. May I suggest we sent our newest Elf Nag Kath to those places. He has a nose for mischief, especially magical mischief. I feel something, and this wretched coin is a cold slap.”

None of the lords were comfortable. The changeling had given them a great gift in restoring her Ladyship, but he was fresh off the boat. They were even less comfortable with the mention of magic. Gandalf, Orórin again, being in the area was telling. Galadriel, perhaps the strongest sorceresses of Elvendom, looked at him and agreed with reservations, “Yes, if you think that is wise. We will benefit from an unbiased view.”

Her concurrence was all the others needed. With a show of nods, she continued, “Orórin, please make the arrangements in your own fashion.” 

For the next few days the activity was family around the restored Celebrían. About half included Inariel and her husband. That left opportunities for Gandalf and Nag Kath to talk about the latter’s checkered career. Gimli had spoken highly of the young Elf but had only heard a fraction of his deeds, mostly as they pertained to Gimli’s own extraordinary life. A few days after arriving, Galadriel joined them for a practical discussion of magic. Nag Kath described the difference in summoning powers but the end result in healing was similar. He used wizard-sorcery, primarily, because it was easier to focus and had more applications for the maladies of men like fevers and lung disorders. Orórin saw Elrond walk by and excused himself to join him, leaving the great Sorceress and new Elf alone. 

She probed gently, “You were there when Elrond spoke to me, yes?”

He was puzzled for a moment before saying, “No, but I felt it. Voice or meaning I could not tell. Were you speaking from afar?”

“Yes. I never used the stones.”

“I am sorry, My Lady, stones?”

Galadriel appraised him and said, “The Palantiri, the seeing stones. Those were of the Numenoreans.”

“That is craft unknown to me. There were things that were never shared as I made my way in the world of men, for understandable reasons. Arwen suspected I was Sauron escaped yet again.” He brightened, “It was fortunate that Gandalf was able to hear and join us.” The tiniest shadow crossed her exquisite face. No one had really explained why Orórin was here for a family reunion. This was not the time or place to ask.

In different combinations, everyone met everyone according to their interests. One group was the Lord and Lady of the house, their sons and the Kath’s. Elrohir was reserved near the changeling but Elladan asked heartily, “Back to that nasty nipper, Nag Kath, it was placed in mother’s neck?”

“Aye, Elladan. That is where the dark ones mark their property.” He showed the little ‘six’ tattoo on the same place of his neck, the only trace of his former life.

Celebrian wondered, “Indeed, but I was taken long after Morgoth was banished.”

Elrond leaned in for this. He had the same question. Nag Kath expanded, “When the mithril band was dented some of his power escaped, passing to a very short list of sorcerers. It kept some alive when the Witch-stone was smashed. I think the coin might have taken strength. Let us hope we never know.”

Elrohir ventured his first comment directly to the changeling, “We found mother in torment with a grave and poisoned wound. Rescue was a terrible fight with the loss of good fellows, but in looking back, we should have died there. It was too easy.” He stared at Nag Kath, “Too easy.”

That got the first real Elf-Lord comment by the newcomer, “Sauron or the Witch-King tried to make her a spy in your house. She moved beyond his influence. The dark ones were destroyed. The coin waited, preying on her mind and spirit, waiting for instruction, waiting for its master.” 

Elrond said with a tinge of regret, “And My Lady’s obvious wounds got all of my attention while I failed to notice the little one.”

“Do not think of yourself too meanly, My Lord. It is my habit to blunder in and stir the hornets for lack of a considered plan. I get lucky.” He turned to Celebrían, “Ma’am, both of the ladies I helped made full recoveries. There are treatments for ordering your thoughts, some of them learned after I was frozen. I would be glad to show you when you are ready.”

She looked at Elrond and they both agreed. Elrohir said gravely, “There is still that filthy coin. We have no Orodruin to melt it.”

His father reassured, “We will find a way, my son. Your grandmother will take it with her when she leaves.”

As the Elves went inside, Nag Kath took Gandalf to the Hobbit headstones and told him about the division-fruit seeds. They sat in the grass in silence for at least half a bell. The wizard finally said, “Take good care of Celebrían. Curing her ordeal will take time and understanding. What of your other healing Nag Kath?”

“I am not sure old friend. Pulling bog-fevers will not bring many coppers from the immortal. I am good with birthing, though Inariel is better.”

Gandalf/Orórin considered that and said, “When you are settled, you should travel south and see the great healers there. I will give you their names and lands.”

Nag Kath considered, “Settling is another matter. Let me be sure Inariel does not relapse. Then I will travel. Are the lands below just like the ones above?”

The wizard said, “They are more alike than different. You will see in your own time, my friend.” Gandalf left in the morning without saying where he was going.

________________------_______________

Galadriel and Celeborn rode the next day with their escort for their fief directly south of Elrond’s, some fifty leagues away. The Kaths got a standing invitation to visit. The twins stayed. They wanted to be close to their mother and had taken a shine to their baby niece. 

Inariel was blossoming. She liked being an Elf better than being a Princess, though she was both here. She explored the vast homely house with its nooks and hideaways, often returning with Nag Kath. Lady Celebrían moved into Elrond’s quarters, not wanting to be reminded of the room where she spent hundreds of years in confusion. It worked its way into a conversation that perhaps the Kaths should take the isolated space, needing sleep. When one of the household couples entered their joining, they needed more sleep. The youngsters stayed close to Harvién for the next four months. Her strength improved well past her original transformation. They celebrated anonymously by staying in the little inn where they got directions to Harvién for dinner and cup of wine.

With her mended, The Elf considered Gandalf’s suggestion to go south to meet the great healers. He had already spent considerable time with Elrond gaining insight into the subtleties of medicine. His style had always been to plow into emergencies with force. The Lord used the slightest touch and herbs. They discussed Frodo’s wound and battlefield injuries. There was always more to learn.

As spring beckoned, Nag Kath started fishing with Elladan, though the warrior was more of a hunter. Nag Kath would shoot with him but not at animals. One afternoon trying to outsmart fish, the changeling told him of Gandalf’s (Elladan thought of him as Gandalf too) suggestion to visit other noted healers below them. The Quendu replied, “Yes, those are respected names, along with father’s. Elrohir and I traveled quite a bit when we arrived. Remember that folk who are more recently arrived are not always esteemed in the breakaway gardhs.”

Nag Kath teased, “And here I thought everyone was the same.”

Elladan took him seriously, “No, when we came from the summoning informs a great deal. Some returned and stayed. They largely live west of the Pelori. There are those who tried to return but could not. Father is of several lines, plus men and Maiar." The young Lord grinned, “The least favored were the Ñoldorin who returned to Middle-earth to recapture the stolen Silmarils causing great bloodshed among their kin. Though she did not bear arms, Grandmother was only just pardoned by the Valar by virtue of her service in the Ring War.”

Gandalf; you trickster! 

Nag Kath realized he had been set-up as surely as when Tal connived his introduction to Florice. Wizard or otherwise, the old Maia cleaned messes for the Valar. In his less exalted way, that described Nag Kath’s job in Middle-earth. Gandalf saw potential and pressed him into service. The old boy told him in Orthanc that a wizard is always exactly where he intends to be. How did he happen to be on the short road between Galadriel and Elrond and neither of them knew? One thing was certain; he didn’t recommend Nag Kath travel south to pull rotten teeth.

The newest Elf should have figured this out himself long before. Those who were here for thousands of years were not waiting for interlopers to share their land any more than the Thains were tending gardens for Easterlings. The last and most powerful Elvish lords of Middle-earth arrived little more than a century ago, a blink to these people.

Gently pressed, Elladan explained when Galadriel returned with her battle-hardened troops after defending Lorien from orcs, they joined Celeborn’s retainers and soon settled unoccupied lands to their east. Meliath of Naitë Mélamar on that border mobilized his much larger but untested militia to push them back into the mountains and got thrashed for his pains.

Elladan’s skill was in and he pulled several large trout. When he rose to go, Nag Kath said he wanted to stay a while longer and meditate. The changeling put his chin on his knees and watched him leave. Yes, it was all becoming clearer. He had gone from knowing almost nothing in Middle-earth to knowing more than anyone. He had to start again. 

Later, Nag Kath told Inariel what he learned and what he guessed. She was very quiet before kissing him gently and saying, “You will not charge off unprepared, my warrior knight. Let us learn what we can. Do these lords do more than complain?”

“Elladan said not often, but they are noisier lately. Perhaps that is Gandalf’s interest. He would not bother if all they did was insult each other’s parents. That is a touchy subject hereabouts. I will see if there are any maps or histories newer than the Second Age.”

Nag Kath looked in the library and asked many questions of the resident scholar. There were no maps but the Lorist was able to draw his own from reliable accounts. It was time to ask Elrond. 

The Lord listened to the brief report and gave his grandson-in-law a knowing gaze. “I think you are correct. It is not the habit of Elves to spy on one another but we hear from merchants that both Farnëmar and Naitë Mélamar are increasingly hostile to recent arrivals and those who helped them.” 

Nag Kath asked, “Forgive me, but, why? There is more than enough land.”

Elrond allowed himself a grim smile, “It is not about the land. It is about pedigree. Everyone here has something over the others, usually amounting to little. Lindareth of Farnëmar was of the Ñoldor who did not leave in the Doom and objected to King Finarfin’s return. Finarfin is Galadriel’s father. Naitë Mélamar splintered from the Teleri in Alqualondë. The two southern fiefs, they would tell you realms, do not like each other very much, but politics makes for strange bedfellows.”

The changeling tossed a serious question on the table, “What are their military dispositions, particularly along the borders?”

“Fair to good. Traders have seen militias training. They have far more ohtars than my little gardh and Galadriel and Celeborn’s combined. Thranduil to the south still has an army but he is not threatened.”

“Is it time to worry, sir?”

Elrond nodded, “Yes.”

Nag Kath finished with, “I will speak to Inariel. She is wise beyond her years. If it is right that I should go, I need to know everything, right down to what they eat on their porridge.”

Inariel teased, “Perhaps I should have sent you packing with A’mash.” When he didn’t notice, she sat next to him and asked gently, “Must you leave?”

Nag Kath snapped from his reverie and smiled, “So it seems. I cannot read these people like back home but I think you grand-da was a party to Gandalf’s sleight-of-hand. He is worried. If Gandalf is involved, I wonder that there is sorcery in the air. There are not a lot of wizards for hire in these lands. The situation is tailor-made for me.”

Inariel leaned her head on his shoulder, “Speaking of tailors, you will need to look the part.”

He chuckled, “Yes, Elvish elements at last. I’ll need something for high councils and the rest modest wear. An itinerant healer is a good disguise and itinerant portraitist at need. Shultö is too handsome a horse for my station, but I may need his speed.”

She pressed, “When?”

“Several weeks at least. First I need to know where these places are and who runs them, and if there are any friends. Legolas referred me to a healer who was actually Lebennin’s quiet-man. I will only approach these two after observation.”

Inariel wondered, “Will you go alone?”

“Have to … can’t have exiled lordlings hanging about while I try to look humble. I do wish I could take Elladan. He would be tough in a scrap and knows the path.”

The first part of Nag Kath’s preparation was a visit to the firewood stack. After some rooting he found stout oak fence rail and spoke-shaved it to a serviceable practice sword. 

His next trip was to the library. There were no current maps. When everyone is four millennia old, they know the way. Grudgingly forgiven for his ignorance, the archivist helped him improve his map showing the rivers of southern Eldamar and the borders of the different gardhs along with their rulers. The place was big. From here to Thranduil’s northern border was fully two hundred leagues. Roads were graded and rivers bridged to shame Middle-earth, but Nag Kath was still on a horse and the good ones go as far and as fast in either land. 

The history and personalities were no less confusing than when Gandalf tried to explain this in Orthanc. In modern Aman there were three sets of Elves; those who originally answered the call and objected to newcomers, the newcomers themselves and those who didn’t care. The recent arrivals, like Elves of every age in Middle-earth, built their strongholds in the mountain forests. Those less-desired lands were maintained in their lords’ absence by retainers for thousands of years. 

Elrond’s neighbor to the east was in the neutral camp and had no trouble with the learned Lord settling the foothills. Galadriel’s parents were the Ñoldorin Lords of Tirion but she had lands here with Celeborn who was of the Sindar. Their fief was five times the size of Elrond’s. Arriving en masse, her people took loosely-claimed lands to their northeast along the Rainduin (Wandering) River. Deciding that was not in his interests, Meliath of Naitë Mélamar to the east tried to enforce his own feeble claims by mobilizing his militias to push them back to the mountains. What he hadn’t realized was that the new citizens were Galadriel’s army, freshly off successfully defending Lorien from the orcs of Dol Goldur. They quickly organized and dealt Meliath a humiliating, if not especially bloody lesson on keeping one’s forces sharp.

The most curious place on the map was the area separating Meliath’s and Galadriel’s southern borders. It was also unclaimed, after a fashion. An area roughly the size of Galadriel and Celeborn’s fief had been governed by a noble family who fought and died-out thousands of years before. Folk living there did not see the need to replace them with new lords. They generally disliked Meliath and spurned his overtures to join his attack, which only smeared salt in Meliath’s wounded pride.

Moving south, the land of Farnëmar below the Randuin was ruled by Lindareth, the Ñoldor who did not leave to avenge the Silmarils. He was a conservative Elf of the Light but until lately had not been as vitriolic as the vulgar Teleri Meliath. He also might owe some allegiance to Galadriel’s parents as ostensible Lords of the Ñoldorin, but they had disagreed and Lindareth moved south. This far from home, he looked to his realm first.

Another river south were the lands of Thranduil. Those had also been under the stewardship of retainers as his people sailed over to a more southerly port in the Third Age. He arrived with the bulk of his army. No one contested his assumption of lordship so far south of the gap to the west where the Valar and Vanyar Elves lived. His neutral neighbor along the coast had no interest in the foothills. They got along well.

Nag Kath thought was most interesting fief was at the mouth where the Randuin and Athradduin formed one of the few natural harbors on these smooth coasts. A settlement like Mithlond was governed by Cirdan, the great mariner Elf. He had another above Alqualondë and was welcome most places. Cirdan was one of the oldest and wisest Elves in the world. That said; Meliath and Lindareth did not forgive him for importing all these pestilential refugees from the swamps of Middle-earth. 

The next morning, folk were surprised to find the changeling on the east lawn practicing slow swords. Several Elves joined Inariel silently watching as he went through the agonizingly deliberate motions with complete concentration. Nag Kath knew they were there but paid no heed. He was going into the maw. He needed to be a warrior again. Clothes were made. Gold and diamonds were sewn into Nag Kath’s rough saddle. He spent time drawing people and memories of the northern cities to leave in his art tube should anyone ask where he was from. Elves who had been to the capitals of the southern Caliquendi (Elves of Light) were asked where to go and where to hide.

Three days later, Elladan and a pair of infantry sergeants reported to slow swords with their beaters. The Elves had similar precision drills that had fallen out of use an age ago. As much as he tried, Elladan could not get Elrohir to join them. Some days, as many as twenty people gathered to discretely watch. 

Nag Kath got lessons in seeming to be an Alqualondë Elf. Linhir and one of his aides worked on his posture and demeanor with a brave attempt to cure his unplaceable accent before he left. Nag Kath also spent considerable time with Elrond’s chiefs of staff for the cavalry and army. Except for a palace guard, they were all militias now, but hardened soldiers in their former lives.

** **

** **


	65. Into the Maw

** _Chapter 65_ **

** _Into the Maw_ **

Gathering more information would not be as easy as in Middle-earth. Elves are too noble to be good spies. What little tidings they had of the southern realms came from occasional merchants either working the North/South road along the foothills or bringing things in from the ports. The conservative Caliquendi (light Elves who heeded the original call to Valinor) had not attended any of the regional councils that included Elrond, Galadriel and Celeborn or Thranduil in a century. 

Nag Kath’s usual habit of loitering and looking innocent would be harder too. Elves do not travel like men. In Middle-earth, innkeepers worked for themselves. They had to pay their taxes and bribes, but it was their business and they kept that to themselves. The same went for those providing food and goods and fodder. As long as guests paid and did not throw people out the windows, who and what you were didn’t matter. 

In Aman, there were inns in the big cities but in most places, citizens were expected to take travelers in under a code of hospitality for a night or two. Not all Elves liked other Elves or, even if they did, their lords might not. In some way, just about everyone reported to those above them. It seemed tawdry to say Elves gossip, but it would be hard for Nag Kath to stay anonymous or bribe useful facts in rare taverns ... or with roasted pigs. He was a traveling healer or artist, depending on the need, and did not obviously represent the interests of the mighty if anyone inquired. It helped that he didn’t look particularly of one clan or another. The healer did take the liberty of dying patches on his handsome horse to make him look scabby.

The day before they left, Elrond gave Nag Kath grave advice, “You did not bring this doom with you ... and you take this errand upon yourself with poor explanations why. Please, discover what you can and return home safely to your lovely wife. I cannot hope to aid you if the conservatives become more hostile.” The Elf Lord smiled, “If Gandalf should wander by; I will give him a piece of my mind for starting this business.”

Nag Kath considered that before saying, “I hope not too rough on him, sir. I need to ask, do you have any known informants in your household?”

“Not known. Are you concerned?”

The changeling shook his head and said, “Not concerned, just practical. If they have reported me, being ordered to far lands as a traveling healer suggests I am not greatly esteemed here. That might loosen tongues hoping to bring me to their service.” He grinned, "That or I'm a spy myself and it will be a short trip."

Elrond put his hand on his grandson-in-law’s shoulder, “Use that story only at need and return to us for more of your entertaining stories.”

The plan was for Nag Kath and Inariel to travel to Galadriel and Celeborn’s land of Penethornost, a hundred and thirty miles south of Elrond’s homely house in Harvién. Elladan led a dozen cavalry, one ohtar a little taller than the rest. When they rode home, no one would notice they were a trooper light.

Thornost, for short, had a grove of Mellryn trees with Telain platforms much like Lorien but also conventional buildings for the agrarian society of the lower Eldamar. The Kath’s education intensified. Soldiers who fought Meliath’s troops explained how they formed and attacked. Nag Kath got names of under-lords and known agitators there and to the south. Galadriel spent time with him going over magic, if necessary. Morgoth, even as a fleeting holdover, had her thinking deeply about what was left of sorcery in these lands. They walked off privately and he showed her some of his talents. ‘The fast’ was a revelation. Galadriel also worked with him on far-speaking. They both might need that. 

Elladan and his troop rode home two weeks later. Inariel stayed with her great granna and granda to wait for her warrior's return. To their experience, she was still a child in wide-eyed wonder at the things around her. The Princess would be a proper little She-Elf when her husband rode back from his doctor rounds. The traveling healer/artist left the day after Elladan. He carried inexpensive objects from stable northern realms to suggest he had been there. That wasn’t a precaution against thievery, just to make him as vague and unimportant as possible. 

The lands of Thornost stretched another one hundred thirty miles south until reaching the forks of the Athradduin. There were three main tributaries and all were bridged in fine, arched stone. If Elves lived in those highlands, he did not see them. The last bridge put him in the realm of Farnëmar and Lord Lindareth. It was undefended on either side. From there he turned sharply to the east and followed the river to the capital Raniegal fully a hundred miles away. Keeping on the northern bank would have been safer, but he was here to understand the danger, not avoid it. 

Until now, Nag Kath slept outdoors. The weather was fair. After crossing, dark clouds rolled over the mountains so he put the tradition of courtesy to the test. He beat the rain to a farm and asked if he could stay in their barn for the night. The folk were quite friendly and said he was welcome and could join them for the late meal. He accepted and had dinner with the farmer, his wife, a son and his wife. Zenatiur broke his thumb a few years before but pulled and splinted it himself. Nag Kath, using his real name, explained that was why he was also an artist and drew their pictures to thank them for accommodations.

No alcohol was served and using it to pump Elves for information was ineffective anyway. Nag Kath did say he was heading for the capital to meet the esteemed healer Corindelam and asked if they had been there. The son’s wife was there only two hundred years ago for a wedding. Varien explained the road was as fair. Asked about the hospitality, her husband made a face and said, “The city folk are not as cordial, but you will be welcome all the way there.”

Rather than leave in the morning, Nag Kath said, “I see you are planting arthain. I will stay to help in thanks for your courtesy.”

Zenatiur replied heartily, “It would be proper to refuse, but that is a difficult crop so we accept! Come, let me introduce you to our community.”

This village was much like Emyn Vierald where everyone worked the large fields and had smaller plots for the families surrounding their homes. Arthain is a vegetable that does not grow well from seed in the field so sprouts are started in small peat cups until they are four to six inches high and transplanted in rows that need frequent watering. The taste and nutrition is worth the effort, but planting the little beggars is a hard day’s work. The village of twenty-one souls was glad of an extra hand and hastily arranged an early supper for the tired workers after putting two acres in arthain interspersed with its sister crop califo.

Farmer Ignautir heaped another spoon on the visitor’s plate and asked, “You are traveling through to Raniegal?”

“Yes, I am going to meet a fellow healer there. I was told we might benefit from each other’s ideas. This is the first time I have been this far south and may visit Lord Thranduil’s realm as well”

From across the table, a Quenda said, “I have seen Raniegal but never been to Thranduil’s lands.”

Nag Kath smiled, “Farther than me, ma'am.” It was time to do a little fishing, “The same healer in the north said that a woman of Middle-earth with skills in child-birth came with Lord Thranduil. I hope to meet her.”

Ignautir considered that and cautioned, “I have never been there either. Your reception might be different in those two places.”

The healer was self-deprecating; “My reception usually depends on who is hurt. Are these southern lands so different?”

“Yes, our Lord Lindareth is not enamored of those who have crossed to escape Ennor with their mannish notions and customs.”

Nag Kath did not play the timid youngster this time, “Well, those who cure do not often move in lordly company. I hope my visiting will not cause alarm.”

Ignautir’s wife said, “Go to both and see. You seem a stout traveler. How will you return to Alqualondë?”

That was encouraging. Nag Kath hadn’t said where he started. If he appeared to be from north of Eldamar, so much the better. What they noticed in the cities might be another matter entirely. “I am not yet sure. Either I will take passage with a ship of Lord Cirdan or ride through Naitë Mélamar and into Penethornost.”

Out here in the hinterland, these folks had no strong opinions on those who had come in the last thousand years, or, especially, in the last two hundred. His host Zenatiur said from across the table, “Now there is a pairing! I heard Lady Galadriel’s contingent explained their claims most forcefully!”

His wife scowled and tried to mitigate the unvarnished statement with, “You must excuse Zenatiur, Nag Kath. There was violence when her people came to the mountain havens.”

Nag Kath replied, “I heard something of that above but people there did not mention it. One farmer said that if I was in Lord Meliath’s realm during militia season, I might be pressed into training. That was why I was thinking about the sea since I have long experience on the waves.” Sailing wasn't something the inland newcomers did, except getting here.

A farmer he hadn’t met volunteered, “Come, friends, here we are frightening a fine fellow who has helped us plant the beastly arthain!” He raised a cup of their pale red wine and called, “To those who serve, be they honored and blessed by those of good cheer!”

_______________------______________

Nag Kath took his time following the Arthradduin. After three days heading east, he was still well upstream of flood-plains. The land looked fertile. Farms were scattered and depended more on who wanted to live there than whether it would support them. On horse he overtook foot travelers and camped with a few or with those coming the other way. The closer he got to the capital, the more anti-exile their conversations became. Elladan taught Nag Kath a few typical Teleri phrases to slip into his banter suggesting he had nothing to do with the disdained Ñoldorin silmaril-chasers. From here-in he used his alias.

The capital Raniegal was home to about nine thousand folk, in and outside the modest walls. Far be it for a yokel from Middle-earth to criticize, but these fortifications would not stop a bull in rut. They were either built before or in contempt of modern artillery. It had been a while since there had been an honest war in these parts. Nag Kath found that encouraging. Many elements were similar to Tirion. The main gates were open for a constant stream of walkers and small wagons. Just inside, a half-troop of regular cavalry trotted up and he veered out of their way. The Corporal, he thought, gave him a long look but he might have been admiring Shultö.

Raniegal was large enough to have real inns. First he had to find the healer Corindelam. Nag Kath knew the address but in Elvish places, there are no house numbers and the streets are only marked if there is a memorial. Townsfolk showed him the modest home so he took a room nearby, stabling the horse a block away.

This was territory unknown. Part of his choice of lodging was that there was a restaurant four doors up the modest hill from the healer on the other side of the street. Two long, slow meals suggested the physician was exactly that. A woman left early to do the shopping. A fellow with what looked like a broken wrist arrived just before lunchtime with his wife. After they went home, another woman left with a satchel. He thought she might be the healer. Gandalf hadn’t said much about him or her, or anything else, before Nag Kath had real questions.

The next morning after the cook left with her shopping basket, the Elf knocked on the door. An attractive Quenda answered and assessed him for injury. Most people who came here were hurt or came on behalf of someone who could not make the trip. He wasn’t bleeding so she asked, “How can I help you sir?”

“A friend recommended I introduce myself to the healer Corindelam. My name is Solvanth.” 

In this trusting society, that was enough to get him offered a seat with tea to follow. He took both. When she returned, she asked again, “Now, what can I do for you?”

“I am a healer also. This is a letter of reference.” 

Nag Kath handed her Gandalf’s sealed packet. Her face betrayed nothing as she read it carefully and exchanged it on the side table for her mug saying, “Your friend the traveler says you are skilled in the cures of wounds and also ailments of men in your former lands.”

“Yes, though there is not much call for the latter here. I have worked with head and back injuries with considerable experience drawing poisons.” He tossed-in the last deliberately using the word ‘drawing’. It might not mean the same in Sindarin as in the common-tongue, but drawing implied pulling something out with sorcery. She called Orórin the traveler. She didn’t seem worried about whatever the wizard called him.

Corindelam looked at him with a combination of curiosity and concern. He was obviously of those who were here recently and he was very young. The woman had another sip and ventured, “Solvanth, were you aware that the Lord of this land discourages visitors from the east?”

“Bits and pieces, but my friend suggested I come and I am not of such consequence that the lordly take much interest.” What mattered to him was if the healer did something other than heal or had political interests opposed to Lord Lindareth.

That was a murky area. Long ago, disagreements between Elf nobles could lead to great slaughter. Everyone else did what was expected of them. She considered the humble healer’s reasons and said, “We must not make too much of things. Did Mithran tell you of me?”

Mithran, short for Mithrandir? Even his true name might not address what he really was. Nag Kath answered, “No ma’am, only that we might benefit.”

“Very well. I am of the school of Falagierin; studied in herbs and humors of the nerves.” She had the last of her tea and added, “You must have been in rougher places than me if you are familiar with poisons, young Quendu. What did you hope to gain from the exchange.”

He admitted, “Some of the roughest places. I am always looking to improve the aid I can render.”

“Very well. I am busy today. Come back tomorrow at this time and we will consider our techniques.”

On the way back to his inn he thought there would be little benefit. She had shown no sign of being anything but a healer. Nag Kath would be earnest and on time, even if it was only for a few hours of things he already knew. In the meantime, he strolled to where the cavalry was quartered. Whatever real trouble could be expected from the Lords of Farnëmar would start with the horse soldiers.

A disadvantage of observing these people was that there were no slovenly troops. In all but crack regiments across the sea, there would be a plump, older fellow who spent his day hoping he would not have to do anything strenuous, perhaps with a taste for the grape. Not this lot. These were Lindareth’s professional soldiers. At Elladan’s excellent suggestion, Nag Kath swapped his riding boots for farm boots to walk around the stable area and watch the troopers go about their daily business. There was no sign they were mobilizing or even in a hurry. A soldier’s blood gets up when they know something is brewing and these lads seemed unconcerned.

That night was uneventful so he reported to the healer’s house the next morning and was admitted by the servant. Corindelam showed him into her healing room. She wasn’t expecting much either but when he described inductive bone-knitting, he had her full attention. Nag Kath also described aligning the back bones after a break that would normally be fatal. She knew a few tricks too and it was nearly lunchtime (by Hobbit reckoning) before a sharp knock on the door broke their concentration. The maid/cook opened the healing room door and told her mistress, “Ma’am, a soldier needs a word.”

Corindelam told her to show the messenger in. A few moments later, one of the palace guards entered and said rather stiffly, “Healer Corindelam, one of our company has broken his leg inside the palace walls and we ask you to attend.”

She nodded and put a few things in a large carpetbag sitting by the door. Our Elf gathered his satchel and invited himself to follow the guard past more of his kind inside an interior walled compound well up the hill. The palace proper was directly ahead but the guide veered off to the right and took them to a stone bench by a garden where a guard was laying trying to manage the pain.

The healer sat beside the soldier on the bench, confirmed where the break was and cut his pant leg up to the crotch to peel it away from the leg. Then she gave Nag Kath her shears to remove the boot as carefully as possible. The fellow’s horse spooked and tossed him, breaking the upper leg in two places. The bones had not come through the flesh but they were not aligned.

She stood and said, “Dr. Solvanth, your opinion please.”

He confirmed exactly as she had. It was also his practiced opinion that bones are easier to set when the patient doesn’t know it’s coming. In a blink, the man’s leg was yanked straight and eased back into place against a howl through clenched teeth. Nag Kath made sure the bones were fitted and applied a knitting and pain spell above and below the area with hints of silver. 

Corindelam took his place and felt the area finding all of the work was done except for wrapping a splint which she did from materials in her bag while Nag Kath held the injured leg up to wind the swaddling. Twenty minutes later they were done, except to tell the ohtar and his friends that he should not walk on that for a week and then with a crutch for another. A man would take two months, bare minimum, and would limp for life. She would return in three days to check his progress.

As the healers gathered their things and returned to town, an Elf who had been watching from the stairs called the ohtar who collected them and asked a few questions. Then he walked up to the palace.

It did not take long. At dawn, a pair of what Nag Kath called “quiet-men” instructed the innkeeper to fetch the healer. He came down hastily dressed with his satchel thinking it might be another injury. What he got was an officious guardi, “Healer Solvanth, you are here from unblessed lands against Lord Lindareth’s pleasure! You will come with us.”

He slung his satchel over his shoulder and followed them on the same route he had taken to heal the leg. That they knew his alias meant they had already bearded Corindelam since he hadn’t used either Solvanth or Kath at the inn. The quiet-men took him up the palace steps and down a corridor until they turned into what would be a throne-room in a kingdom. There they stood at attention while the ruler of Farnëmar spoke with several counselors. He was a lordly lord, tall and grim, immaculately dressed in what Nag Kath understood was ancient Ñoldorin finery on a raised dais in an ornate chair. The Lord paid no attention to the new arrivals. The fellow who questioned the ohtar was standing two courtiers to Lindareth’s right. Their discussion finished, the ruler turned his attention to the wayward healer.

The second advisor took a step forward and announced stridently, “You are here without our Lord’s leave from tainted lands. Why?!”

It was hard to tell among such august physical specimens, but in the world of men, this would be the Worm Tongue. Unimpressed, Nag Kath answered, “Ignorance, mostly. Who wants to know?”

Minister Rohier was not used to being addressed thusly. He stiffened and replied caustically, “We will ask the questions here. You claim to be a healer. What could a revered person such as Corindelam possibly hope to learn from a footloose youngster like you?”

Nag Kath was still not sure how these people would tell he was a babe. “I have experience in bone and head injuries as well as …” He was about to say poison but thought that was too close to sorcery. If these lads learned his sorcery, they would learn the hard way. He ended with, “… shocks to the spine causing mental disorder.”

Rohier was about to say something when his lord responded softly, “Come forward.” Nag Kath did with his guards behind him and gave another, better bow. Lord Lindareth looked at the tall healer in his modest boots and added, “It is the law of my land that those who are from Middle-earth or the renegade gardhs must declare themselves to the proper authorities.”

Nag Kath replied, “Then I apologize and hope to make amends, Your Lordship.”

“You say you have experience with injuries that cause mental distress?”

Interesting he said ‘distress’ rather than ‘disorder’. If this Lord had a strong enough interest to let his henchman chew his tongue after the insult, Nag Kath would be at his most useful. “Yes sir. A blow or twist to the head or back can cause someone to lose memories or place them in the wrong order. I can sometimes help such patients.”

Lord Lindareth became more aggressive, “Sometimes?! You make claims, do nothing and say it is beyond your skills?”

“I never make claims and or offer opinions until I have seen the patient.” In other words; let me see your hole-cards, ancient Lindareth of south Eldamar. Rousting vagabond healers was not a good way to display lordship. Nag Kath has already calculated the steps to take his head with the side-guard’s sword if this went badly.

Lindareth had a problem. His brother Vantieth was Lord Counselor. He should be returning from talking to his opposite-number in Naitë Mélamar shortly. Vantieth’s young son had been a sweet, loving child four months ago. Now he was listless and taciturn. None of the local healers, including Corindelam, had been able to do anything for him. His mind was disturbed suddenly and drastically. If this roughshod herbalist offered straws, he must clutch them. 

Lindareth rose and walked past the healer saying, “Follow me.” A hand gesture to the others cut his retinue to two liveried guards. They walked further down the original corridor to another that was equally ornate. From there, the ruler of Farnëmar opened a door to luxurious quarters and walked to the main room. A governess was instantly on her feet and bowing but a lad sitting on the carpet paid no attention. His Lordship said, “Harm one hair on his head and yours leaves your shoulders.” The Quenda joined her lord and they were gone. 

Nag Kath observed the child absorbed with a small wooden horse. He was about ten, the equivalent of eight in mannish mental growth. 

The changeling sat cross-legged six feet away and was completely ignored. Finally he offered, “My horse is tan but I see yours is gray.”

The child continued prancing his steed on the fine rug without looking up. After another minute, Nag Kath added, “Of course, the brown horses are faster.”

That got the child’s attention. He looked at the traveling healer with the same distant gaze Durnalath had when she was under Lostorin poisoning. To the untrained observer it might seem weak eyes, but this was confusion behind them. The child said, “My father has a black horse and those are fastest of all.”

“Your father must be very grand to have such a handsome mount.”

The boy considered that, had no response and went back to playing. Nag Kath prompted, “What is the name of your horse?”

The child held the wooden toy up to examine. He knew it once but could not remember so he said, “He has no name.”

The very image of avuncular care, Nag Kath informed, “Well, that will never do.”

The boy looked back at Nag Kath. With every fiber of his being he wanted to say his toy horse's name, but nothing would come. It was locked inside. The Elf needed to touch him so he cajoled, “Perhaps if you give me your horse for a moment, I can think of a name your lord father would favor.”

At the mention of his beloved da, the child offered the little gray horse to the stranger. Missing his reach, Nag Kath gently grasped the wrist and was stunned as badly as with the Princess of Thân zîrân. The boy was infected by darkness. Fortunately, he did not see the Elf recoil. Since the stranger did not take the toy, the lad resumed trotting it back and forth, trying to hum a nursery poem. 

The faintest beam of yellow light hit the lad’s face and he looked up reluctantly. Nag Kath asked gently, “When do your lord father and his black horse return home?”

The boy said succinctly, “Soon.”

“Who does he visit?”

“Selvas of Naitë.”

The Elf quickly stole through the empty apartments looking for other useful items and feeling for sorcery. Finding none, he crept to the kitchen and emptied a small envelope into the demi-cask of fine red wine set aside for Vantieth’s personal use. Lastly he applied a strong clarity spell to the child, more than enough to offset the confusion and make him responsive for a few days. Nag Kath showed himself out and told the guard he would be back in three days. No one followed him back to the inn. 

He would not bother Corin again. She was under enough strain already. She hadn’t announced she was Gandalf’s agent or where to find any other luckless wizard-helpers either. There would be no curing the boy. Taking that spirit from him would alert the wrong people. It made him sad, innocent Helien yet again. One thing was certain, dark lords or their minions were not investing children. The lad had gotten that accidentally from proximity to someone deeply in thrall. Nag Kath hoped Vantieth enjoyed the sweet wine.

_____________-------____________

Not only did Lord Vantieth ride a black horse, a full company of his outriders did too. A week later they clattered up the cobblestones to the palace with people getting quickly out of their way. It was late. An attendant from the main palace arrived at his quarters shortly after with a cart of hot foods and was allowed in by the nanny. The attendant served his lordship at the dining table. After a while there was a series of irregular knocks on the office door.

“Enter.”

The Worm-Tongued Minister Rohier oiled, “Welcome back, My Lord. How was your trip?”

Vantieth replied, “Effective. Things are falling into place. Our friends are better prepared in Naitë Mélamar. Selvas has a helper now, an astrologer. How are our efforts?”

“The soldiers train in secret. Your Lord Brother approves and lets me manage the details, as you said he would. One who spoke against antagonizing the unblessed was shown the error of his ways.” 

“Good. We will discuss this tomorrow. Now, how is Edelmath?”

“A bit better, sir. A traveling healer was able to make him more attentive, though it has worn thin. Your Lord Brother wanted him to examine your son. He was from unblessed lands and no longer plagues our home.”

“Very well, pour me wine and bring my son to me.”

Rohier left and was shortly replaced by the nanny leading young Edelmath by the hand. The child saw his father and ran to his affections. The father’s possession, mixed with the last of his remaining love, poured into the boy like water in his lungs.

____________________-------___________________

Even on a good road it was a hundred leagues to the Elvenking’s capital. He had no reason to push the horse. The lords of Farnëmar would think him another charlatan. Even if they wanted to find him, they would not look south across the length of their own country. Nag Kath ate Lembas, stayed in the wild and started no conversations until he reached the Panduin or Full River separating the old Elves from the new.

Even after crossing, it was still three days to the city of Cantalori nestled in the foothills. Thranduil was a king, more than any other Elf in Nag Kath’s admittedly limited exposure could claim. How, exactly, was another mystery to the changeling, but Thranduil took it seriously and insisted everyone else do so as well. Unlike the Elvenhalls near Dale, these ways were not guarded secretly. Farms spread as far as the eye could see. The city was brand new and had no surrounding walls. The King had seen the futility of those in wars where wars still happened. Without the men of the middle Third Age, trolls hid behind the Rammas Wall while they broke off blocks for the trebuchets.

The palace itself had walls. Nag Kath rode to the gate and handed the reins to a groom. A senior attendant came out to ask his business and heard, “I am Nag Kath here seeking an audience with His Lordship.”

The functionary said dryly, “That is most unusual, Nag Kath.”

“Agreed, but I am just from Middle-earth and have tidings.”

The fellow mulled that a moment and said, “Sit here. This may take a while.”

A while was three bells. The attendant was back out to say, “You have been granted a few minutes. This way.”

Gaining the royal compound was much like it had been with every walkway narrowing to single-file at some point. There were probably wider approaches hidden behind the rock faces of the first cliffs. The attendant led and two ohtars fell in behind the changeling as they wove their way to a more comfortable and less intimidating throne room than in Mirkwood. Thranduil was waiting as Nag Kath bowed and presented himself at the prescribed distance. 

The King looked down and said, “Well, you finally made it. I cannot say I am surprised Nag Kath.”

“I will take that as a compliment, Your Lordship.”

“And you have learned our language too. Remarkable. My lands are not easily reached, young person. Please explain your coming.”

“A small accounting matter sir. I thought it better done personally.”

Thranduil, a notorious skin-flint, became agitated and said, “Think you to make claim against me?!”

Nag Kath grinned before answering, “Quite the opposite.” He turned and nodded to the attendant to who took a small box to his liege. 

Thranduil slowly opened the lid and gazed at the flawless diamond necklace Nag Kath traded for the mithril band. He shut the box very gently and uttered, “The proverbial king’s ransom.” The Elven King swallowed and asked sternly, “What are your conditions?”

“None, My Lord. One of my joys has been restoring things to their rightful owners. I know you lost this in heartache. Please accept it in thanks for treating me better than I deserved all those years ago. Perhaps we can speak privately before I leave.”

The King opened the box again. This had been his wife’s. The necklace, like her, had never been replaced. Thranduil looked back at the changeling and said softly, “Yes, yes we shall do that.” He brightened a little to say, “For once you are here with Prince Legolas. He governs our sister city on our eastern border but is in my Halls.”

“I hope to see him, sir. That reminds me, I should like to visit the resting place of Gimli the Dwarf.” The King of the Elves was lost in the necklace again but had the presence of mind to nod to a guard approving a trip to the cemetery.

This was Legolas’ doing. Elves have small burial grounds. Massive losses in the wars of Middle-earth might earn all the dead a single stela, if they were ever found. Without war, few died. Gimli’s grave was properly apart from those who would eventually find the Halls of Mandos. There were two symbols in the simple gray rock, one in Dwarvish and one in Sindarin. Both were the number nine. 

Nag Kath had been part of truly great things, but nothing he had done, not even all of them combined, could compare to the Fellowship of the Ring. He hoped that did not weigh too heavily on Legolas. Being the last legend should not linger forever. The Elf sat down by the marker and wrapped his arms around his knees to watch Tilion drift across the sky. It was nearly the crescent moon of July. He would light candles if he could.

He felt the footsteps. Looking over his shoulder, Nag Kath rose to bow when Legolas said, “No, remain seated. I will join you.”

After the Prince sat a few feet away the changeling was thoughtful, “This is a quiet and honored resting place. I am glad he has found this peace.”

Legolas looked at the stela and offered, “I come here often to remember. He was dear to me.”

Nag Kath looked at the Prince and said, “You helped him too. You tempered his views with wisdom and perspective.”

Legolas shook his head for a few moments before responding, “Perhaps, though it did not bring him closer to his own kind.”

“That is as well, My Lord. They have a hard road now that their rings are destroyed. Ages of ambition for wealth have not been replaced with fairer aspirations. I am very fond of Durin's Folk and my heart is torn for their future.”

Legolas smiled, “You needn’t tell anyone but I am fond of the red beer as well.” The Prince stretched his legs and continued, “Now then, your long history seems to be repeating.”

“I fear so. Gandalf sent me to the conservative gardhs, supposedly to confer with healers. I knew better before I left, but came just the same. There is deep trouble in Farnëmar.”

“They agitate against those who returned later.”

Nag Kath said emphatically, “There is a dark lord backing them. Melkor, I think, same as I removed from Lady Celebrían.”

Legolas was very still. “You are sure? No, of course you are sure. Have you told father?”

“Not yet. We only met for a few minutes. I gave him back a necklace from the mithril exchange. Arwen said it was likely his. I did imply that I would like a private audience, but, I only impose on royalty after asking nicely first.”

“He will see you. If not, I will. It seems none of us are quit of dark lords.”

There were not many inns in Thranduil’s city. As dawn approached, Nag Kath rose to get Shultö only to find the guard who brought them had waited. He said rooms had been prepared at the palace. His horse was already stabled so the two soldiers joined a number of Elves having the first wave of breakfast served in the commons.

Cantalori was an eye-opener. It was the first modern Elf city. The history, as explained by Elladan, was that only about a thousand of Thranduil’s retainers held the area for the entire Third Age. It was well south of the more desirable regions near the only usable gap to the interior and not in demand, colder too, but they were used to that. Thranduil and the bulk of his woodland people returned through Cirdan’s southern harbor along the Panduin. Urthanos’ lands directly east were the better coastal farmland and he had no trouble with a friendly neighbor colonizing into the foothills. Urthanos qualified to be one of the conservative lords but fell into the neutral category with quite a few Sindarin Elves as subjects.

Most of the Elven King’s woodland folk had only arrived in the last five hundred years, including eight thousand after the Ring War. The climate and forests of the southern mountains were much like northern Mirkwood, although the stars here were those of Thân zîrân. Nag Kath supposed they were about the same distance south of Gondor.

With a great many people and no real place to put them, a massive building effort was set in place to make a new civilization of woodland folk. Plentiful rock from the mountains was quarried along with a great harvest of good (and cooperative) timber. It reminded Nag Kath of a huge Emyn Vierald. Below the Harnduin or Southern River began much colder and less fertile ground. It had farmers too, but they were few and isolated. 

The Elf presumed His Lordship knew where to find him so he wandered the city proper looking for folk he might know. First on his list was Denethiur, the artist. He lived in the supported community just south of the palace. His young daughter Inhai opened the door and smiled but did not recognize the guest. Nag Kath said, “Good morning. I am Nag Kath calling to see if the artist Danethiur lives here.”

“He does indeed sir. Please come in Nag Kath. I will let him know you are here.”

While he waited, the Elf walked around the main room, more spacious than the old quarters, and looked at the art on the walls. The artist had followed his spirit of not including what wasn’t needed and was much the better for it. One of Nag Kath’s better watercolors was hanging as well. 

Danethiur had no trouble remembering his collaborator and rushed out to greet him hands clasped in the western fashion. The missus, whose name was Inhura, also came out for a more conventional bow. Inhai, who at only one hundred fifty years old was not yet of marriageable age, served tea and joined them. In the way of modern women, she was allowed to speak at table.

They enjoyed each others’ company for several hours talking about art, history, battles, art again and many of Nag Kath’s unbelievable adventures. Danethiur knew Gimli a little from his years here after the Dwarf lived with Galadriel and Celeborn. The ground in between was not hospitable so when he came here with Legolas, he stayed. The scholar Tulferath lived only a block away and Danethiur would be sure they met. With promises of a grand dinner, the changeling was on his way for one more visit.

Loniel, the healer of Emyn Vierald lived in one of the lower city neighborhoods. Most injuries came from the fields so it was usual for physicians to be close to their patients. Nag Kath knocked on the door which was answered by a handsome Quendu as large as him. Nag Kath smiled that the beautiful woman had found a husband. The smile was misinterpreted as general good nature, which was also true. The visitor said, “I am Nag Kath, a healer from foreign lands and I wanted to say hello to Loniel if she is here.”

The tall Elf smiled as well, “Welcome. Please come in. She is getting fresh herbs in the stalls but should be back presently. Would you like tea?”

Nag Kath had enough tea already but accepted to be polite. This tasted different than the other brews he had in Aman. The fellow sat down as well and said, “I am Heziathar. Loniel and I are recently married.”

“Congratulations Heziathar. I met your wife in Emyn Vierald.” He did not add the circumstances. Heziathar was a civil administrator for city upkeep so they talked about what Nag Kath had done around the east. Elves considered the aqueduct to be a blight so he left that out too. It was only a quarter-bell before the lady of the home returned with a basket. Both males rose.

Upon seeing Nag Kath, she put her hand over her mouth in surprise and then the two bowed equally. She said, “My, this is a surprise, Mr. Nag. I did not think to see you on this side.”

“I am only just arrived a year ago in Harvién and had business here. I hope you do not mind my asking after you.”

She smiled, “No, not at all.” Somewhat tentatively, “Was your journey without incident?”

Heziathar was interested in that too. Nag Kath replied, “A bit of bother in Farnëmar. It seems they are not enchanted with Dark Elves.”

Heziathar commented, “Correct. We have what we need here and were used to that in the woodland realm. Our neighbor Urthanos trades with us gladly, so we are removed from northern tensions.”

Loniel knew a deal more about the wandering healer’s political past than almost anyone here in Aman. His business was almost certainly those very tensions. On that assumption she probed, “Are your healing powers the same as before, Mr. Nag?”

“Please, just Nag Kath. Stronger, considerably stronger.”

She said primly, “You had other skills as well.”

“Also stronger.”

Loniel told Heziathar about the healer who showed her the clarity spell, but not by name and not much about the beast pool. Here among the most recently arrived, Nag Kath had no trouble explaining his quest, “There are concerns that old friends seek to return. I wanted to ask if you have needed to repair confusion in your practice, especially lately.”

This was important and in the interests of her Lord so she answered, “I have not, but I have heard there are those to the northeast who have shown symptoms like the tainted water. Understand, not much from those lands filters to our ears.”

Nag Kath pressed, “Recently?”

“Yes, in the last five seasons.”

Heziathar was concerned for his wife and asked firmly, “Dear, is this something you would rather not discuss?”

She realized the line of questions might make it seem the visitor was imposing. Loniel said quickly, “No, husband. Nag Kath is very much on the right side of difficulty, if difficulty there is.” She lilted the end of that sentence to make it a query for the guest.

“Possibly, and forgive me for being so forward. I will travel to those lands before long. Do you know the healer Daelor?”

Loniel replied, “Know of. She is famous among our people.”

“I’ve been advised to seek her counsel. A word of warning, fair healer, if you come across the kind of confusion I mentioned, do not use the clarity spell and do not touch them. The confusion is not of their making nor can it be cured by the craft we discussed. If you encounter it, send a message to King Thranduil that a Mr. Yvsuldor is visiting.”

______________-------_____________

Nag Kath had lunch and went back to the palace in the early afternoon. The King had not sent for him. He would stay until then or two weeks. That was probably harvest time in Naitë Mélamar. If there was militia activity, he wanted to see it. Farm workers would be traveling to assist in neighboring fields and not seem out of place on the road. 

First he would visit the harbor of Lord Cirdan. The road was safe and he might get excellent counsel before entering the dragon’s lair. That was a hundred leagues from here, like almost everything else. Men might resent traveling a month to give away a priceless necklace but Thranduil’s cost was information. Nag Kath would give him the opportunity to participate. 

It was another two leisurely days of looking at architecture before an ohtar, this time a Captain, came to request his presence.

This was not an audience in the great hall. Thranduil was sitting on a stone bench in a side garden. The ohtar pointed the way and withdrew. Nag Kath walked forward and bowed. The King waved his hand at the bench next to his then said softly, “At first I was excited. Then I realized how much the necklace reminded me of her. I will not marry again, but I will treasure your gift and the kindness of your gesture.

“You have grown, Nag Kath. You became what you should have. I am closer to my son and through him I developed a fondness for Gimli as Gimli had for you. It was he who told me you took only a handful of the jewels of Frôr. He did not know they included the necklace. What both Gimli and Legolas did know was that you were often fighting the darkness left behind." The King paused a moment, “Is that why you are here now?”

Nag Kath nodded, “It is.”

The King said, “Tell me of getting here and of my friends to the north.”

That took half a bell. Thranduil asked intelligent questions here and there but mostly let the changeling recite his oft-said story. And like all of the lords who should know, he asked, “Morgoth?”

“Yes sir. Twice now. The first was old and lost. The one above you was newer. It would help me to know how Meliath and Lindareth get along.”

The King held his chin before answering, “Until lately I would have said poorly. I know from hard lessons that those who hold the past over their enemies do so to their supposed friends too. In the last few years I think they sharpen their tongues against those of us who are newer or returned to this place.”

“Sir, which of them holds the stronger hand?”

“Meliath. He has more people, soldiers, access, that is the largest gardh in Eldamar. His weakness is that he talks bolder than he acts.”

Nag Kath tiptoed in, “Do you know of a Selvas?”

Thranduil grinned, “He is new to high counselor but nothing is known of his family. That is unusual where people need provenance.”

“Is he a wizard?”

“That I do not know. What do you think?”

The changeling answered, “My money is on him with sorcery afoot. Can the two lords between them field enough force to crush Galadriel and Elrond?”

“Certainly, but they will take a beating for it. Those miserable Silmarils still call for blood.”

Nag Kath asked a question he had no right to, “Sir, if Lindareth marches on your old allies, will you harass his rearguard?” Nag Kath was a junior ambassador without portfolio, sent by a meddling wizard. The King thought the changeling could be trusted, but that single issue determined the safety of his realm. 

“I cannot say yes or no. I tell you this; my armies never truly stood-down. We train to defend at the bridges. We also train to take them. Galadriel or Celeborn and Elrond have to make that request. My son watches from his city as well.”

“I can ask no more, Your Highness. There is a healer of your people I met in Emyn Vierald who suspects dark sorcery in Meliath’s lands. If you receive a note that a Mr. Yvsuldor is visiting, I respectfully suggest you hear her concerns.”

Thranduil rose, “Thank you for coming, Nag Kath. I mean that.”

That night, Nag Kath left a candle burning until dawn for the new moon. The next day he had dinner with Danethiur and made for the coast.

______________-------_____________

This road was not to the standard of the older ones. It was fine for a horse but not for an army with their supplies in wagons. The roads coming down from the Panduin bridges looked sound. After a week, there were fewer farms. This was the border region between Thranduil and the neutral Urthanos. Like the rest of this vast plain, it looked like it could grow anything one planted. There just weren’t enough people to eat it. 

Four days east he reached the confluence of the Athradduin and Panduin. Roads on both sides of the river were busy with merchant traffic hauling goods to and from the harbor. Many craftsmen and smiths were included among the farmers. People looked more at his horse than him and the folk of Lord Urthanos were friendly. He shared an ale with some of them at a tavern that was the most like those of Middle-earth he had seen in this reserved land. 

It was another three days to reach Cirdan’s harbor and fief of Miquhwesta which included an extra day of being ferried across the bay to avoid a sizeable troop of Naitë Mélamar soldiers on the north side of the main bridge. The city Vílënost was exquisite, Mithlond in the west except with vibrant people. It included the bay and sea-side of a peninsula. The river wasn’t a wild mess of deltas like Gondor. Rock banks kept the flows contained but it was clear they could rise quite a bit in spring.

Nag Kath thought there might be four thousand people in the fifty mile length of Miquhwesta. The northern half of the strip was farms like everywhere else. The south bay was the best anchorage below Alqualondë. As with the rest of Elvendom, there were no signs to say where folk were. Nag Kath bounced through several likely offices until he found Lord Cirdan’s headquarters. He was told the great mariner was in port but seldom here. The Elf wrote a quick note, added it to Gandalf’s and asked for the name of a reputable inn. For dinner he had some sort of Odar. It didn’t matter which. It was sublime after inland food for a year. A stroll through the city had Nag Kath thinking he could easily live here.

Dawn did nothing to change that view. He told the innkeeper he was going to the wharf and took his sketch pad to draw gulls circling the fishing boats. Perhaps sentient beings needed approval to get here, but these birds looked just like their cousins in Dol Amroth. The work flowed and he was well into his third sketch when he felt the presence. Nag Kath tucked the board under his arm and walked to a small grove of trees lining the quay road where a lone figure was sitting on a bench. Gandalf told him Cirdan was one of the few Elves with a beard. He was unimaginably old and wise, of the Sindar Elves and the ferryman for returning Quendi since time before time.

The changeling walked close and bowed in silence. The revered Elf's face split into a wry smile to say, “I saw your little boat.”

That earned a smile in return, “I shamelessly borrowed from your designs, My Lord.”

“Come, sit next to me so I can decide what to make of you.”

Nag Kath did. What started as a neutral assessment changed as Cirdan looked closely. He held the Elf’s face as Elrond had done with Inariel and said, “How is this possible? You are the very image of Nomaral.” The mariner shook his head, “No, he perished with his entire company so very long ago.” Cirdan took his hands from the motionless Nag Kath but not his gaze. Then he slowly said, “Forgive me. The resemblance is remarkable.”

The changeling forgave him by saying, “I may very well be Nomaral reborn. It is an interesting story, but will take all day to tell.”

Cirdan rose from the bench and said, “Long stories are my favorites. Come to my home and tell me over tea.”

In direct contrast to other Elven lords, Cirdan lived quite simply. His home here was a mansion, yes, but not a fortress. There were a few guards in civilian garments and an adequate assortment of household servants who took one look at the guest and brought tea and cakes to the master’s minimally-appointed office. The two Elves sat in chairs and attended their tea mugs waiting for the maid to shut the door behind her.

Cirdan took a sip and said, “Reborn you say?”

“At least twice.” Nag Kath would have told Cirdan anything he asked. Even as much as he got out of his mouth took four bells. In a life with few surprises, the mariner was very interested in the sorcery. The changeling saw him turn the ring Narya on his finger a few times as if it was too tight. Cirdan bore it at the heights of its power, trusting it to Gandalf’s wisdom and need against Sauron.

Cirdan noticed Nag Kath’s eyes on his hands and said, “So, you know of this ring?”

“Gandalf let me wear it. He wanted to see if it enhanced my powers.”

“Did it?”

Nag Kath grinned, “Not that we noticed. Saruman’s staff head was another matter.” 

They were nearing the dinner hour when they got to the mithril band and removing Morgoth from the blood. It was clear the story was nowhere near complete so they took a needed break after so much tea and sitting. In the hall, Cirdan called for his steward and said, “This is Nag Kath who will be staying with us for a while. Please see to the green room and dinner, and have someone fetch his things and horse from his inn.”

The Quendu nodded and started to turn when Nag Kath said, “My Lord, I need to go as well. There are strong wards on my bags that will keep even the clear-minded from them. I shouldn’t be long.” 

When the changeling left with one of the household staff, Cirdan took off Narya and looked closely. The power was gone but it once had the ability to inspire resistance to tyranny. There was no need after the One Ring was destroyed …

… no need until now.

Yet again in the last fifty years he wondered if Morgoth was seeping into the world from a pinhole in the curtain. Cirdan never met Gimli. He met Legolas at a large gathering with no mention of Orc Six. Gandalf mentioned him when they sailed here together but at that time, the changeling was still a gangling yrch. 

The oddest thing was that Nag Kath’s powers had grown, not greatly, but against an age when the ability to summon humors unto oneself had diminished. Cirdan would keep the curious creature here as long as it took to discover what he needed because he and Gandalf usually agreed on the nature of threats. The mariner was witness to the astonishing hubris and childishness of the firstborn, their blindness to the damage they did themselves. It had been long years since they had done anything truly foolish. The time was ripe.

Such contentions were supported. Meliath’s advocates agitated against Cirdan’s colony for transporting Elves back to the land where they belonged. Most of Thranduil’s people came to this very harbor. If even a half-dozen Naitë militias attacked his modest outpost, they would overrun it in days. Unlike the more recently arrived Lords, the mariner had eyes in the world, including Meliath’s capital Arnost. His lads also watched Meliath’s spies here, at least, the ones they knew. 

What made this fascinating and horrifying was the possibility that the haughty fellow-Teleri Meliath was in league with the blackest and most powerful Ainu who ever stalked the earth. Morgoth would still need help. He was a dog scratching through a door. Having someone open it would be easier. The Kath creature’s contention that there had been an older attempt to secure his freedom with that mithril band had merit. It alone was not enough or it would have been done. But enough of him squeezed through the crack to suggest he was waiting and, possibly, watching. Meliath was just witless enough to hitch his star to darkness.

Yes, Nag Kath would be staying as long as it took. That was not so onerous. The youngster seemed a very nice fellow and the most interesting thing that had happened in a while, a new grandchild finding his way. The grandson returned about a bell later with his horse and travel bag. Dinner conversation got away from the dark-side. Nag Kath talked about his art and what it had meant to him. He glowed described building and healing. There was no subtlety to his expressions. He warmed when describing his wife, Elrond’s granddaughter of all people! Tomorrow they would talk about the practical aspects of the coming fight.

___________-------__________

Nag Kath stayed in Cirdan’s home and they usually spent two hours a day mostly discussing the new Elf’s quest. Nag Kath said he was now one-hundred forty-six, too young to have wed once, never mind at the age of four. What the ancient mariner was not expecting was the changeling’s grasp of military strategy and tactics. He was of an age to be a very junior officer but the Quendu had generalled, and done it well. He knew siege defenses better than Cirdan who had never ridden in cavalry. 

Nag Kath knew quite a bit about sailing too. That was refreshing. Elves only plied the deep blue sea at great need. His tale of building a ship and sailing to the lands below Dol Amroth kept Cirdan on the edge of his chair. Learning there was a like bay coming in from an eastern sea supported evidence Cirdan had heard before the Dark Numenoreans even got there. Hurling fire and tossing sailors off enemy ships was handy.

Nag Kath received wise instruction and was deeply grateful that the esteemed Lord had granted him such precious time. Cirdan gave the young Elf something he had been seeking almost his whole life during an in-depth conversation about Orlo and his resistance to Sauron. Nag Kath described the eastern retreats, including his own. Those were astonishing. How could a secret sect of opposition have survived the harshest conditions on earth? Elves and Valar had given up on their fate.

Almost in passing, the changeling said, “Orlo also had adherents in the lands of Nurad, though he used a different name.”

“And what was that, Nag Kath?”

“Stámo.”

Cirdan beetled his brows and asked, “Stámo as in Rómestámo?”

Nag Kath shook his head, “I have no idea.”

The mariner folded his hands in his lap as pieces fell into place. The youngster waited more patiently than one might expect at his age. Cirdan said softly, “Rómestámo was one of the wizards. I sailed him to Middle-earth with his order-brothers Alatar and your old friend Saruman.”

The elder Elf ran his fingers through his beard, deep in thought, before continuing, “He and Alatar were the blue wizards, Istari. There were five of them. I took Gandalf and Radagast on the previous Swan-ship. Now, what was his other name … Pallando, he was Pallando. The blue wizards went to the east and were never seen again. When Saruman’s treachery was discovered, we wondered if he had betrayed them.”

Nag Kath was able to shed light on that, “Perhaps. Orlo told me that before Sauron could destroy him, he was reduced to a spirit only to return three days a year, the crescent moon of July. I lit my candle a few weeks ago in his memory.” The youngster brightened and said, “Ah!” Then he collected his satchel and started sketching. Cirdan had not paid any attention to boats and birds but he was impressed by how Nag Kath could draw from memory. The first portrait was the old boatwright with his enigmatic smile. Cirdan seemed to recognize him just like everyone else. The second was the bearded face Nag Kath thought might be a younger Gandalf.

Cirdan stared before saying, “That is your fellow.”

So the wizard had not failed. He weakened Sauron’s forces from deep in their heart. He would never have a carved statue here or Middle-earth but Rómestámo finally qualified. Nag Kath did not mention the gureeq seed in his pack. Orlo told him that was his decision alone.

After two weeks, Nag Kath’s entire brain had been poured into the wise Lord’s ears. Cirdan liked the youngster and also saw the wisdom in Gandalf sending him to stir the hornets. The young Elf asked after the healer and the likely dark candidate. Cirdan decided he had to share secret information if he was truly in this intrigue so he admitted, “The healer is indeed a healer, though I do not know if she is in accord with her ruler’s policy. Selvas? He is new. He keeps himself from view.”

Nag Kath said grimly, “I know the type. My Lord, to get close to him I will need a better disguise than itinerant healer. I got my horse in Alqualondë. Will these Naitë lordlings spot that?”

“I should think so.”

“Good. I’ll need better tack and merchant’s apparel of that city. Is there something from the north that commands fawning attention in the provinces?”

Cirdan considered the youngster and allowed himself a small smile, “Jewels.”

Nag Kath asked while he stroked his chin, “Jewels like Traybor diamonds?”

“You took the words right out of my mouth, young Quendu. King Thranduil said he has an astrologer assistant. What do you know of that craft?”

The youngster nodded slightly, “Enough to look gullible. It has been my approach to appear an earnest but inexperienced adherent, just the sort that those who claim expertise like to take advantage of. With a little magic here and there I can make things seem the way I want and make people do what I want.”

Cirdan cast a little doubt on the changeling’s boast, “And if those fail?”

“I’ll kill them. If it keeps Melkor in the bottle, I will take every head in the room.”

Cirdan finally understood. As much as Nag Kath’s healing and caring and love sustained him, he was a born assassin. Gandalf chose well. 

It was time for the mariner to cast his lot. “Young Elf, I will help you. Riding a horse from here will taint your entry into Arnost. If you are a diamond merchant from the prestigious city of Alqualondë, you need to impress the rustics by arriving in style by ship at their port of Huorëlorn. I will take you myself.”

“This is too kind, noble sir.”

“Kind; no. Needed; yes. What else do you need?”

“Spices.”

_______________-------______________

It seemed impossible that Nag Kath knew something Cirdan didn't, but the great Elf got a lesson in the weasley art of advance publicity. A quiet-man was dispatched to Meliath’s capital spreading rumors that a representative of Yandieth and Solvanth would be arriving to speak to the fancy about jewels recently on the market from the great mines of Middle-earth. The Elves from Middle-earth they could do without, but they had no compunction about baubles.

Cirdan was familiar with widespread rumors, not targeted ones. Captain Penandoth told Nag Kath that the object was to make high lords think someone in their city was getting precious objects they were not. Who was excluded in the ruse was more important than who was told. Aman did not have mercantile empires as in the east, but even more so, there was a hierarchy for anything worth having. Seeding information in the middle would reach the top confused. 

Nag Kath showed Cirdan the gems he brought for bribery, about fifty in a range of sizes including several Traybors. One of the few red stones would fit in Narya. The changeling gave it to him as a spare. An impressive saddle was made to re-hide coins and gems against a hurried exit. Clothes from Alqualondë were found and fitted. One poor attendant was charged with the changeling’s unfortunate hair. It was long enough for the woman to actually make it look Elvish. Cirdan’s steward wondered if he had a touch of Vanyar blood.

It was time to talk about that blood. Nomaral was a young Teleri Elf of Thingol’s army whose troop was slain by orcs at the first battle of Beleriand. The tide turned when Thingol’s troops arrived attempting to rescue Denethor’s Laiquendi, but it was a fearful slaughter. If Nomaral was taken and tortured into an orc, it was done well after the common orcs were already bred in strength for that war. That seemed possible since Nag Kath was of the powerful Uruk strain that did not appear until later. Morgoth would have constantly improved the herd. Cirdan met Nomaral when the young officer was the quartermaster’s aide for transporting supplies from the fleet to inland troops. Nag Kath seemed taller and broader across the shoulders but it was a long time ago. 

The changeling took all of Cirdan’s suppositions about his heritage in stride. Cirdan found no particularly loyalties or animosities towards the varied peoples of Aman. Hundreds of orc generations had removed the Elvish draw to this continent so he was an Elf in body and mind only. Did he have a soul? Was it the soul that was pulled Elves to the Undying Lands? The only ones who could answer that were in holy halls with unknown interests in the children of Eldamar. 

For another week, Nag Kath learned how not to trip in Teleri robes, studied astrological terms in Quenya and spent a great deal of time with Cirdan’s Spymaster Elurín, who would be his new Listracht. There was a lot to know, or excuses for not knowing it. 

At first, Cirdan’s head of ‘ears and eyes’ thought the lad was hopeless but then began to see ability. A few days before they left, the warrior joined Nag Kath in the courtyard for morning slow-swords to see what the greenbottom could do. Making the same mistake as everyone else, the teacher became the pupil with purple bruises that would take even an Elf a couple days to heal. Nag Kath needed his ‘assistant’ to understand so for the last move, he was suddenly behind Elurín with his beater under the warrior’s throat. Skills like that could overcome walking like a farmer. With some revulsion, Elurín also watched the sorcerer curse a fresh batch of Lostorin from local ingredients.

It was time to go. Cirdan used a ship known for plying northern coastal routes. Shultö had little trouble getting on board and into a well-designed stall. The great mariner kept well offshore and looped around the Naitë port so he would appear to have come from Alqualondë. With a sea voyage of two hundred leagues, the three had a lot of time for final planning. Ostensibly, Captain Quendül was in charge, but he was first mate until they docked with Cirdan below-decks. 

Cirdan wanted to know if the arrogant Meliath actually meant to use his army to back his boasts about removing impure elements from the land. It sounded like Lindareth was involved too. If those two had patched their rivalries, there was nothing to stop Lindareth from crossing the Athradduin except tradition. 

The question in everyone’s minds was the contested ground between Meliath and Galadriel/Celeborn. Meliath would have to cross it whether he gave it back or not. Meliath’s gripe was more with Galadriel than Elrond. Taking his war further north got him too close to the neutral Teleri Lord Felaour, still loyal to King Ölwe, who controlled all of the land between the northern rivers except Elrond’s mountain crags. Meliath had to go through Galadriel and Celeborn’s Penethornost to reach Elrond or pass through Felaour’s southern lands, and that would mean a real war. Neutral was not the same as unwary.


	66. Meliath

** _Chapter 66_ **

** _Meliath_ **

The ship pulled into Huorëlorn early in the afternoon on purpose. It gave Nag Kath time to take lodging in a fine inn and let the spymaster walk the docks. Nag Kath stayed to his room. Elurín ate out. When he returned, there was nothing unusual to report except that the port was bringing in more iron and steel than usual. Nag Kath told him about iron smuggling on the Anduin and how crates were mislabeled in the fraud. Naitë Mélamar had few iron mines but they could buy all they wanted. ‘Eyes’ watched that lately.

It was thirty leagues to the capital Arnost on a flawless road. The early-wheat was already in but militia training wouldn't start until second-harvest. Inns were pleasant and the food was good. It might be a long time before Nag Kath took rooms without wanting to inspect them for lice. On the afternoon of the fourth day they rode to old-fashioned walled-gates. A stout surround, never less than fifteen-feet high, encircled the entire palace built on a modest hill in the city center. The outer gates were open during the day. Skid-marks on the ground showed they were closed each night, against whom was unclear. Wall-walks could handle archers at least three deep but Nag Kath saw no pitch or arrow louvers to shoot down.

Under various names, Elurín had been here several times. He used the unlovely Festular for this occasion. It sounded Rhûnish to the youngster. The representatives of Yandieth and Solvanth took lodgings at the Inthorn, a good but not superb inn near the commercial sector of the city. Nag Kath’s room was the better of the two. Elurín’s was closer to a stairway leading either out or down to a cellar with a service hatch on the side of the building. 

For the first day they did absolutely nothing public. At the appointed time, one of Elurín’s local lads walked by to signal no one else was watching. The spymaster explained Arnost was more like a mannish city than most. Quendi could have their own businesses and keep what they made, less taxes. That meant in addition to hereditary lordship, there was a merchant nobility who liked to dress the part. If selective word was spread, all the wrong people would like a look at the jewelers’ inventory.

For security reasons, in Middle-earth a real gem peddler would make customers come to a fortified building after paying the right officials. In their case, they visited their customers where something might be learned. One family had a stranglehold on window-glass. The owner and his ambitious wife were among those targeted for the first presentations. Solvanth and Festular were admitted by a gate guard and escorted to the main house where massive oak doors were opened in anticipation.

It had been an age, in the fashion-conscious sense of the term, since quality gems had been available. Aman had few mines and fewer Dwarves to find them. What was here had been here forever or came from Middle-earth. Jewels were spoils of war and these weren’t the warring folk, at least, not yet. Solvanth could have asked the moon and gotten it. He was more interested in access. Mr. and Mrs. Jesherion had their own jeweler present to examine the stones and suggest settings if they were up to snuff. They absolutely were and the couple purchased a pair of white stones about a quarter-inch across for matching rings. They might have bought every rock young Solvanth had except his more experienced advisor cleared his throat before mentioning that they had just received a special request for another viewing. That implied someone up the hill and the Jesherions were glad to get what they did.

Elurín, new to marketing, was a bit surprised they hadn’t received a summons from on high. His protege explained in his wry sense of irony that was the best possible outcome. Demand had to build. In the meantime, young Solvanth, close to an actual Elvish name, had leisure to pursue his passion for celestial interpretation. There was what looked like an observatory tower inside the palace grounds, well out of reach of commoners. Among the private enterprises allowed here were; alchemy, astrology and divining the future. 

The gem merchant strolled that quarter and had a hard time keeping his grin at bay. Naitë was much more like Middle-earth than anyplace he had seen in Aman. In this district, one would expect the denizens to be wizened old women or men in clothes that had seen better days. Here, everyone was handsome and had no holes in their shoes. Nag Kath found a shop with a tasteful sign that said; “Portents from the stars explained for discerning patrons.” The door was freshly painted so he started there. A small printed swan was at eye height on the door jamb.

Such a place should be filthy too, but this one had been swept regularly. A bell over the door brought the proprietor from the back to bow in their fashion saying, “Ah, good morning, sir. I am Ordonir. Do you need help with an important decision?”

The astonished customer exclaimed, “How did you know? No matter, I am considering a proposal of marriage to a woman at home in Alqualondë and want to know the most propitious time to ask her parents. If the union is favored, I should also like to know the best day for a ceremony.” As if confiding a secret, “Sooner is better because another suitor might not take the same care.”

The astrologer held his smooth chin as he appeared to consider what he always said, “Two dates … let me see. First, young sir, give me the birth-date of your intended.”

“July eighteenth of the Third Age 2871.”

The fellow started flipping through on of several bound volumes on a back shelf. This was the newest. He made a few notes on a sheet of paper and then said, “And now, your date of birth?”

Dare he lie? He decided not much, “April fourth, 2912.” That put him at two hundred fifty years old, barely marriageable, but he was a rich kid. That sent the soothsayer towards the front of the same book for several more auspices.

The diviner’s next line would have been the same here or Osgiliath, “I will need to consult the oracles since there are two distinct dates and the one must precede the other. My calculations will be completed by this time tomorrow. The modest charge will be six silver Delsui."

Nag Kath was fairly sure that was based on the quality of his boots, not the effort to consult the auguries. It didn’t matter. He was already married. The Elf said, “Splendid.” Counting out the silvers he added, “I am so pleased to find this district has wise people such as yourself. Alqualondë is much enamored of ‘modern’ advisors, if you can imagine such nonsense.”

The changeling was not wise enough to read Elvish faces but was sure the astrologer was thinking; ‘a greenbottom paying top price and thinks this is excellent news! What advice might he need tomorrow?’ That needed pre-selling, “Why thank you, young master. I am sorry these arts are not esteemed further north. I have been doing this for long years with many satisfied customers.”

Ordonir oversold, “Did you know our own Minister Talifür is Master of Celestial Interpretation?”

If the soothsayer hadn’t mentioned it, Nag Kath would have. The greenbottom displayed his youth saying, “Talifür? An astrologer?”

“Indeed he is.”

The young Quendu was impressed, “That certainly puts your efforts in the best possible light. He must be much honored here in Arnost.”

“Oh yes. I know him well. He is consultant to Chancellor Selvas himself, who is said to have powers of old. 

The northern lad seemed concerned. Talk of ‘old powers’ might have upset his delicate sensibilities. Biting his knuckle softly, the gravity seemed to pass and he said, “Then I am sure your liege is well served. I hope Lord Selvas is of good family.”

With modesty the soothsayer salved, “I am not privy to such matters but he could not have reached his position without worthy ancestors, not like these come-lately folk along the mountains. I am proud to display the swan on my door.”

Again, the look of concern. Had the astrologer erred in thinking the greenbottom was of those regrettably returned to Aman? The would-be groom-elect smiled and asked, “Forgive me sir; swan?”

“The mark that we cater to those who never abandoned our lands.”

The young lovebird made the connection and relaxed, “Oh, I have seen those on other buildings but did not know the meaning. Does that lament the Swan ships burned by those wisely exiled from our Undying Lands?”

“Exactly, sir.”

The customer assured him, “Such things cannot be taken for granted in these perilous times, honored astrologer Ordonir.”

The soothsayer was solicitous. The coins were his. The young fellow was certainly coming back for the reading. It was time to plant the seed, “Just let me know if you need any assistance with your business decisions.”

As if struck with insight, the tall youngster recalled, “Now that you mention it, father’s own advisor at home saw my visit here as an opportunity. We are in the jewelry business. The timing seems good, but we have noticed that people here are much distracted. Perhaps you could broker a meeting with your friend Master Talifür.”

Ordonir hardly knew Talifür, but the up-and-coming counselor was fond of pretty things and this handsome young fellow appreciated celestial advice. The soothsayer tried to puff the exclusivity of his intercession by saying, “He is terribly busy. I will see what I can do.”

___________-------___________

Elurín was sitting in the dining hall nursing a mug of tea when his charge walked in and joined him. The spymaster said, “We have another appointment with a merchant prince this afternoon.” He did not sound enthused.

The greenbottom countered, “I've been consulting the stars for my proposed marriage.”

Elurín just stared. The changeling continued, “Astrology is an esteemed vocation in the city. I was just gouged six Delsui for a soothsayer to pick the best auspices for me to ask my beloved’s hand. We go back tomorrow for the joyous news.”

Elurín’s mood did not sweeten. “What does that earn us?”

“The soothsayer claims to know the astrologer who advises this Selvas. I doubt that, but I implied I would make it worth his while to arrange an introduction. The soothsayer must think Talifür is fond of gemstones. If he gets wind that the people seeking the introduction are the same ones with rare jewels; that might get us in the door. 

Elurín did not see the point until Nag Kath added, “Chancellor Selvas is said to have powers of old.” The changeling grinned with a north-Khandian drawl, “Now, where do you suppose a right-proper Elf came by those?”

Elurín turned to the server for two goblets of wine and admitted to himself that this refugee was from a harder-school of diplomacy than Aman had seen in an age.

** _My Dear Master Talifür,_ **

** _Please accept my congratulations on your recent appointment. I have found a situation to your advantage; a young merchant came for advice concerning an intended marriage in his home to the north. He believes deeply in celestial guidance. _ **

** _His business is jewelry, evidently of fine quality. If either his wares or support of our views are of value to you, please let me know and I will arrange an introduction._ **

** _With best regards, your devoted servant, Ordonir _ **

Ordonir thought his chances poor but worth the paper and a walk to the palace gate. He handed the letter to the adjutant who sorted many such missives to take inside every hour. 

_________________-------_______________

There were only three letters today for Talifür’s secretary. He opened them as soon as delivered. One was a note that sample steel blanks had been delivered in Huorëlorn last week and were on their way. The second was from an astrologer seeking an advantageous discussion. The third was the monthly report from the horse farm forty miles west saying fewer breedings than they hoped were successful. The minister’s last appointment left an hour before so the secretary knocked on the door-jamb and was motioned inside.

Talifür was not a Worm Tongue. He gained his position from force rather than connivance. His secretary approached, bowed and remained standing to say, “We have received word that the first of the steel blanks are safely in port and will be loaded on wagons forthwith.”

The Minister’s head hurt. That was more common these days. Frequent contact with Chancellor Selvas did that. Sometimes his bones ached too, a fair exchange for advancement and enhancement of his modest talents in summoning. He leaned back in his chair and asked, “Anything else?”

“Not much, sir. Many of the breedings in Marlbath did not take, same as last year, but we knew that. Then there is this …” He sorted the letters and continued, “The astrologer Ordonir wants to introduce you to a young Quendu from the north.”

“What?”

“It seems the lad believes in consulting the stars and sells jewelry. I would not have bothered you but it is a slow day.”

Talifür knitted his eyebrows and said, “Let me see.” The secretary handed him the note. He read it and wondered, “What do you suppose this is about?”

“I cannot say sir. Shall I inquire?”

“No, it is probably nothing.”

While the secretary was leaving, Talifür helped himself to a goblet of the fine pale wine smuggled from Thranduil’s lands. The unblessed had their uses.

After porridge, Nag Kath returned to the astrologer’s shop with Elurín for the auspices. Elurín seldom smiled or his employer would have reminded him not to. The two Quendu sat while Ordonir shuffled his arcane conclusions. The astrologer cleared his throat and said to his client, “I have consulted both my records and others, leaving no stone unturned.” Elurín showed no trace of humor.

The soothsayer continued, “It is my considered opinion that the pattern of stars and the auguries they produce favor your desired union. I further believe that the ideal date for you to ask the lady’s parents for her hand is Saturday, March ninth. I realize that is some time away but a strong second will be October twelfth, six weeks hence.” 

Mr. Ordonir shifted in his seat slightly and said, “If the auspices hold and you use the sooner date, AND (he emphasized) your suit is accepted, the best date for the nuptials would be February tenth when the moon will be in alignment with the constellation Soronúmë.”

Young Solvanth gently pushed his retainer’s shoulder with glee, “There, you see! The lass is nearly won.”

His father’s trusted servant said glumly, “A most fortunate pairing, Mr. Solvanth. I must remind you that we are seeing clients within the hour back at the Inthorn.”

“Yes, quite right. Mr. Ordonir, your care is appreciated. Was there any news on our other business?”

The astrologer shook his head, “I have not yet heard.”

Both of the guests rose and the tall one said, “Thank you again for such splendid tidings. Good day.”

It was worth the effort and the soothsayer now knew his alias and where he could be found without it seeming too easy. 

At the same time in the highest council, “What is this news that the northern militias will not train until September! I wanted them in the sun a week ago!”

Lord Meliath was capable of great rages. Impetuous, intemperate and judgmental, he found the world often failed to understand his will. General Tonjum said evenly, “Late wheat for the second harvest was not planted until May because of rain, My Lord.”

His Lord had known that for months. Something else was bothering the ruler of Naitë Mélamar and not one of the people seated around the table was about to ask what. Meliath continued fuming, “Why is it that I cannot be apprised of even the simplest things?! Yesterday I learned that fine Dwarvish diamonds are on sale to peddlers in the city and yet I have not been told!” He looked at his Minister of Trade. 

In most Elvish realms, the community worked as a whole. If you needed something, it was provided. You did what was required in exchange. Naitë was more a mating of Elves and Easterlings. Everyone was out for himself but the Lord had a hand in all of it. The Minister of Trade was, by definition, the taxation authority for the fief. Every deal, transaction and thing produced was subject to a variety of tariffs. If rare jewels were in the offing, Meliath would have his cut and he wanted the first rights of refusal on the inventory. This would have been impossible in the days when Fëanor was exiled for drawing a sword on his brother, but standards had slipped down here in the south, which was why these provinces were governed as they were in the first place.

Talifür was there on behalf of Selvas, who never attended meetings. The star-gazer had no great love of Trade Minister Flories but he took the pall off the table by saying, “I may be of some use, Rightful Lord. My contacts learned an astrologer of the city consulted a young jeweler just here from the north. Shall I inquire?”

Slightly mollified, Meliath grunted, “Humph.” That meant yes. 

Returning to his office, the Master of Celestial Observance passed his secretary and said, “Bring the astrologer here.” As the clerk rose to comply, Talifür added, “Gently.”


	67. Selvas as Vessel

** _Chapter 67_ **

** _Selvas as Vessel_ **

The gray figure emerged from a side room, bowing properly in silence. Meliath looked over, “You heard?”

The Elf answered in a grave, pitiless voice, “Of course. There is more steel coming, yes?”

The Lord answered, “Two large shipments after this sample.” Chancellor Selvas stood as if a statue. His detachment no longer bothered Meliath. The Quendu’s face was gaunt and sallow, as if secretly aging from a disease known only to him. He was thin and always heavily dressed, even now in late summer. Selvas moved slowly with a limp. He never seemed to be in the light.

Selvas rasped, “And the horses?”

“Fewer than we hoped. Lindareth has horses.”

The cold Elf hissed, “Lindareth will need his.”

No one else could speak to the Rightful Lord of Naitë Mélamar thusly. Meliath would have flogged him ten years ago. Today he could not. Meliath’s purpose became their purpose which was now Selvas’ purpose. Meliath could not remember the transitions, they seemed so long ago. Both shared vitriol for the Ñoldorin traitors. Selvas understood. Selvas helped him show his subjects the correctness of such views. Lindareth of the loyal Ñoldor across the Athradduin was now in accord, thanks to Selvas’ persuasion. The neutral lords remained that way, some even sympathetic to the foundlings crowding this blessed land. In time they would see the error of their ways. 

Ordonir was escorted to the Minister’s office. On sight, Talifür remembered him and peeked at his letter to refresh the name. He accepted an appropriate bow and waved to one of the comfortable chairs across from his magnificent desk. Ordonir sat and was offered tea before they were left alone.

Minister Talifür was charming, “It is good to see you again. Thank you for your note.”

Ordonir was sure he was in no trouble now. When he was abruptly summoned, that was uncertain. He accepted thanks gracefully. Talifür continued, “You mentioned the merchant was guided by the heavens. Please, expand on that." The minister did not mention the young lovebird was associated with diamonds finding their way into the mercantile district.

The commercial astrologer thought carefully and replied, “He is a young jeweler who wanted to know the correct time to ask for the hand of a woman of his home Alqualondë. I consulted my charts using their ages and saw that the union was unfettered. I suggested dates for both when to ask and for the ceremony. It seems a favored pairing except for her nearness to an eclipse, which reflects poorly on her parents.”

Talifür agreed, “It seems he appreciated your pains.”

“Indeed, sir. He said his home has drifted away from the guidance of Varda’s stars and was pleased that we here still cherish the old ways ...” he slipped in “… and honor the Light of Trees.”

The minister touched his fingertips together and responded, “There is interest in the young Quendu’s wares. How would I go about meeting him?”

Ordonir was in a fork. If he just told this powerful lord the name and where he was staying, he cut himself out of a commission. If he played too coy, he lost favor forever. Six silvers to the good in a land where old grievances never die, he decided to play straight and see if he could salvage a fee for the introduction. As if he never intended anything else, the astrologer offered, “His name is Solvanth and he is, or was, lodged at the Inthorn, My Lord.”

Talifür suspected the soothsayer was angling for compensation. He did not really care as long as the jeweler paid him. Ordonir might be useful later. Selvas’ new aide sipped more tea and concluded, “I will arrange to discuss his views and be sure to mention how helpful you were. Leave that to me.”

Ordonir thought that acceptable. Being publicly invited to the lord of astrology without force was advertising. The minister implied he shouldn't contact this Solvanth until later. He would obey.

The next morning, two quiet-men from the palace dropped by the Inthorn and requested a few minutes of the merchant’s time. By now, the firm of Yandieth and Solvanth had five satisfied customers from their more modest line of gems. Word was trickling through the city. Talifür paid attention. 

The guests introduced themselves and were seated in the comfortable suite. By prior understanding, Mr. Solvanth’s assistant was not present. He might need his own face later. Not chosen for subtlety, one of the palace Quendu began, “It has come to the attention of esteemed collectors that you may have jewels on offer.”

The guileless Solvanth brightened, “Why yes. That is my trade. I confess; sales have been slow. It is good to see interest is building.”

The two did not have to look at each other to agree that this was rather better than expected. Was this lad simply inexperienced or just simple? Nag Kath had relied on that mistake many times before. The salesman in Solvanth asked more solicitously, “Were you hoping for a private presentation, gentle sirs?”

Taking the bait, the other Quendu answered, “Yes, if that is convenient. I believe our master would be interested in larger stones.”

It was time to set one of many hooks. Solvanth held his chin and wondered, “I have a few, but the main consignment is slated to go to southern lands. Do you know King Thranduil?”

Eight thousand combined years of discipline kept their faces unchanged. Lord Meliath would not be pleased letting the finest stones go to the high-interloper who styled himself a King! Thranduil famously had the best gems in Aman already. He also had other wealth to pay for whatever he wanted, driving-up the price for worthier Caliquendi Elves like Meliath! They would never know the greenbottom had freely given the Mirkwood King greater value than every diamond in Naitë. 

The more senior guest simply asked, “Yes, would tomorrow at four be convenient?”

Solvanth considered his schedule a moment and answered, “That would suit nicely. Will your employer come here?”

The same guest said, “We will arrange an escort for you.” To offset concern this was a robbery, he added, “They will be in the livery of the palace.” Villains in disguise would be unthinkable in Aman. 

The cheerful merchant rose, “Then four it is.”

______________------_____________

Elurín sat with his feet on a stool and grumbled, “I must hand it to you, we are in deep now.”

Nag Kath replied thoughtfully, “We were always in deep. What have you discovered about this Talifür?”

“A bit. He is styled the Minister of Celestial Observation but seems more of a quartermaster. The observatory is occupied by another of considerable influence who is not known to subjects. My friends have been watching.” Elurín worded his next comment carefully, “This person is not of the council. He speaks directly to Meliath or others from a position of authority; your Selvas methinks.”

The changeling leaned forward with his full attention. “Has anyone gotten a look at this Selvas?”

“Not anyone who is telling us. If you seek sinister, I think you found it.”

Nag Kath went to his bags and waved his hand over them. Then he stood still as a soft silver glow passed from head to toe. Elurín asked, “Do I want to know that that was?”

“I took the wards off me and my bags. If we are dealing with a sorcerer, I want to be clean. My best defense has always been to seem less than I am.” He thought a moment, “You would have enjoyed me mentioning the consignment for Thranduil.”

The spymaster allowed himself a smile, “Twisting the pills. What inventory will you take?”

Nag Kath grinned as well, “Twenty-five or so, the big Traybor stone for sure and the largest stones with the back cut long to sparkle in light.” He suddenly became quite serious, “I expect to be cheated and do not intend to defend these unless I get a chance to cut Morgoth’s throat. If the louts rob us, we will complain and question their parents’ marriage. They can have them in exchange for a look in that observatory.”

Money meant little to Elurín but the changeling was taking a Duke’s ransom up the hill. Nag Kath used what he had to get what he wanted, the purest form of exchange. ‘Thranduil’s diamonds’ were in his saddle in case the quiet-men ransacked the rooms while the diamond merchants were marketing. 

Elurín was out most of the day gathering what he could on the hidden counselor. That was not much. In this place of ancient alliances, that alone was telling. Every other minister was a public entity and made sure the subjects knew it. Nag Kath knew less of that than anyone in Aman. He hoped these beautiful people could resolve their differences but his primary concern was why the little boy could not remember his horse’s name. The dark ones’ most successful tactic had always been to insinuate from within until their faction was strong enough to seize control. He said as much to Elurín. These Naitë Elves were behaving like men with their Swan symbols – too much like Fûl!

If so, he asked, “Are there those here in Arnost who disagree or actively oppose this isolation and discord?”

Cirdan had discussed this with Elurín before they left. Nag Kath could not know who, but acknowledging resistance was grudgingly permitted. The senior Elf answered, “Yes, but we are not in league with them.”

The conversation took a twist, “I need a look at the healer Daelor.”

Nag Kath spent the afternoon on the roof of a building across from the healer’s apartment. It was not ideal for surveillance, or being a healer, since those needing help had to negotiate two flights of stairs to reach the door. A plainly dressed woman left and returned after shopping. The door was unlocked. Elurín watched the back door of the apartment building which did not open once. After dark, Elurín took the front entrance while Nag Kath returned to their lodgings, appearing to be a normal guest. The quiet-men might ask about his comings and goings.

In the morning, Nag Kath took a Lembas cake to the watcher. A patient limped up the stairs and was admitted after knocking. He was limping when he left. The changeling was still as the grave for a minute.

Elurín did not expect what happened next. Nag Kath sneaked off the roof and made his way to the street in front of the healer’s. Then he put his left forearm through an iron gate and jerked, cleanly snapping the smaller bone above the wrist. Elurín winced just watching. He saw the changeling grip the top of the gate with the bad hand and lift his feet off the sidewalk for a moment. Then Nag Kath supported the broken arm with the good one and loped up the stairs. 

The maid/housekeeper opened the door and saw the young Quendu in obvious pain. He grimaced, “Excuse me. I seem to have broken my arm. Is the healer Daelor at home?”

She swung the door wider and said, “Please come in. My mistress is just in the back. I won’t be a moment.” 

She disappeared into what Nag Kath took to be the residence and was back within two minutes with another woman who seemed quite like Celebrían. Neither of them wore rings of matrimony. Daelor asked, “My, my, what have you done young sir?”

He sheepishly admitted, “A bit careless, ma’am. I think I did myself a damage.” He emphasized the afflicted area by raising it with the good hand.

She helping him out of his jacket and had him sit in an examination chair . The sleeve gather was already untied so she gently slid that back to show bruised swelling. The healer gently probed around the area and observed, “Clean, it almost seems set.”

“That is my doing, ma’am. I stretched it as soon as it happened, something my mother told me.”

“Your mother was right. I will need to put this in a splint and you mustn’t use your arm for a week.” With that she pulled a heavy linen sock over the arm and lashed conventional water-reed splines from wrist to elbow. A long bandana sling completed the care. 

“Thank you for your pains. Are there remedies that will help the healing?”

She looked at him for a moment and then walked to her herb cabinet. With a smile, “This tea may help, though most think the taste is worse than the wound. Do you know the substance Lutriel?”

“Not by that name.”

“Uhm, fenniwort?”

Not a sorcerous remedy. And she was right about the taste. Not even goats will eat it. He shook his head. She took a jar from her cubby and pinched several clumps into a sack while her patient scanned the room for anything useful. Nag Kath was not in his best clothes but wasn’t poor either. He exclaimed, “This is a blessing. How much do I owe you for your care?”

“A silver, or whatever you can afford, young Quendu.” Less than celestial advice. 

Using his good hand he dug in the opposite pocket for a coin saying, “This is from Middle-earth. I hope it will serve.”

The healer said deliberately, “Mirian, please brew a mug of Lutriel tea for our patient. I think his healing should start straightaway.” The maid nodded and took the pouch before leaving to heat the kettle. Daelor added carefully, “We do not see these coins here often.”

“They are more common in Alqualondë, ma’am, the gold ones too.”

As if killing time she asked, “Is this your first trip to Arnost?”

“It is. My father’s firm had business here and he thought it would be a good opportunity, except for my witless stumble.” He continued as if trying to fill awkward silence, “But it is the strangest thing; I have met several people in just the last week who seemed quite witless also, confused, even though they live here. I do not suppose you have tea for clarity in your medicines?”

She forced a smile, “Nay, sir. I do not know of herbs for that complaint.”

“Perhaps it is simply the fine wine of this region. Back home, one would use Athae Áma for relief.” That was Elrond’s remedy. He had dragged her in. Even Gandalf’s sending him here would not excuse him for what could come of this. It was said there were five or six great healers in the Undying Lands. She was one of them. His grandfather in-law was another and Nag Kath had joined the list. 

Daelor sat down and put her hands in her lap, very much like Celebrían did when she was thinking. Without looking up she asked, “Who are you?”

He handed her the letter from Gandalf. She took it firmly and cracked the seal on the edge of her writing table. It was brief. Daelor folded it into a pocket in her pinafore and became very businesslike, “Confused doesn’t begin to describe thick heads in Arnost, Mr. Healer. If you are here, this is no longer confined to our lands.” She raised her eyebrow and he nodded to confirm.

Nag Kath interrupted her and untied his splint. Grabbing above the break, he drove bright silver through his right hand into the wound until the other hand glowed and then slowly faded. Grasping a fist several times, he put the splint back on. Daelor stared. Kath was one of the Maiar! Her dull little land finally attracted attention from on high for the wrong reasons. It was past time but it was also frightening. She asked, “Are you here for those of us who …”

“Please, I work unseen. Do not reveal anything you do not want me to repeat. My job here is to have a close look at a dark advisor to Meliath. I will form other conclusions too, but he, or she, is the subject.”

Mirian brought forth a truly foul-smelling concoction and put it on the little table nearest Nag Kath’s chair. It has steeped long enough to be tepid. He swallowed it all with orcish tolerance and thanked the wincing maid/nurse. Daelor nodded that the woman could continue preparing the evening meal.

Nag Kath scraped his tongue against his teeth and looked around for something else wet. His healer produced the dregs of this morning’s tea. He breathed heavily and said, “I will be brief. I am here masquerading as a diamond merchant from the north. This afternoon we have an appointment with Talifür to see where that gets us.”

She said calmly, “He is a fraud.”

“Is he a wizard, or sorcerer, perhaps?”

“I think so, but not strong.” She grimaced again, both for what he did to his arm and gulping that odious tea.

Nag Kath pressed, “Meliath?”

“His unlordly tendencies are more pronounced in the last ten years, five especially.”

“Confused?”

She said demurely, “To be charitable.”

“And Selvas?”

She grew very still before saying, “He is the darkness. If what you did to your bone is why you are here, he is your villain. I have never seen him. Sometimes I think I can feel him. My blood runs cold.”

Faster than she could see, he grasped her wrist gently but firmly and his hand turned silver again. She tried to yank it away from instinct but then did not resist. It was over in seconds. He said, “I am sorry but I had to know. You are fine. Do you have drawing sorcery?”

That was a deep secret, “Some.”

“If anyone asks, you saw a patient with a broken arm. I will not come here again except at great need. If you want to speak, leave your back window shade half open.”

Daelor was silent. He nodded and walked out favoring the splinted arm.

______________------_____________

“Was that wise, Nag Kath?”

“Not really, but in my method, I cause problems and assess the results. If she is one of the few people in this land who can sniff-out a dark wizard, her days are already numbered. The bad ‘uns always kill the healers first.”

“You broke your own arm and then healed it?”

“It is still sore. I do not think there will be enough residual power to detect. Is there any word who we see this afternoon?”

“No, but I haven’t asked. I intended to act the guard and be armed.”

Nag Kath considered that and said, “Do not protest overmuch if your sword is demanded. The higher we get, the less likely they want to be near steel.”

Elurín smiled, “That is why I brought my lesser sword. Yours is a fine blade, but the worse for use.”

The changeling told him how he found it and how reclaiming it from the troll’s forehead caused the damage. No one in the northern gardhs recognized the former owner. It was with the horses along with his bow and quiver. Using ‘the fast’ he would grab the nearest weapon.

Well before they were due, four palace ohtars arrived at the Inthorn. The guards were seen from the window but they let the innkeeper come up to say they were wanted. The diamond merchants walked downstairs, each with a small case. The senior guard said, “Sirs, if you will follow us.”

It took nearly half a bell to reach the palace. Both of them had wandered by separately but made no attempt to penetrate. But for this invitation they would have visited under cover of night. The gates were opened on sight and they weaved their way up to what seemed a higher administrative area just like almost every other capital on either side of the Belegaer. The guards took them inside a suite of rooms until they reached a clerk behind a large desk. He rose to exchange bows and dismissed the guards.

“Thank you for coming, sirs. Please be seated. Master Talifür will be with you shortly. Sir, I would ask you to leave your sword with me.” Nag Kath nodded as planned before his bodyguard removed the full belt and handed it to the secretary.

The changeling could feel slight power. This was exactly the man they needed to see first. Before long, the minister himself came out of his office to welcome them. They rose and bowed according to rank and followed him into a spacious office with two windows overlooking an inner courtyard of the palace proper. It was not near, and had no view of, what Nag Kath thought was an observatory. If this fellow was star-gazing, he didn’t do it from here. 

When they were seated, Talifür opened with, “It is Mr. Solvanth and mister …?”

Elurín said, “Festular, My Lord, aide to Mr. Solvanth.”

The counselor said affably, “Is this your first visit to Arnost, Mr. Solvanth?”

“It is, sir, though our family has done business in Eldamar for long years.”

There was no use pretending they were here for anything other than the gems so the Minister cut the small-talk to the minimum required for courtesy. When that was done he said, “I understand you are in the jewelry business.”

Solvanth the younger took that, “Yes, we came into stones from the mines of Erebor that are unusually fine. Many have found homes to the north and customers told us of persons who appreciate such things here and further south.”

The young Elf was not sophisticated enough to gauge the response. What had Elurín said; twisting the pills? 

Talifür smoothly kept the flow by saying, “Then you may be in luck. There are more here with such tastes.”

Festular, obviously an elder advisor to the fledgling namesake, said, “That is fortunate, Minister. Alas, many of our stores are already under contract, but we still have some larger offerings available. May we ask the parties concerned?”

It would come to this sooner or later so Talifür admitted, “No less than his Lordship.”

Festular looked at his employer who nodded. Very slowly, the aide opened his small valise and removed a fine, blue sack of fabric unknown here. The Elf poured the stones into his palm and then laid them on the side of the bag before sliding it to the Minister. Talifür chose one of the medium sizes for a closer inspection. Nag Kath offered him a fire-glass which Elves seldom use. The Minister accepted it and looked for quite a while. 

Among the stones was the magnificent Traybor. Talifür went out of his way not to examine that. These were real. Meliath would want them. Everyone would want them. They would want Thranduil’s stones too. This would get messy. The Minister was also at something of a disadvantage because he had no idea what these were worth. His wife had a two small diamonds. He knew the price of the smaller gems sold to local merchants but these were not like oats where a big bag was twice the price of a little one. One of those sparklers was almost the size of his fingernail. The blue one was worth many times more. 

Talifür knew Meliath was sinking all of this year’s taxes into armaments. Would he simply confiscate these gems and make himself an outlaw among possible allies he needed so badly? That was not Talifür’s concern. He had his instructions. And what of Selvas? There would be no diamonds for his diadem. He was as plain as a farmer’s widow. Selvas’s new aide was sure the lurking chancellor’s opinion would carry the day. Talifür slid the bag back to Festular and said, “I believe Lord Meliath would like to see these. He is not available just now. Will you await his pleasure?”

Solvanth considered that before saying, “Yes, we are in your Lord’s lands and will respect his will. But we must leave within two weeks. Will your liege return by then?”

The Minister offered a practiced smile, “He is in the city but busy with matters of state. Your obligations should present no difficulty.” Talifür would not discuss price. He was entranced by the wares, but if he was to come by one of those rocks personally, it would be through the good offices of his Lord. 

Nag Kath wasn’t finished. He looked around the office and said, “Oh, that is a fair representation of the constellation of Valacirca. My mother was born in its ascendance.” He hoped he wouldn't have to know when that was.

Talifür remembered; that was right! The youngster took guidance from the stars. While the Minister formulated his response; the merchant rose and asked, “May I look sir?”

“Why of course, Mr. Solvanth. Your little stars remind us of Varda’s grace.” Festular seemed less enthralled.

Nag Kath walked to a hanging display of finely wrought silver wires with glass beads where the primary stars formed the sickle. It was one of the Minister’s favorite possessions and reminded him of possible leverage in supplying Lord Meliath with baubles. Talifür joined him. This youngster was a tall one. The Lord could not see a decided bloodline, but he wasn’t a Silvan newly from the peat-fields of the east. 

As the minister touched the central star, a little glass bead next to it fell from its mounting. Solvanth and the Minister both reached out to catch it at the same time with Talifür’s hand lying on top of the jeweler’s. The minister closed his fist and said, “That was a stroke of luck. I will have it repaired shortly.”

Putting the bead on his desk, Talifür said he would be in touch as soon as his Lordship’s schedule allowed.

___________-----___________

There was more of Listracht in Elurín than he knew. He mumbled when they were out of earshot, “How did you work that glass bit loose?”

“That was a small bringing-spell. The last time I used it was for a chicken cutlet. He didn’t notice so he is not strong. But he is getting power from somewhere. That was why I needed to touch him. And this is not one of my crude potions.” Nag Kath stopped and looked into Elurín’s eyes. “This is pure darkness.”

His loyal aide offered, “His Lordship will not be so easy to fondle.” 

Nag Kath had to stifle a giggle. That meant something quite different in Khand. He kept walking and said, “He is not the source. We need a look at Selvas.” The changeling stopped again and frowned, “What is it about Elves and jewels?! Melkor stole the Silmarils to the destruction of two Ages! This whole foolishness came from a jewel theft. Dwarves were the same with that Arkenstone and the dragons wanted wealth too.”

Elurín answered thoughtfully with six thousand years of experience, “They represent purity, the highest ideal, clean and perfect.”

“I traded these for the mithril band constructed to return Morgoth from the void on the condition that the Dwarves melted it in my presence. They get silly over that metal too. Dark lords don’t work cheap.”

It wasn’t until the morning two days later when a runner from the palace asked the merchants to return that afternoon. Until then they had done absolutely nothing but take their dinners at easy-to-watch restaurants. If palace Eyes were lurking, they were good. 

They walked up by themselves with the quiet-men falling in behind them just outside the gates. Bypassing the confusing corridor to Talifür’s office, the four turned onto a wider and more ornate walkway with statuary and paintings of old. One more corner brought them to a reception hall where sat a great Lord on his elevated chair. Only kings truly had thrones, but lords run their gardhs the way they want. Both merchants bowed deeply and waited with proper deference.

Meliath was of the Teleri faction Falmari, those who did not leave Aman to return to Middle-earth for the War of Wrath. The clan was much divided and warred with the Ñoldorin in the Kinslaying. Less well-known was that they fought themselves too. Meliath’s father never forgave those who were pardoned after being banned from these sacred lands. Peace-loving Teleri welcomed the Ñoldor after noble service against enemies. When father Meliandar refused to join against Melkor, he was forced to accept the gift of ground here. He brought his followers to this fertile country, away from the internecine strife of the bay. They flourished until Meliandar’s horse landed on him. The tempestuous son assumed his father’s reign and animosity but without his competence. The land was fruitful anyway. With time and distance, they were still kin to the Teleri, but not brothers, which was why Meliander was given underdeveloped Naitë Mélamar in the first place.

The gardh lacked stature. It was vast, the largest in eastern Aman, with river frontage and a long coastline. It was also the most populous of the lower gardhs at nearly sixty thousand subjects, better than fifteen thousand in this city alone. That was not the same as prestige. The great councils, battles and heroes of Elvendom were around the bay and island or inland in Valinor-proper. Northerners said Meliath had his lands and was welcome to them. That alone rankled. The recent arrival of the great Middle-earth lords on his borders put a finger in his eye.

Impotent rage found an ear. Twelve years ago, whispers came to him from one who only wanted to help. The voice told him he was correct in his lonely pursuit of a Teleri people as they should have been. His people were owed reparations. They deserved the right to rejoin the families who exiled him to this southern land. Perhaps he even represented the true Teleri kingship. Others agreed with him. He must not lose hope.

Gradually, Meliath found expression for his rancor. His habits changed. Voices found him awake and asleep. He had less use for his father’s councilors. He added his own. Six years ago Selvas was sent to him from those who understood. The Elf master would help with the practical work of preparing for the world as Meliath and his friends desired. The Lord sent his simpering, barren wife back to her parents, unheard of in their society and appalling those of the north he most wanted to please. Selvas told him they were not ready for the work yet to come. Let them stew in doubt.

Three years ago, Selvas went to Farnëmar to explain things to the haughty Lindareth. He found adherents. Now he spoke to Vantieth directly. The neutrals were still uncooperative. Meliath would deal with them in the time of retribution. First, he needed to settle with Galadriel, Galadriel who tricked and embarrassed him by lying in wait when his men redressed the wholesale annexing of western lands. Naitë had never claimed them for lack of settlers, but she could not have them! Between Galadriel and the Rightful Lord was the contested region with no lordship. They would be shown that is not how Elves were born to live. 

Elurín knew quite a bit of that and Nag Kath knew enough. The great Lord took his eyes away from the window and looked at the diamond merchants. He should simply order them to leave their wares on their way out the door. Talifür delivered on his boast to have them bow before the rightful lord so he would hear their story. Selvas was in his quarters, as always. 

Meliath said loudly, “You deal in gemstones, yes?”

The taller, blonde one answered, “Yes, Your Lordship, we do.”

“Where did you get them?”

That was one of the questions Nag Kath would use to spin the narrative. He replied, “They are said to be of the Dwarf mines below Angbad, sir, possibly of Thingol’s treasury. Banished refugees (an unflattering term) kept them against need.”

Meliath’s eyes bore into them thinking he was intimidating. The two merchants played their parts but had already measured the steps to the nearest swords. Nag Kath wondered if he should settle this right now. No, Morgoth was the target and still no more than mist.

The Elf Lord leaned back in his chair and spoke, “I would see these jewels.”

Festular took them forward and then looked to a guard to ask, “Do you have a board or stand to present these to His Lordship?” A small table was brought in front of Meliath’s raised chair and the merchant showed the same gems in the same way he had for the Minister. Then he backed two steps away and bowed again.

The Lord knew they were real from Talifür’s inspection. The big white one was lordly but the blue one was sublime. He grew angry. That happened more these days. Were these peddlers, Teleri themselves by the evidence, bringing better than this to Thranduil, Thranduil who was born in the east and was here taking the best things unto himself?!

Meliath held it in. “Have you others?”

Nag Kath took that question from where he remained standing, some fifteen feet behind his aide at the table, “Those are all we have that are not under contract, Your Lordship.” The youngster looked at his man and pulled another gem from his pocket, “No, wait, I do have this small blue stone, they were called Traybors of old.” He nodded for permission to approach holding the diamond between his thumb and forefinger. The Lord of Naitë held his hand out for the merchant to drop the jewel but the youngster lowered his pinched fingers until they touched His Lordship’s palm. Nag Kath released the diamond, deeply imbued with sorcerous cravings he remembered from the Dwarf-ring along with his own spell in the touching.

Meliath held it, transfixed. He was already susceptible to desire. This felt better than Selvas’ counsel. Why shouldn’t a great lord own great things?! Young Solvanth interrupted the reverie by saying, “Please keep that as a token of respect from the house of Yandieth and Solvanth.”

The Rightful Lord sat still with the little diamond in his large palm. Even his own courtiers were concerned when the voluble Meliath was silent so long. Finally, he slowly closed his hand around the jewel and looked at the tall junior partner saying tersely, “Tell my councilors your terms for these.” He nodded and the audience was concluded. The merchants gathered their things and bowed on the way out. No councilors got in the way to hear those terms so they walked back towards the inn, stopping at a restaurant for an early dinner and goblet of wine.

______________------_____________

Elurín waited for the server to leave and said softly, “He didn’t see you flinch when you touched his hand.”

“I gave better than I got, replacing the current spell. He is in the stew. All the Rightful Lord will be able to think about now are those diamonds.”

“Setting a cat among dark pigeons!”

Nag Kath agreed, “This should force something. And I can find that little diamond within two or three hundred paces. I’ll wager he keeps it close. What do you suppose we should charge for the rocks?”

“Enough to disrupt iron shipments.”

Nag Kath agreed, “That is a good point. We may need several trips to negotiate. Whatever the tally, young Solvanth will discount it for a tour of the celestial observatory, being such a devoted lad.”

“You are devious for such an upstanding yrch.”

“No argument there. If needs be, can your lord blockade Huorëlorn?”

Elurín nodded, “If he does, my city of Vilënost is put to the sword.”

The changeling retorted grimly, “If he rides on Galadriel, he will put paid to those who brought her just as fast, or Lindareth will.”

Elurín stared at the changeling and changed the subject, “If sorcery is involved, that makes it all the worse.”

Nag Kath felt his chin and said, “Perhaps. Without putting too fine a point on it; if Meliath had any guts, he could have mopped the countryside with the northern mountain gardhs any time he wanted. Instead he involves Farnëmar to little effect, divorces his wife to gall his homeland and announces his purpose like a Catanard villain.”

Elurín stared again. Nag Kath explained, “Catanard; a musical play that Elves hate worse than a barrel of orcs.” In his Elf Lord demeanor, which the spymaster had not seen before, Nag Kath continued, “No, someone is trying to bring the dark one back. He needs the Eldamar in flames.”

___________-----___________

Talifür was rousted from his wakeful rest. It had happened before. His lovely wife kissed him against their Lord’s famous temper and comforted their daughter who was too young to understand. Their quarters were some distance from Meliath’s apartments. He dressed and walked back with the attendant, wishing he was a fisherman and not subject to the desires Selvas found in him. The minister was not in as deep as Vantieth yet, but he was in too far to escape. He entered his ruler’s chambers, bowed and waited.

Meliath was standing by a window chewing on a knuckle. Nag Kath did not know just how much power he had embedded in the spell, mostly because he did not understand how gems could intoxicate certain of the Eldar. They represented perfect light among the perfectly light beings. Almost the entire tragedy of Elvendom could be traced to the blind lust for jewelry. Another thing the changeling did not know was that the gemstones in the world were overwhelmingly in Middle-earth so what they had was all they would get. Meliath seethed knowing that, and that short, hairy Dwarves would dig them out of loathsome pits in the earth for less than they were worth.

And now, NOW, the finest of those were here in his capital. Barely containing his rage, he barked at his master of the skies, “What do those thieves want for their diamonds?”

“I cannot say, My Lord. The little ones were selling for twenty-six Flurin each.”

“What of Thranduil’s consignment?”

Talifur lamely offered, “We only know they might exist but not how many or what kind. The ones you saw are all they have on left on offer.”

Meliath growled, “Well find out.” When his lord was silent, the star-gazer bowed and left. On his way home, he reminded himself not to be so clever in council. He could not go to the common inn himself or all bargaining position was lost. He could not send his civilians. They knew nothing about diamonds. The realm was not dripping in gold thanks to Meliath’s intemperate spending. Naitë was prosperous, yes, but not for luxuries like Dwarvish gemstones on top of armaments! When he got home he was too distracted for rest of any kind. He wished Selvas was here. The Chancellor had ridden to the horse farm to survey the herd. He would not be pleased either.

As they anticipated, the jewelers were having first tea when the quiet-men arrived. They would present themselves at the Minister’s office forthwith. The diamonds were safe. With nothing else to get, they walked out the door and followed the servants back to Talifür’s. 

The Master tried to be charming again but was met with Festular’s comment, “Lordly hosts ask politely. Why are we summoned like chattel?”

Talifür preferred it that way, “His Lordship wants to know your price for the diamonds you showed the other day.”

Solvanth the younger said, “We sold one of the star cut yesterday. What is left; call it one eighteen-hundred eighty Flurin.”

Talifür had no idea if that was fair but merchants were thieves so he dickered, “Absurd. You waste our time.” 

The two jewelers looked at each other and said almost in unison, “Sorry to bother you.” Festular added, “We will be on our way after porridge.” 

As they turned on their heels, the Minister said, “Not so fast.” They stopped but it was still his Lordship’s turn. He increased the bet, “And what price for false King Thranduil’s jewels?”

Young Solvanth said, “Those have already been paid for.”

Talifür was losing. “How could the payment from such a despot matter?”

Festular grinned before replying, “Those were bought by High King Olwë of Tol Eressëa to present King Thranduil for services rendered. If your lord picks his King’s pocket, the puckering will squeeze dragon tears. Eighteen-hundred fifty for what you saw and that is final.”

That wasn’t the only thing being squeezed. Talifür could hardly breathe. His small ray of sunshine was when Solvanth turned to his aide to say, “None of this was seen. We should consult the positions.”

The disciplined Festular shot back, “The stars will not guide here, young sir. This is old-fashioned robbery.”

Solvanth held firm, “We shall do what we must, but I would like guidance.” He turned to the Minister, “Sir, I would like to visit your observatory where I might make sense of this goat’s breakfast. Where can we stay until night is high?”

His former tower was strictly off limits now that Selvas had taken possession, but the crippled Elf would not be back from the farm until tomorrow afternoon. Bloody Meliath! “Very well. You will be taken to an apartment where you will stay until I send for you.” He walked to the door and said to his secretary, “Take them to Kuisle room and feed them well.”

His tone broached no further questions so the secretary told the diamond merchants, “Please come with me.”

“Why didn’t you just shine that light in his face and tell him to take us upstairs?”

“Selvas would spot the power like a filed nipper. I very well may. That was quite a performance about the King of the Teleri. Is that his name?”

“Last I looked. Hope he won’t mind me stretching the truth. When we are upstairs, what do I need to do?”

Nag Kath grinned, “Look piqued and start handling fragile objects. Let us see if we can put a twist in his Lordship’s underwear.”

Dinner was good. The days were getting shorter and it was probably about the nine-bell when two palace guards knocked on the door and fetched the jewelers. Talifür met them at his office door and they walked silently upwards for half a bell until reaching a stout door in a solid stone wall. The Minister jerked his head at the escutcheon and one of the guards unlocked it. The same man lit a torch in a stand just inside the door and another to take upstairs. Nag Kath counted one-hundred eighteen steps until they reached apartments that smelled worse than any Elvish place he had been. 

Talifür dogged their steps with the torch but he had the guard stay outside on the stair landing. Solvanth was not impressed, “Not many stars here. Are these your quarters?”

“No.”

“What’s upstairs?”

“That is open to the sky.”

Nag Kath said to his aide, “Stay here, I won’t be long.”

Talifür countermanded, “You both stay where I can see you. You want stars, we all go up.”

They trooped up one more flight. Young Solvanth made a show of observing the largely cloudy sky, feeling the power of an ordinary round stone set apart from the battlement on a pedestal. So, that’s how he is doing it! The merchant son said firmly, “I have seen enough. Eighteen-hundred thirty Flurin.” Without pausing, he walked back through the fetid room and down the stairs with the Minister of Celestial Observance and loyal retainer close behind. 

______________------_____________

On the way to the inn Elurín said, “Nasty place.”

Nag Kath said nothing. Elurín knew not to repeat the probe. It was another block before the changeling agreed, “Nasty place. Our guide felt the same. I need a look at whoever lives there. He hasn’t been gone long.”

“By the smell?”

“By the power. This is an order of villain I haven’t seen before. But it is very sloppy, not just the quarters but the magical traces. It was like a leaky bag dribbling on the floor, more energy than the vessel could handle.”

They found an alcove before their rooms and sat on a bench. Nag Kath was still deep in thought. Elurín waited. Finally the youngster confided, “You know this far better than me, but it was said in his prime, Morgoth had unrivaled powers except for Eru himself. He could create orcs and dragons and Balrogs with ease from lesser creatures plucked from the void. The dark lord must be barely a puff of smoke if the best he can do is a reeking Elf dripping magic like an unswaddled toddler.”

Elurín added, “Among other drippings. Yes, the servants came in a range of capacities. Unchecked, they got worse. We have other matters too; eighteen-hundred thirty Flurin.”

The changeling mused, “Curious; that. In Gondor or Khand, there are merchants who bejewel their daughters on their birthdays. Dwarves sit on hills of gold. But here, a gardh Lord has to haggle like a wool peddler over gems he will only see once. That was why I wanted to spread the word so it would filter up poorly -- too late to raise taxes. This Meliath should have gobbled the diamonds like a dragon. Do you suppose the old boy is light on the ready?”

After Nag Kath explained the colloquial saying, Elurín answered, “It makes sense. He might negotiate hard over timber and boots but to embarrass himself over a luxury, yes, I think gold is thin and this Talifür knows it, though why an astrologer is involved is beyond me.”

“If a dark one is pulling the strings, he needs a lesser sorcerer of any sort, and an astrologer would be an apt candidate. They aren’t three a groat. We only know two here. The man in Farnëmar and his minions add to that. Later, officers will have to train troops for siege attack and fording rivers if defenders destroy the bridges. They will not slay their fellow Elves without unnatural hate.”

Elurín offered, “The public seems to be in a bother about foreigners. Put as a matter of pride and loyalty, they may fall in line. I will ask questions of my friends.”

______________------_____________

Naitë Mélamar did not mine gold. They had traded for it over the years for their other abundant resources in the eastern side of the gardh. Like many places in Middle-earth, land mattered more and that was all in the same noble family holdings largely created before Meliath’s father accepted his huge fief. The son had been spending the taxes preparing for war-footing since Selvas appeared. It was subtle and gradual, but outflows had been eating into reserves. The Kath was exactly right that news of these gems arrived too late for a new, orderly tariff. If he was going to spend that kind of cash on these diamonds, those regional nobles, including a pair of Meliath's sisters' husbands, would have to pay more, and soon.

That was fine by Talifür. This would settle old scores to the benefit of their vision. The lords should be proud to contribute. He also knew they would not see it that way. They already had the best land. Why did Meliath need diamonds? Was it that others of greater prestige had them? The other option was to simply confiscate the gems. That would be as good as a formal notice to quit the Teleri clan and remove them from any influence in their homelands of Alqualondë and Tol Eressëa. It they took Thranduil’s gems, which the merchants said were still the property of High King Olwë, they would be outcast.

Not that it mattered to the Celestial Minister but Naitë's real lack was weapons-quality steel, and the weapons themselves. The ignorant Nag Kath assumed Elves all had masterpiece swords, lovingly handed-down through the ages. What no one told him was that relatively few Elves kept blade-steel over the mantle, especially here. Until lately, these were the pacifist Teleri. Only the small, permanent army and traditional militias were armed. For Meliath to put his fief on a attack-footing, they needed thousands more swords, pikes, shields and armor, not to mention all the iron bits for wagons, arrowheads and a hundred other uses. The changeling knew better than most that was a noisy, smelly business needing coal or wood in quantity, not Nag Kath's traditional view of Elvish labor. Whoever they bought their steel from couldn't know the end-use either so Naitë had to fashion war-craft themselves, out of earshot.

In the morning, the star-gazer walked to the offices of Dedriole of the Purse. The Lord's clacker knew to the silver what was in the coffers. He was not of those who understood old powers were being used, but he did know the moods of Meliath. This was official business.

“Good morning, Talifür. Tea?”

“Thank you, yes. I apologize for coming unannounced but our liege is considering a purchase outside of the budget.”

It had happened before. Dedriole was not alarmed. He received and doled the largess, but did not decide where it went. The elegant Quendu leaned back in his chair and sipped the perfect blend. It was still Talifür’s topic. “Eighteen-hundred and thirty, in gold, in exchange for Dwarvish diamonds just in from Alqualondë.”

Dedriole put his mug on the desk and asked, “So it is true ... this exchange; is it to be held in reserve against future payments?”

The Celestial Interpreter’s dead face said otherwise. The Purse-man concluded, “I though as much. Horses, diamonds or steel; you can have two of the three, and the foundry does not offer credit. Flurin for the next ship of steel is already in Huorëlorn. The last is in the vault.”

Talifür nodded grimly and rose. On his way out, Dedriole called, “Let me know when you can.”

___________-----___________

There was nothing for it now. His Lord told him to make a price. He had. It was out of his hands. The Master of Celestial Observation made the short walk to the Lord’s Chamberlain and said he needed five minutes in a tone suggesting he was expected. He sat on the empty bench. There were no petitioners. Meliath now had an arbiter settle all disputes below the level of the noble families. Only administrative people saw Lord Meliath and most tried not to. After half a bell, an attendant collected the forlorn Minister and walked him to the reception room. The Lord was at a side table eating his breakfast. He did not motion his counselor to sit. 

Talifür reported, “I received a bid of eighteen-hundred eighty Flurin for the stones presented. I have them down to eighteen-hundred thirty, but they said that was final. I told them the decision was yours, My Lord.”

“And the diamonds destined for the traitor?”

“Those are the property of Olwë until delivered.”

Meliath had no ready answer for that. Sending a great grandniece back was one thing. Pinching the King’s jewels, in both senses of the phrase, was another. Before the Lord forked-in another bite he growled, “Get me those gems.”

______________------_____________

Selvas arrived at his quarters late that night desperately tired after visiting the farms and foundries near the central forests. In this land of wakeful rest, he needed sleep. It was unfair but temporary, the best he could manage. Selvas was Úmaiar; a class of Maiar corrupted by Melkor or Sauron into their service. His spirit had floated in Aman since the trees were destroyed, almost like Orlo was reduced to a vision for a few days a year. When the spider Ungoliant was in the deep south, he was her servant. She covered Melkor’s escape in shadow and when they left, Selvas was alone and without form.

Melkor was consigned to the void. But the dark lord was not destroyed, only banished. Long years did he wait. And like an aging waterskin, the void leaked. Barely fifty cycles ago, a crease in the east was plugged. His master had to look for other outlets. Selvas learned from the spider of a place in the south where time and space folded upon themselves, invisible to the naked eye, but still a flaw in the fabric. Selvas’ spirit floated outside, listening to where his lord would eventually wrap his knuckles probing for weakness. Twelve cycles ago, he heard the thoughts. Selvas spoke to his lord as a good servant should. Words did not exchange, but there was understanding. 

Morgoth needed turmoil. He needed disruption large enough to tear the wall and shield his escape. Selvas would find that for him. Two Elf lords here in the south were incensed that a great many of Melkor’s old enemies were returning to this land. Those refugees could ruin his emergence since they knew the dark lord and his servants better than those who stayed. But the rift between the Elvish peoples was ideal. 

Selvas needed physical form. In the world of men, he could have simply entered the being and taken charge. In this world of self-healing immortals, he must diminish one first. There were farmers in his cold south, scratching crops from the gravel. The Umaiar found he could talk to one, not in words but in thought. The Quendu lived alone. For three years, Selvas corrupted his mind. The Elf was dissatisfied. He should do what he wanted, ignoring the disciplines that made him an Elf. The farmer weakened. He did not care for his body, ate poor foods and neglected all that mattered. His crops failed. As he lay dying in despair, he was finally weak enough for the spirit Úmaia to enter his flesh.

What Selvas could not have anticipated was that once he possessed the body, it did not heal like an Elf should. Selvas knew of the five Maiar, the Istari, who were given the bodies of old men, as if that would help them destroy Sauron! The farmer’s body lived, but it was still feeble and needed rest. It would have to do. Now flesh, he walked here to see his lord’s will done. The Úmaiar had not forgotten how to control weak minds. He learned to poison emotions. He was learning to far-speak, though he still needed to return to his lair in the deep south to talk with dark Melkor where his gaolers were not listening. It was painful, but what is pain to glorious service? 

That service was trying. He had the body of a weakling to influence the mind of a weakling. That the ruler here was susceptible to the darkness unavoidably made him inconstant. A better creature would have never let him in. Before finding form, the spirit of Selvas visited the witch Galadriel in her realm. She sensed him and cast him out. The eastern exiles had powers from fighting Melkor that those who stayed did not. It would not save them.

______________------_____________

A window-shade was left half down in the commercial quarter. The next morning, Nag Kath wrapped his splint around the arm and went back for his evaluation. Daelor answered the door herself and showed him in silently. Then she sat where she had before. Nag Kath took a chair. The healer confessed, “I was not entirely forthcoming with you.”

He said nothing. She should not have been entirely forthcoming. He certainly wasn’t. The woman continued, “The advisor in the tower is not an Elf.”

He responded slowly, “I think only part Elf.”

She pursed her lips, “You said it better than me. Another healer in the city, one of my pupils, attended a servant who was there for only a day. He had the confusion you spoke of. It passed. That was years ago. Others can get closer to him now.”

She swallowed and added, “Three weeks ago, a young officer-of-horse was here with a training injury that was poorly healed in camp. I needed to reopen the wound and stitch it better. He talked to ignore the pain. In the northwest, militias are already in the field. Food, weapons and such are arriving in halting shipments. They were told the mountain traitors are preparing to take his Lordship’s farmland.”

The younger healer did not seem surprised. He said, “I need to speak to this officer. Is he still here?”

“I cannot say. His name is Nambecur, of a soldierly family. He is a believer. Do not expect cooperation.”

He gave her a grim smile, “Those are the best answers." All humor left his face, "You should leave, and leave quickly.”

She stayed calm, “Will this ohtar be linked to me?”

“Not if I do this well. You are at risk because you can sense magic. This Chancellor reeks of it. Some folk may feel anxious or uneasy around him. It could make you quite ill and betray his disguise. Soon every healer and sorcerer in the land will be brought into dark service or slain. The Quendu I am with will return to the coast when I ride inland. You must go with him. Do you have a horse?”

“No. What of Mirian? She has been my faithful helper for long years.”

“She can go too, but there can be no farewells. Say you are attending an aunt in Huorëlorn and disappear. I am sorry, but your position has been perilous for years.”

Daelor seemed to relax. He suspected she already knew the danger. When you have done something so long; the pain of ending needs a powerful nudge. She really did look like the Lady Celebrían. Nag Kath had learned not to ask how people so beautiful were unmarried. He let her think for a moment before saying, “I will see to the horses.”

In a higher part of the city, the dark one was furious. He had been summoned to the Lord’s chambers and told that gold for armaments was to be diverted to the purchase of diamonds, for no other reason than the petulant lordling wanted them. Meliath simply said, “I am going to buy them for my treasury.”

In politeness he did not feel, Selvas asked, “What is the cost of these diamonds, My Lord?”

Meliath feigned indifference and lied to make it seem trivial, “A thousand Flurin.”

“Then I wish you great joy in them, Lord Meliath.”

The shiftless Lord decreed, “It may delay our plans. I will have them!”

Selvas had no patience for this. “Then take them, but do not let this interfere in your designs and debase your father’s legacy.”

Part of Meliath’s argument was that simply stealing them would jeopardize his position with the Teleri at the great bay. Simpleton! They were enemies too! Those who did not assist were in the way. Selvas had enough of this silliness and applied his most powerful spell to control the childish Lord. It had no effect, as if blocked by some strength of will he thought purged from the fool. 

The Chancellor was tired. He was losing his grip over the Lord of Naitë. Meliath waved him away. Had the half-wit transferred his commitment for a handful of Dwarvish pebbles? Selvas trudged back up the steep stairs to his tower seething.

His lodgings seemed different too. Talifür, neck deep in the mire, saw no need to mention taking the peddlers upstairs. No matter, Selvas had other problems. Melkor long told his servant that he was marshaling his resources, converting will into power. He could not spare any. Selvas respected that, but he must now ask for greater strength or they could lose everything they had gained to begin this war. Melkor could refuse, but his Umaiar had been faithful and prudent. Melkor would understand. Selvas prayed it would not lessen the dark one for their vision of the final battle of prophesy.

At high-night the frail Elf walked up to the open tower by the stone and raised his hands to the sky. “Oh Dark Lord, send me strength or we will lose the ruler of these lesser Elves. They must be brought to your command!”

The tiny cry for help was shortly returned by a massive bolt of force from the south, undetectable by anyone who could not feel the humors. Nag Kath was nearly knocked out of his resting chair. It could have been a dream, but it wasn’t.

______________------_____________

Bright and early, two grooms reported to the stalls. This was a soldiers’ district and, typical of cavalrymen, they lived as close as they could to the stables. Nag Kath looked at the sketch of the officer as Daelor had described him. There weren’t a lot of unique features among the clans of Aman. They got a good look at a proud mounted officer in uniform leaving the apartment on his way to headquarters. An alley he approached opened onto a service street behind the buildings. 

As Nambecur rode past, a denizen in the alley coughed loud enough to catch his attention just as a soft yellow light hit him between the eyes. The taller of the two hooded Quendi said, “Dismount. Your service is admirable. We will accomplish great things.”

The soldier seemed more susceptible than expected but his orderly Elf mind needed an almost constant stream of power. Nambecur swung his leg over the back of his horse and hopped down nimbly. “Yes, it goes well. The squatters are weak.”

The floating voice was encouraging, “How many infantry and cavalry will you lead against them?”

“Nine thousand foot. Fewer horse than we want.”

“Your bravery will make the difference. How many horses?”

The officer wobbled forward but righted himself to answer, “Five-hundred. It should be a thousand.”

Elurín watched the young sorcerer massage the interview. Nag Kath said, “Yes, enough for victory. Will the traitors destroy the bridges?”

Reluctance was followed by more yellow. “The Ñoldorin servant will secure them. If not, they will make barges for ferries.”

“When is the time of our greatness, brave ohtar of Naitë?”

“Soon, brother. Next summer. The blink of an eye.”

Nag Kath told him to find a tavern and drink a pitcher of red wine before going home to rest. The grooms would return his horse later. 

______________------_____________

Far away, there was tension as well. Elrohir told Elrond, “Father, It is an abomination that your granddaughter is married to an orch (Uruk). Again, I beg you to dissolve their union.”

Elrond was still capable of anger. He was angry now. This should have been settled the first time Elrohir mentioned it. The precision of his delivery informed; “I told you once, and once should have been enough. Nag Kath is family and entitled to great respect. He is also in the realm of the enemy for our purpose. I forbid you to mention this again.”

The twin was resolute, knowing this was the answer and it was intolerable. He said softly, “Honored father, together we fought the fell forces of Sauron through eighty lives of men. There was no saving them. There was no redeeming them. They murdered so many who were dear to us. How can this condition remain?”

Elrond credited his son’s case. He would not have thought this possible himself before the two stragglers darkened his door. But the changeling had acquitted himself, in great danger, to save this child’s own mother from a fate worse than Mandos. That alone bought him grace. Then there was dear Inariel. She loved as the women of men loved, as his beloved daughter had loved. That must change as she accepted immortality, but for now, she was devoted to her husband and watched the skies at night in prayer that he would return to her safely.

The wise Lord put his hand on his son’s shoulder, “You must trust that I know how hard this is to bear. He is welcome in my home. Accept this and carry it in your heart. You cannot live on vengeance. Be free of it. It is the only path to wisdom.”

When he was alone, Elrohir put his face in his hands and cried like he hadn’t since his mother was captured. Father was right. He was always right. The warrior could face any foe with no thought of retreat. Why was this so hard? Brother Elladan adjusted. He sat and watched the river. The river always knew what to do.

______________------_____________

That evening Selvas summoned his new aide to the tower for a promotion. Except for the other night, Talifür hadn’t been there in years. He had never lived there but used the area below the deck for charts and a modest office. The strange gem merchant was right, this was unseemly. He held his nose. Selvas was up-top and the Minister was glad not to meet him in the putrid room. There were stone chairs aloft, immune to the weather. Selvas was standing by one and gestured for Talifür to sit. The Umaiar remained on his feet and said in his harsh, hissing monotone, “The diamonds interfere with our work, yes?”

“I agree. His Lordship seems obsessed. He has been obsessed before.”

“To lead, his mind must be uncluttered.”

There wasn’t much the Minister could add to that so he sat and wondered why he was there. Selvas with his grim, tired face walked behind his astrologer's chair saying softly, “It is the time for greater things, yes?”

Talifür thought so too. As he prepared his response, fingers like daggers drove into his neck. Only his face worked but he could not scream. Selvas said calmly, “Yes, it is time for greater things.”

It was late when the Minister returned home. His wife and child bowed. He hardly noticed. Father often had trying days so they respected the weight he carried. He did not eat the family meal. He did not kiss Hannih when she was ready for her child-rest. When Veronal came later for her kiss, he simply said, “I am leaving you.” He rose and took nothing he loved. 

Late the next morning Selvas had not come for his meal so an attendant, chosen by drawing the short straw, took a platter to his rooms. The desiccated corpse seemed to have been dead for days but he was seen only last night. It was as if all life had drained away.

___________-----___________

Tidings of the strange counselor’s doings were rare, but his death was public by dark. The jewelers were forgotten. Unknown to them, Meliath called a council of selected advisors that afternoon. He was a changed man. Resolute, he required that they all prepare for a war that would liberate the soul of Naitë Mélamar. Shirking was tantamount to treason. A number of ministers who were not invited to the meeting were instead invited to tender their resignations that afternoon or fall on their swords. Hours later, heralds proclaimed Lord Counselor Talifür was now Chancellor. 

Abruptly retired from the diamond business, Nag Kath and Elurín moved to separate inns nearer the main gate under new names. This time their horses were a back-window away. The soldiery was on edge. Guards barked orders at the gates and cavalry rode too fast where people walked. There was no looking for the hooded counselor now. Someone else had taken that job. They had a pretty good idea who. 

It was time to go. The clumsy Quendu went for his last examination to remove the splint he only wore here. Not long after, a porter helped two women load their bags on a handsome horse and they disappeared down the lane. Lieutenant Nambecur wouldn't miss him until they were long gone.


	68. Village of the Shamed

** _ Chapter 68 _ **

** _Village of the Shamed_ **

From Arnost to Celeborn and Galadriel’s haven of Thornost was one hundred and twenty leagues as the crow flies. The roads weren’t quite that straight but they were always in good condition. Nag Kath did not think he had a straight errand. He needed to see the army and he wanted a look at the lordless area on Meliath’s way to the mountain gardhs.

As it happened, he got them more-or-less in line. Forty of those leagues were still in Naitë Mélamar. There were a few inns but he spent nights outdoors, even in the rain. Three days out, and merely thirty miles from the border, he found a large encampment of at least one thousand foot ohtars. No one seemed especially worried that a mounted, well-dressed Quendu should be here. Anyone with a horse was somebody. He smiled and nodded the way an out-of-uniform officer would to let the lads know he was one of the team.

Unlike the ragtag armies of Middle-earth, even grunts have uniforms and metal armor in Aman. From watching lapels in Arnost, he could tell that one in five troops were regular army and the rest militia. And unlike Middle-earth, the farmers pressed into service didn’t whine while their crops rotted. Many of the shields had swans as the primary emblem or had them painted discretely near the district pattern. 

What Nag Kath really wanted was a sergeant. He found one who had already dismissed his trainees and was making sure the cooks knew their business. Doing his best impersonation of a Lieutenant, Nag Kath called, “Whipping them into shape, Sarn't?”

“Aye sir.”

“Can they swim?”

“At need, sir. Let us hope it does not come to that.”

The tall one on a fine horse became graver. “What news of the lordless lands? I go there now.”

“We have been keeping well away.”

“Have they eyes on the border?”

“We discourage that, sir.”

“Then we are in good hands. You will hear this soon enough but there is a new broom sweeping clean in Arnost. Lord Talifür is now chancellor with all powers. He is much taken with swans.”

Sergeants usually don’t care much for politics. They want to keep their men alive. Sarge asked gravely, “General Tonjum?”

“I have no news there as I am just away. Be vigilant. Are there other columns ahead?”

“The Fallai under Cadielv is just north and west.”

The officer considered that a moment. “And the others?”

The Sergeant was speaking out-of-school but explained, “Generals Feanath and Vengar are northeast.”

The young one said, “As they should be. I go straight. Wish me luck, Sarn't.”

“May the Valar protect you sir.” Nag Kath was sure the Sarn't did not know which former Valar he was fighting for.

______________------_____________

Two days later Nag Kath came to what he supposed was a border. Since those on the other side did not defend it, it was a line on his homemade map. Now in his oldest clothes, he took Shultö at barely more than a walk so he didn’t ride into Naitë pickets. There was a stone marker on the road that must date to when these lands had lords. Two hours later he came to a hamlet of farms. It would be dark in a few hours so he asked a lad of forty where he could lay his bedroll.

The fellow eyed him suspiciously and said that was a question for the elders. Nag Kath had other questions for the elders too, but he would be cautious. For now, he wanted shelter from clouds rolling in over the mountains. The grain crops were in. People were picking fruits and vegetables to dry or boil in glazed clay jars and seal with beeswax. 

The ‘lad’ walked wordlessly beside the horse until they reached the largest building in the village, no more than a modest home. Nag Kath dismounted and tied the horse to a porch rail. Two older farmers walked out to continue the silence. Affable Nag Kath said, “Good day, sirs. I was hoping to find a roof between me and those rain clouds.”

One of them growled, “We’ll see. From whence do you hail?”

“Orthanc.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It is a small place.”

The other said, “You come from the swan troops.”

“I passed them two days east.”

The changeling did not say he was with them or against them. There was no telling where these border farmers’ sympathies lay. If this lot did nothing but scowl, Lembas would serve. When they had been quiet too long he said, “If none here take coin for dry straw and a meal, I will be on my way.”

No one spoke. He rode west and got a good soaking. As the rain beat down, he thought their taciturn demeanor might dissuade travelers but surliness would not work against the Sergeant’s stout lads. There was nothing but a graded road between them and a thousand troops. That would not improve by the following summer either. Naitë foragers would eat next year’s crops on their way by. Maybe the noble Elves did not murder or rob civilians like Wildmen. That was a big maybe.

There were more villages as he moved from the plains to very pretty, hilly country that was still flat enough in places to divert streams to the fields. It was perfect pastureland too. There were no horses but the villagers had cows, sheep and goats along with the usual barnyard fowl. There would be game in those forests too, much like Ithilien with a mix of leaf and needle trees. They were well away from the road so he trotted over to a stream coming out of a thick copse. Just out of habit, he tested it. 

Four days after passing the marker, he came to a larger village, town almost, at a crossroads from one of several bridges over the Athradduin. There were no inns but folk here weren’t bashful about taking in a traveler for a meal. It might be that people coming up from Farnëmar weren’t as nasty as the Naitë brutes. A farmer agreed to put him up for less than his smallest denomination so he got the loft and the first ale at a merry pub that could have come from the Shire except for being twice as tall.

It was some sort of local holiday. Dinner was stew. Nag Kath ate the vegetables and tried the local ale. Elves don’t drink much but it will go to their heads. They also don’t have to go home and sleep. Later on, a few of the town squires were holding forth on everything that had happened in Dailiu since, well, who knows? 

It was too good an opportunity to pass-up so he asked as innocently as possible, “Forgive me good folk. Does this road continue on to Penethornost?”

There was deafening quiet for a few moments. Then a woman beautiful enough to start a fight between men in any tavern across the sea said, “It gets close, but you have to take the northern fork when you hit the river. Follow the north bank of the river and you will see the markers.”

One bold soul countered, “Nay, take a day off the trip and cut north tomorrow. It is a lesser track but riding past the rock-patch avoids those southern bogs.”

The Quenda considered that, “Never been that way, but that is how dear Calistuil goes. Either way will serve you well.”

Nag Kath cried, “Splendid!” He tossed down another silver and exclaimed, “This is a hearty brew you make here!”

It was too. For the rest of the night, he got as much information as he could remember about battles and where the Naitë sent scouts and that the Lady of Thornost had come to visit and blessed their orchard which bore better than before! They sang quite a bit too. Even he was a little thick in the morning. Alcohol will put Elves into genuine sleep, as evidenced by the great Bilbo’s escape from the Elven Halls. Those Dwarves didn’t ride to the lake in turnip barrels.

After waving goodbye, he decided to take the northern path for a look at the hill passes in the thick forest further up along the Naitë border. Surefooted Shultö was comfortable on a trail but it was still slower going when they started climbing. At the end of the day came another valley with another village also celebrating a forgotten legend. They had more answers and a brew that might pass for Rohan Red. 

For three days after cutting north he traveled along a spine of hills. It seemed the remnants of a great mountain range, fertile on this side but poor, rocky soil well into the Naitë west-lands. The hills were not much of a barrier, but there was no reason to march troops over them when a few days further north was level ground. 

The low, barrier ridge of hills flattened for five miles before rising again. To his left the ground opened into valleys. He turned Shultö west into one of the rolling gaps, dropping his mouth in a combination of shock, dread and realization. This was the valley in the mirror of Galadriel, exactly as he remembered it all those years ago. There was the little rivulet with meadows to either side, grasses now and flowers in the spring. Rather than go down, he took Shultö at a gallop to the eastern ridge and stared into Naitë. If they were coming, this was the first place to break cover from behind those pleasant hills and drive west into the contested lands. It was still bleak and rocky on the eastern side with an abandoned militia camp. Meliath had attacked further north on the actual border between Naitë and Galadriel’s Elves. When he came next, it would be here.

After scouting Meliath’s likely route, he was back at the rivulet and followed it to a stream making its way to the river dividing Thornost. He checked the water twice before letting thirsty Shultö drink. The horse had no trouble sleeping that night but rest would not come to Nag Kath. He sat, as he often did, with his arms around his knees listening to night-birds. 

With the dawn, the Elf took Eniece’s earring box from Shultö’s oat bag and walked where the sun first shone on the slight northern slope. With a stick he chopped the soil loose, added a pinch of dirt from Emyn Vierald and carefully covered his little gureeq seed, wetting it with water from the stream. 

He sat and watched it the entire day. It was a magic seed, it might grow. The grain was the essence of Orlo after he was completely spent reviving Nag Kath, a last labor to destroy the Witch-stone. It would grow someday. What mattered was that this was the right time and the right place. The Elf never believed in fate. He still didn’t. He did believe that with experience and courage, decisions became easier. This was the easiest he had ever made. He stayed another night. Nothing grew. 

Nag Kath used no powers to make it germinate, but those powers were increasing. He felt the surge from the south the night the sorcerer returned and again when he changed bodies. Each time he touched power, he absorbed some. Nag Kath was here because he brought tools no one else had. It was time to try a new one. At high night, he walked to where he could see the foothills of Penethornost and thought as a call to Galadriel, saying simply; “War is coming. Home in five days.” He heard nothing back. If it didn’t work, he was no worse.

______________------_____________

The lordless lands taught one more lesson. By late afternoon, he came to another village that would be right about the intersection of the contested lands, Naitë and Thornost. Northwest was Galadriel and Celeborn’s city. This village was not full of friendly Hobbit-Elves. They looked at him coolly. Farmers; yes, but with a dollop of soldier too. They had a tavern with a hitch post so he tied Shultö and walked inside. Conversation stopped and started again. He sat at an empty table until the barman waved him up to order. Dinner would be another hour. They did have a passable tan ale. He got one and walked back to his chair.

With dinner came diners who all eyed him up and down before taking their usual seats except for three fellows whose table he had appropriated. After they stood there long enough he said, “I won’t bite.”

That was good enough and they sat down to some sort of Elvish stew. There was no escaping stew. When cookie in the Halls of Mandos rang the dinner-bell, the souls knew what they would get. Nag Kath had a bowl and ate the vegetables. In a lull of local conversation, one of his table guests asked, “Where you heading, young Quendu?”

“I make for Thornost.”

Another asked, “Where you from?”

“I was just in Arnost.”

That was more information than they wanted to know until another pint passed the gullet. The third said, “Not many are the folk who ply that route.”

Nag Kath figured they had no special sympathies for Naitë so he replied, “I wasn’t appreciated. My wife is in Thornost and I am counting the miles until I see her again.”

The same Elf asked, “You a soldier?”

“Here, no. Elsewhere, often. How far am I from the border?”

The first diner answered, “Naitë, twenty miles east. Penethornost, fifteen miles northwest.”

The second fellow had a livid scar down his left cheek, a blade wound that should have healed on an Elf but had not been stitched in time, if at all. Elvish flesh joins where it touches but will not align by itself. The soldier, and he had to be a soldier, noticed Nag Kath’s attention and said, “Fell on a plow.”

“I’ve got a few I’ll carry to the grave. Soldiers get their share.”

That was the last comment until Nag Kath ordered another pitcher with the toast, “To the victorious dead!”

The farmers were taken aback with that stock phrase but they raised their mugs and sipped silently. He hit a nerve. Nag Kath hunched-over his mug to ask, “What is this place?”

The third fellow said softly, “We are the shamed. You toasted the victorious dead. We were defeated and yet live.”

Nag Kath empathized, “I once released spirits of men who did not answer their lord’s call and were imprisoned in gaols of rock for thousands of years. They finally proved their courage and joined their ancestors in honor. Let our next toast be to them.” He raised his mug again and sipped the light ale.

They drank that more readily. Free beer was not enough of an obligation to confess; but the third Elf wanted to get this off his shoulders. "We were the Aelius Company of Colonel Iothano’s third brigade. The general, full of confidence, marched us into Galadriel’s veterans. They knew us for the greenbottoms we were and flanked us at a pinch-point. Three companies were already through. One fled north and was captured. The center stood and was slain. We ran like scalded dogs into the lordless-lands and were only chased to the border.”

He began to tear and had to blow his nose but he soldiered on. “There was no going back. Better they thought us dead than disgraced. Iothano was taken prisoner with most of his men and exchanged for the promise that Naitë would mind its own business.”

He finally started crying. Everyone else in the room was on the edge of their chair. The second Elf continued the story for him. “We came here and were taken in by the citizens of this place, given food and shelter, treated like we did not deserve to be marched into a trap and disgraced. We worked hard. Some of us married. We made it green. Now it is our home. If that makes us people you would not break bread with, be on your way.”

Nag Kath considered his mug before saying, “I am the last survivor of nine thousand, captured and imprisoned as the war was lost by the worst general ever created. I have spent my entire life paying for that. So no, friend, I will break bread with you.” He took a long pull and put the mug down in the ring of sweat.

Others pulled their chairs so that the small table had a six Elves around it and that many more standing behind them. Thirty-eight of sixty soldiers survived the assault and eighty-mile hike from the battleground into these foothills. The bulk of Naitë Mélamar’s forces fled behind their border at nearly a dead run but were not pursued. Meliath personally executed several top officers, including Iothano, so great was his rage. The general who ordered the attack was still a general. Life was cruel.

Nag Kath was in no hurry to leave the next day. Had he a line and hooks, he could have caught all the trout he wanted. They were no smarter than in Dunland. One of the Elves who stood in the background the night before sat in the grass next to him. He was silent for the longest time but there was still communication. Finally the Quendu cleared his throat to say, “It is not as bad as we said. Sometimes it feels good to unburden. This is Attëa Súlë. Here we grow food and live in peace, a better life than we had before. I hope it can continue forever.”

The changeling did not want to shatter his hope, but if last night was for honesty, so was the dawn, “It will not last another year. Meliath is now in thrall to a dark lord. He is already training his host for an assault on Thornost through the valley just to your south. They come next summer. If he wins, he will never leave, and he will never forgive. Lindareth supports across the Athradduin bridges directly to up to Galadriel’s haven. How they divide the spoils depends on who gets there first.

“I leave to tell the lords of the mountains. It is a desperate situation but I am a warrior and warriors fight. What will the Aelius Company do?”

The former ohtar asked, “You are sure?”

“I have foreseen it. Tell the thirty-eight that honor still awaits them. You have a land worth defending. I leave that to you.”


	69. Sowing the Seeds

** _Chapter 69_ **

** _Sowing the Seeds_ **

The council met an hour after dawn. Galadriel heard him and called for Elrond and his staff to join them. After spending the night in his wife’s arms, they met the lords.

Nag Kath had gotten good at explaining his queer adventures, completing just the facts and circling around to opinions with the questions. It still took two hours from start to finish. His ability to stun even people thousands of years old held. They knew more than they had explained about the two large gardhs agitating against the exiles. Morgoth was new. 

After his presentation, most of the conversation was about tactics and preparation. Nag Kath told Galadriel his vision of the field in her mirror before he left. Now he knew exactly where it was and had a good idea of when. Even if that knowledge meant an advantage of two thousand troops, they were still badly outnumbered. Between the two small gardhs they could force four thousand infantry and five hundred horse on the line. Meliath had ten thousand alone. 

Althunë, Elrond’s chief of staff asked, “Was the soldier you questioned any more specific about the timing?”

“No sir, he wasn’t. He knew they are short of horses. I saw no supply wagons. If the Lord thinks to invade a distance of eighty leagues on foot through their fallow western hill-country, they have to eat their way on local crops in the lordless-lands. Build stores now and burn the fields when the first ohtar crosses the border.”

Curiously, Caliquendi soldiers here did not eat Lembas -- at bottom, soldiers' rations where there had been constant wars. That was a Middle-earth convention from Galadriel who learned it from the Maiar Melian. What Nag Kath did not know until this moment were the blessings, using small sorcery, at different stages in their recipe. Except for hers and Elrond's, troops ate lightly, but in the manner of conventional Gondor soldiers with beasts to slaughter behind them. For grains they had either beasts of burden or used the ohtars’ backs, same thing, really. The lords talked another hour with Inariel patiently listening to every word and Nag Kath answering occasional questions. They broke at the Hobbit elevenses for the lords to talk among themselves.

Nag Kath took his wife to a stream and watched the water lap the bank. She knew he wanted to be with her. She knew he wanted so much to make a normal life for them here in paradise over the sea. That did not seem possible with the coming storm. Nag Kath did not bring this to their world, but he had the uncanny ability to step in the middle. Inariel put her head on his shoulder and watched the water. As Elrohir was discovering, rivers knew.

Lords assessed their resources. They had a one-to-three disadvantage at best. Enemy troops would not overrun support and get trapped like the last time. Lord Felaour to Elrond’s east was neutral but he despised Meliath. If his neighbor was now a dark lord’s servant, that might tip the scale to join the allies. Cirdan would have already told the northern capitals about the training and the darkness but not where the hammer would fall. 

They had to find Gandalf. The changeling had done as he asked. There was no doubt the wizard was deep in this pit. Messengers would scour every corner of the free lands. Then there was Thranduil. He could make noises on his border but if he was going to interfere with Lindareth’s advance, he needed to cross the river and drive for Raniegal, some two hundred miles into hostile territory. He could do it. Would he?

There was one embassy only Galadriel could take. King Finarfin and Queen Eärwen ruled the Ñoldorin Elves from their capital in Tirion and had done for over seven thousand years. He was the wisest and last of the family that had caused the Kinslaying and the exile of most Ñoldor to Middle-earth. In their story lay the tragedy of Elvendom. He and his followers heeded the Doom of Mandos and returned to Aman to avoid being banished with the Exiles.

Galadriel was Finarfin and Eärwin’s last surviving child and had only just been pardoned by the Valar from her exile. She chose to stay in Middle-earth against Sauron. When she returned in honor, Galadriel could have lived with her parents but she was long used to rule and came to the lands her husband’s retainers had tended, awaiting his arrival with the twins. She visited her mother and father after landing. They told her that the rogue Teleri Meliath would object, so she prepared. 

As she sat in the council, she looked at her hands in her lap and wondered how it was thus. After those same seven thousand years, Morgoth had started the war over the Silmarils all over again, among the very same people! How could they have learned so little? The vast majority of the pain and suffering had been in the east. They knew their monsters in Middle-earth. In Aman; out of sight, out of mind. She would go north with Elrond. Celeborn would stay and prepare their people for the horror.

People viewed Nag Kath strangely. No one dared admit it, but when he showed his Elf-Lord face answering military questions, he looked like he could be Finarfin’s much younger brother. No one remembered Nomaral, the poor Elf ancestor of the Uruk-hai, but young Nag was a ringer for the Lord of Tirion, the only blonde child of King Finwë.

Within the week, everyone who was leaving had gone. Polite society was not ready for Nag Kath so he and Inariel stayed with Celeborn. The changeling worked with the military, advised on what he had seen of the Naitë formations and practiced slow-swords every morning to steel his mind. He and Celeborn knew his true use would not be as a line soldier, but he would not seem shirking preparations as a pampered lordling.

Inariel made herself useful. With training come injuries. She healed the cuts and breaks, flowing in the field applying remedies. Occasionally they dined with Lord Celeborn but had spare time for privacy, and for learning. Gandalf’s tedious lessons of the various Elvish factions and wars became relevant. A wise Elf, blinded in the Last Great Alliance, gently poured lore into Nag Kath’s thick head. The Quendu cautioned him not to be like those Elves falling into despair seeing the circle repeating. In his perverse, orcish way, Nag Kath expected the same people to fight over the same things. 

They shared a quick dinner with Celeborn a few weeks after his Lady and the others rode to find allies in the north. The great Lord was learning to like Nag Kath and he already loved Inariel. The changeling complimented him on the quality of his ohtars. They never really stood-down after the tussle with Meliath. They were also better skirmishers and guerilla fighters than traditional, full-wave Elvish assault troops. That might matter in those hills.

Celeborn allowed himself a small smile and said, “Thank you. In our counting, they are not that far from the war. I confess; they do not know quite what to make of you.”

Nag Kath considered that and replied, “That is for the better, My Lord.” The deliberations of the high were not shared widely. Nag Kath was simply a guest, husband of the important Lady visiting here. He had never shown any sorcery or even mentioned it to anyone not of the inner circle. The mystery guest took a sip of tea and continued, “What will you do with Lieutenant Aurthil, sir?

“I understand he is distinguishing himself.”

“He is a spy.”

It was just the three of them and two attendants who surely heard that. Nag Kath took the Lord’s silence as permission to continue, “There is a hint of blackness about him. Has he visited kin or traveled lately?”

Celeborn was still for a moment and said, “I do not know. That would not be unusual. He is Sindar, of my own people.” The Lord’s great grandchildren could see the thought behind those gray eyes.

Nag Kath was sure he was thinking how someone so close could have betrayed him, so he offered, “I do not think he knows, My Lord. He is like your daughter, influenced against his will with a touch of latent sorcery. It is reversible. There may be others. I think we must plan on corruption by the enemy. 

“Here is where I am at a loss, Lord Celeborn; you may want him reporting the obvious and keep him away from our knowledge of Melkor’s involvement. This seems an entirely Elvish dispute. If I restore him, our knowledge of the sorcery is revealed.”

Celeborn was angry. He bore into Nag Kath, “Have you been doing this to all my people?”

Inariel was uncomfortable but kept her face calm. Her husband was unconcerned, “No, but I have become so sensitive to it after Arnost that I can divine that humor from being close. That said; I have been with line troops who stay here. If I were looking, it would be with the drovers and scouts on the periphery.”

The Lord lost none of his intensity, “We are already sweeping those areas, but not for sorcery.”

“May I make a suggestion, sir?” 

“You will whether I permit it or not.”

This was a yarn so he began slowly, “The day after I found the field, I happened into a village that had taken half a company of Meliath’s men in after their defeat at the border. They were shamed and would not go to a bad home for judgment. I told them their peace was ending and that the chance was coming to redeem themselves. You need eyes and you need allies. The contested lands need to defend themselves no less than any other people.

“I will go to them and see if they are ready for their own lordship rather than Meliath’s … or yours. They must choose soon.”

The contested lands featured prominently in the first circle discussion, especially since the changeling identified his vision in the mirror. The isolated folk there kept the same leadership structure in the counties and towns but they acknowledged no supreme gardh lord. They were also amicable and other than the usual border squabbles, got along well and went to each other’s fetes. The mood was against Meliath as he became hostile not only to the exiles but anyone in his sphere. The fallow lands along the border had kept them from the thinly populated end of the dark lord's gardh, but now they knew as surely as the sun would rise that the Eastern tyrant was coming. Quendi were friendlier towards Galadriel. She and Celeborn had more land than they could use now and seemed content. 

Celeborn considered that quickly and said, “Yes, please go. I expect you will want to do that without an escort.”

“I do this best quietly, sir, though I think my lovely bride would enjoy the countryside.” He smiled at her. She was ready for something new. 

The Lord returned to the spy, “I think we let him lie for now. There are two wars here. Let everyone think we ready for the one in plain sight. Your preparations for the Contested Lands might take you past our transports.” He lilted the last word to make it a question. From him it was an order. 

______________------_____________

Inariel was excited. It had been a year since they were on the road together. As they were leaving, the thick-headed in-law made a goat’s breakfast of rummaging through the stores and supply wagons while his long-suffering lady-wife waited patiently. He smiled and shook his head after a fruitless search.

This was still business but they stopped at every inn and town and haystack, saying hello to farm-folk on their side of the border and into the lordless lands. It took an extra day to reach the village of the shamed. One of the original three diners was a leather-crafter for harnesses and traces. The Kath’s visited him at his home which was also the tack shop. When they walked in, the fellow pulled a coin from his pocket and handed it to his wife saying, “My dear, these are friends. We may need a little extra meat tonight.” She got his drift and her husband paying cash was to be celebrated, so she curtsied and said she would be back after a while.

The Quendu did not rise or stop stitching a set of reins but he did say, “Hartharn told us what you said. We have been watching. There is nothing new, but deeper into Naitë the militias have not disbanded.”

Nag Kath thought some introductions were in order. “I was not my courtly best last time. I am Nag Kath and this is my wife Inara. We are here about the same business.”

“My name is Eämiul, a pleasure. Tell me of your business.”

The changeling answered, “First, on your children’s heads, who among you are still loyal to Meliath?”

“None. He abandoned us and cursed us for his own stupidity. He is a lesser lord than his father, which is not saying much. I tell you this for nothing; we do not want to be lorded by the witch either.”

Inariel took that, “She does not want to rule you, but Meliath will when he runs roughshod through this valley. War is when lordship is needed. Can these lands form a high council to defend?”

He looked closely in her eyes and said, “You speak wisely, but you are a child. How is this possible?”

It was time to find out, “Forgive me, Eämiul, how can you tell?”

“The ring around your pupil is not fully formed. You cannot be twenty.”

Inariel laughed, “Fifteen, in this my second life. Nag Kath had also lived before. We know things we should not. One of those is that the Dark Lord Morgoth is inciting Meliath’s intended conquest. Not all powers are against us.”

Eämiul glanced between the immature eyeballs and muttered, “Bless us all.”

Nag Kath built on that, “More to the moment, Meliath does not have enough horses to haul his supplies. We expect them to march when they can strip the fields on the way. The allies will have to burn them first. How are your grain reserves?”

“Good. We have all of last years’. With the new crop in they are usually destroyed against rats, but that will not be done until after the autumn festival.”

The changeling sighed in relief. “Then it will be a good year for the rodents. You must know every inch of the troop-way in here. I make it five miles wide on the Naitë side of these hills.”

“Wider, I should think. Naitë farmers are plowing poor fields near the border even now to plant winter-wheat in March for the early harvest. Now we know why.”

Details could come later. Nag Kath said more amiably, “Inara and I will take our leisure. Perhaps you could arrange a meeting of those you trust away from the ears of that lovely tavern.”

The leather-Quendu considered, “You will stay with us tonight. Tomorrow some of us will take time from our labors to give thanks for our blessings.”

Dinner was relaxed. It was just the four of them. Three of them ate a beef haunch. This household did not keep wine or ale but enjoyed it at the tavern. Eämuil went out for a pint and was back within the hour. The next morning after chores, the Kaths followed their host to a barn a quarter mile away where they joined five more Quendu and two Quenda. Nag Kath recognized three males from the tavern.

This was his show. “Good morning and thank you for coming. I did not introduce myself last time but I am Nag Kath and this is my wife Inara.”

One of the women looked in her eyes and seemed scandalized. He realized he was a babe too as these people aged. It was the message that mattered. “I returned to tell you what I told Hartharn last time; the forces of Naitë will invade Thornost next summer. They will do so right through these lands, turning the northern corner of the barrier hills. Lindareth of Farnëmar will come from the south in a pincer. You must hide your grains and foods, but not all. Plant your crops as usual in the spring but they must burn before Meliath can dine on them.”

The scandalized woman’s husband said, “You seem very sure of yourself, young Quendu.”

In his usual, nonplussed way, Nag Kath responded, “Reasonably. They till along their path even now and you all know troops are digging in a few days south, far enough from the border not to challenge.”

The farmer nodded, “Aye, you have me there.”

Even more scandalously, Inariel added, “Galadriel has no designs on your lands. She and Celeborn are content with what they have, but they intend to keep what they have. We told honored Eämuil that Meliath is in league with dark sorcery of an almost forgotten evil. This is not about any one land here. Morgoth wants it all. I am sorry for your losses but they march only a half-day’s ride south. You will organize and fight or you will be the first slaves.”

That was blunter than her husband would have couched things, but disregarding her relative Elf-youth, she was the daughter of the King of the West. They knew how to explain things. Nag Kath returned to his point, “You told me you were here from defeat. I told you I was the sole survivor of a terrible war. We understand each other. Make it your pledge to tell others in these lands they must prepare. I do not tell you to form great councils or find a leader. Done well, quality folk will rise to the top and you can take your pick after the threat.”

He looked at his glowing bride and said, “My Lady and I are going to go catch some fish and leave you to discuss your course. We will return here two days hence for your thoughts. Thank you again for listening.”

______________------_____________

They rode to the valley. It was hard to imagine such a serene place would host the carnage he imagined. He had not seen that. He felt it. That was worse. Orlo’s seed area was dry so he watered it again. They caught two fish and cooked them for dinner on his Trum Dreng frying pan. 

That night, after a week of stress and planning and carrying the weight of the world, they were urgently intimate and truly alone. She observed Elvish couples enter the time of joining in Thornost and Harvién. It brought forth new feelings that went past her human desires. Inariel incorporated those into her movements and pleasures. He noticed. Perhaps that was what it would take to bring a new Elf into this world. She was now healthy, more so than they could have known in Middle-earth. The call of the Undying Lands might have dampened fertility in her fragile state as both woman and Elf. Night was not the time to question that. In the morning, they lay together as they often did. He was expecting sweet banter. What he got was, “Darling, just how evil are you?”

“Fair to middling. Why?”

“You have three lots of grain; the old, the fresh and the unsown.” 

“Aye, plenty for all.”

She said in a voice that belied no gravity, “Plenty for invaders too?”

“If they find it.”

“Maybe they should.”

He had to let that sink in a few moments before his face froze in the perfect mating of horror and humor. She added in the same tone as Queen Delatha of Dale said of her fingernails, “It would be a pity if it was not to their taste.”

Nag Kath grinned, “Was that why I married you? And all this time I thought it was your saucy figure.”

It was almost flawless in its simplicity. Strategic depots of captured grain would be contaminated with sorcery to produce an effect, not strong enough for enemy sorcerers to detect, but ohtars would be disoriented with empty bowels when they trudged to the line. He had done it before, just not on this scale. He never had advance-notice either. Morgoth’s man in Farnëmar had a belly full of Lostorin. Nag Kath needed to speak to Galadriel about that. Against it; Nag Kath did not know the local binding plants. He knew who did but she was safely in Cirdan’s port. There must be other healers. Galadriel was a pure sorceress of mind and spirit. This called for someone elemental. There was time. He rolled over and rewarded his helpful bride.

They spent the morning riding to the crest just to the southeast, looking at how a large host must march up and around. That presumed Lindareth was taking the inside route straight along the foothills. They made it to the edge of the shamed village and set a fireless camp. He had said tomorrow morning and that was soon enough. That night he simply held her. There might be coming days when that was not possible. Both of them savored just the touch.

With light, the Kaths rode to the little barn hoping for company. They were early. After listening to rattling buckets and well-cranks for a while, folk made their way individually and sat silently in the straw. Eämuil arrived last and spoke for the thirty-eight, “One of our number chose not to return but will keep his peace. We are agreed that our home is in peril by those we served. We will not bear arms, but we will do as you ask and tell others our view of the situation in the northern counties.”

The next words came harder. Eämuil said gravely, “We also understand that we cannot feed the coming invaders and will prepare to destroy the crops, some of us taking the initiative for those who will not know. They will share in the cache.”

Nag Kath broke the long silence saying, “I need the ohtars to find your food.” He answered the blank stares with, “It should be badly hidden three miles east of town.” With that he rolled out a crude map of the swath he expected the invaders to take with two dots ten leagues apart. The first was fifteen miles into Naitë Mélamar. He looked up and said, “I saw this town from the hills. Does anyone know it?

Hartharn answered, “Hastëste, about the same size as here. They grow better sweet beets. We have the melons.”

“How are their grain stores?”

Another Quendu who had not been introduced said, “Good, same as ours. Last year was strong. Not so good further into the plains for lack of rain and poor soil. That is why so few folk live within forty leagues of the border, and much of what is grown is sent towards Arnost. Their horses have not borne well either.”

Former ohtar Eämuil saved time, “Do not bother with the town. The last army granary is only a mile north of it.”

Inariel said, “Then we can ask no more. Expect us back before year’s end.” As they parted, she noticed the scandalized woman was with child and joined her walking back into the village while Nag Kath took a ride for a view of the land from the last northern hill. As the Quenda were walking, the pregnant woman said, “Forgive my staring the other day. It was none of my business to judge your experience.”

Inariel was disarming, “Please, do not give it another thought. I am older than I look, nearing fifty-eight.”

In two hundred years she would still be a child-bride. Her tall husband was barely older than her. What queer circumstances could have created this union? When her uncomfortable companion said nothing, Inariel filled the gap with, “I am a healer much experienced in birthing. So is Nag Kath. That is how we met.”

So she was under-aged and familiar with joining and bringing forth? Precianal wondered that this demonstration was invented from whole-cloth and thought to test it, “You met while you were having a child?”

Inariel giggled, “Dear me no. He came to my aid as a healer and not three days later, we helped turn a breach-baby. My mother, father and grandfather were all healers. It runs in the family.”

“I see. Of course you are too young for the joining.”

Now what would the Princess say? These people did not consider how mortals brought forth their generations. Inariel would learn more, “I lost my mother quite young. When might a lady could expect to be so blessed?”

Precianal confided, “I was four hundred and twelve for my first, a mere lass. That was only a hundred and sixteen years ago, so, you see, you are younger than my little girl.”

Four hundred! Perhaps her transition earned special dispensation. This was a land of infinite patience. It would seem that long. She still had work to do, “Precianal, are there healers in this region, those who are adept with herbs and caring?”

“I see you are from the city. Out here, we stitch our own cuts and set bones. I am told there is a woman near the Thornost border who has those skills, or did. She came here from the east with her queen. Now the witch-queen in Thornost, she is the one who would know!”

______________------_____________

Inariel took her man in the hayloft like it had been months. When he caught his breath he whispered, “Something happened?”

“I found I cannot have children for four hundred years.”

He grinned at the roof, “I would have guessed sooner.”

“Quiet, silly. You are supposed to be supportive.” She became more serious, “That is a terribly long time.”

He held her closer and replied, “I am happy now. I could stand a lot of this.”

She changed the subject, “There is a healer on the way home in Thornost. We passed her village coming here. The Quenda with child told me the healer came with great grandmother so she is recently of Middle-earth. Does that not seem to be away from most patients?”

“Oh my dear; man or Elf, that is a hard business. No one trusts you. Finding welcoming folk is half the battle.”

“Hughmmm.” He took that to mean they should get closer to their four hundred years.

He would not break his arm this time. Like most towns in Penethornost, this one had a name. The pregnant lady underestimated the size and Inariel was uncertain about the location. Teleponis was on the road towards Farnëmar ten miles below their turn to the capital. It was large enough for an inn. The Solvanths heaved their bags on the cot. Except for luxury accommodations, Elvish inns usually had comfortable chairs for sitting rest and a cot or blankets to lay down. Arriving after dark, they took chaste rest and would ask about herbs with the sun.

This was not the cobwebbed shop of Mrs. Hürna. The lady lived in a pleasant cottage just off the edge of town with a small herb garden and a larger area for vegetables already in for the year. Nag Kath knocked on the door. No one came. He knocked again and then they walked around the back to see a woman grinding meal for bread. 

You can’t sneak-up on an Elf. She heard them and turned saying, “Oh, hello dears. I won’t be a moment. Go around to the front and let yourselves in.” She scooped her meal into a bowl and went in through the back. The home was quite Elvish but there were elements that rang of Middle-earth. Drying her hands on her smock she said, “You don’t look hurt. Have you an ailment?”

Inariel smiled and said, “No, we wanted to ask you about your services.”

A human healer would have thought of ways to get them out the door with a minimum of breakage but she just smiled and asked, “What kind of service, child?”

He answered, “We are healers ourselves and in need of counsel. The plants of this land are unknown to us.”

Now she became leery and wondered, “Can’t say as I remember you. Neither of you are old enough for the last ship.”

Inariel agreed, “No, we are more recently arrived.”

“When?”

Her Ladyship answered, “Last year.”

The healer muttered to herself then said, “Better sit down.” Tea would have to wait until she made the fire for the bread. The Quenda lived alone. 

Nag Kath asked, “Ma’am, can you heal by induction?”

He got the same answer he would have in Osgiliath, “Depends on who wants to know.”

With a flash of silver, a stone candlestick holder lifted off the low table and hovered in the air for a few moments before finding its way back.”

“Am I in trouble?”

Inariel answered, “No, dear lady. We need help. Very soon we will all need help.”

“Is this about that mud-spider to the east?”

Nag Kath replied, “I could not have put it better. I intend to give them things to snack on so they don’t arrive hungry. You don’t need to mention that, by the way.”

She cackled. Witches of any breed cackle, even fair ones. “Well, aren’t you a pair. You are a babe and he a child, a child who looks like Lord Finarfin.”

They hadn't heard the comparison before. Princess Inariel misinterpreted, “I am King Finarfin’s only great, great grandchild. The rest of my family is already entreating allies against the mud-spiders, Mrs …?”

“Garritholan, and it’s miss.”

Nag Kath took the reins, “Miss Garritholan, Morgoth now commands Lord Meliath's mind and is near to Lord Lindareth. They march this way next summer. I plan to spike the grain they forage to induce, shall we say, discomfort. In Middle-earth I had long experience with binders and draws but do not know their like in Aman. I ask your help now that you know the generals will scorch the earth and all who stand on it.”

“Well, since you put it so nicely. Can you stay the night? This will take a while.”

They spent the rest of the day going over what was available, how it was similar or not to substances in Middle-earth and about everything the healer knew. She even knew a few of the spells he did though she drew through air. There were equivalents for most of the plants Nag Kath used, though in unexpected places. He needed quantity too. Stores smuggled over the border would receive the binder. Found local caches were the trigger. Put them together too soon and any sorcerers in the ranks would sniff them out. He also had the problem of tainting the supply ten miles into enemy lines. That would take some old-fashioned, scholarly fraud. First he needed to know what he could do.

By late afternoon the healer hadn't laid the fire so she looked to Inariel saying, “Would your Ladyship mind going into town and getting us some dinner. My cook has the day off.” When Inariel rose she added, “The Swan Tavern will have something.” She was off. Nag Kath took the opportunity to unsaddle the horses and water them in a stream a little further out of town. 

When he walked back in the healer asked, “Will it work?”

“Probably, but more important things have to work first. I don’t suppose you have seen any traveling wizards lately?”

“You mean Orórin?”

“He’ll do.”

“Not lately. He was on the ship with his long beard. It fell out. That was before your time.”

“No, he was my mentor when I was very young. I saw him last year and need to see him again. On the subject, let me tell you what we are up against. First, a sorcerer powerful enough to change bodies is servant to Morgoth, a bit like the Witch-King. His name is Talifür if that matters anymore. The dark one has his claws in a lord of Farnëmar too, and certainly more in high places.”

“Yahch! Here I thought we were quit of them.”

Inariel let herself in with a basket and set it on the cluttered table. She smiled, “They had fish.” 


	70. The Reckoning

** _Chapter 70_ **

** **

** _The Reckoning_ **

She approached humbly, with grace and poise. At the appropriate distance, she bowed deeply and rose with a faint smile. Seated before her on matching thrones were two of the fairest and oldest Elves on earth; her parents. They both rose from their seats to embrace her.

Galadriel could not live here, but she had visited every ten years since she returned from Middle-earth. It had only been five years and this time she was without her husband. Lord Elrond and her two grandsons were quartered elsewhere in the magnificent palace of one of the most beautiful cities in the world.

Mother Eärwin smiled graciously, “Welcome back, child. We understand there are difficulties.” 

King Finarfin nodded before adding, “I am sorry it must follow you.”

Galadriel smiled in reply, “Do not worry for me father. I am strong. Though I fear an old menace has returned.”

Queen Eärwin said gently, “Come, tell us in our chambers. Your family will join us for the late meal.”

The King and Queen did nothing quickly. Every movement was full and measured. In the north was how real Elves lived. They had not left the city in hundreds of years and even then, not very far. That was the last time they spoke with the Vanyar now living in the center of the continent. Decisions were slow in coming too. Thankfully Cirdan, every bit as old as they, was quick on his feet and sailed with most of Nag Kath’s story the day after Elurín reached home. King Olwë, now in Alqualondë, would have heard as well.

Galadriel explained what they knew. Morgoth, for all his wreckage, left these shores after destroying the trees and was primarily Middle-earth’s problem. His power and cruelty became so great that most of the clans here joined the remaining Valar and captured him, destroying vast swathes of the Middle-earth in the doing. The dark lord, most powerful of all the Ainur, was imprisoned in the void where he was supposed to be incapable of escaping.

That is a persuasive contention, made by those to be believed. But no vessel is inviolable, especially when untended. Why he wasn’t ground to dust and thrown by the pinch to the winds of the world was never adequately addressed. King, Queen and Princess, their heir, sat in the private quarters for a conversation none of them wanted. But nor were they afraid. They were the very last full blood of the tragic King Finwë, thinly continued through Celebrían, the twins and now the lovely newcomer who would need much explaining. 

Galadriel told them every last word. When she was done, Finarfin said, “Much of this we heard from Cirdan. He and his people are our eyes on the sea. There are other friends.”

Eärwin added, “Lord Felaour is open. When we meet with Lord Elrond, he can add to our understanding. What is less certain is this Kath creature. Is he an ally?”

Galadriel allowed herself a smile. “Yes, mother, but a curious resource. Had you heard of him before?”

“No, daughter. He was an orc who became an Elf? I find that disturbing.”

Galadriel allowed herself an even bigger smile. “Everyone does. He is a mix of Istari, Elf, perhaps a little remaining orc, but mostly a man. Nag Kath has done great service, including saving Celebrían from the grips of Morgoth. She sends her best and is now truly Lady of Harvién." She looked demurely at the King and added, “What is most disconcerting; he looks a great deal like you, father dear.”

Finarfin was not amused, “Cirdan told me. He said he knew the poor ohtar too.”

Queen Eärwin touched her daughter’s hand to say, “We will discuss the hard things to be done after dinner. Now, tell us of your family, dear child.”

Elrond did not visit often but he was a relative both by blood and marriage. Elrohir and Elladan were here frequently. Their great grandparents always gently mentioned that they were of a good age to take brides. And as the last of the line, what a joy it would be to welcome another generation! The twins agreed but had no news on that front. Now there was baby Inariel. 

Dinner, by tradition, was also about family. One did not discuss items of contention or low company during the meal. After retiring to the sitting-room, they were deep in the details. The military situation seemed the easier, despite the numbers Meliath could marshal. And ten thousand was a guess. He had sixty thousand subjects, half male, all capable of wielding a weapon. If he and his minions could rouse the population to arms, it could be twenty thousand. The bulk would be poorly trained and armed in a world without war for two ages.

Morgoth was the unknown. He did not have orcs, or dragons or even many horses for his foul purpose. Even in the dark lord's weakness, perhaps because of it, convincing northern allies was an uphill climb. Finarfin would go to the Vanyar himself if King Olwë would come. Only the Vanyar or Teleri Elves could approach the Valar. Finarfin was the ‘clean’ Ñoldorin, but that alone was not enough. And where was Gandalf? He sent the changeling into the wilds without saying why, after being in Eldamar, of all places. That was a year ago. It was possible he was with the Valar in their havens of the west but old Orórin was not disposed to a life of leisure. He was more likely deep in the enemy’s world and not available for comment.

Eärwen wanted to hear more about Inariel. She had never met Arwen or Aragorn but had heard of them through returning firstborn over the years. There were their two mortal great, great grandchildren as well. An exciting innovation; Elrond brought pictures of them drawn by the queer changeling. This was what people actually looked like! There were other pictures too; including the valley and the wraith Talifür. Finarfin studied the sketches intently before taking his rest. 

Olwë was of the first moment. High King of the Teleri, he should have some nominal control over the renegade Meliath, but Meliath was Morgoth’s creature now. Attacking the mountain gardhs was a ruse. The dark lord was not interested in taking bits of ground and forcing accommodation with his neighbors. It was a question of who was next. It always had been. The Elves responded better at some times than others.

Olwë had more overall subjects than Finarfin and they were less fractious than the Ñoldorin had been. They were also spread further. If Meliath’s Teleri still counted, those were furthest from Alqualondë. Felaour’s large Teleri fief next to Elrond was densely populated and had good reason to mistrust Naitë Mélamar. Cirdan was of that clan and there were ports and towns sprinkled along the Bay of Eldamar long held by Teleri, Ñoldor and Sindar mixes. The difficulty was that Olwë stayed to Alqualondë or his island fortress of Tol Eressëa and seldom spoke with the other Elvish houses.

Elrohir was dispatched the following day with a convincing escort to plead for the King to come to Tirion and thence to the Vanyar living inland. If he came here, round trip to the Golden Elves was two months at best. It had to be done. If Olwë could not commit his peoples to plugging the leak in the void, it would be a desperate fight in the south.

______________------_____________

Nag Kath surmised that was happening. Lords have councils, they consider, they move deliberately and maybe they do something. He had his hands full baiting traps. Celeborn gave him a stout wagon to ride into the shamed village of Attëa Súlë. With him he brought piles of local weeds. 

There the changeling tainted two batches of wheat. The first was a Lostorinbased poisoned with ground root of palmath which made a working binder when cursed with a deeping spell. He had to make hundreds of pounds of it and slept every night for a week until it was prepared. That had to be carted to Naitë and dumped on the grain reserves in the staging area.

Next he conjured a trigger with ground grains of amanthage under a confusion spell. That was dissolved in water and sprayed on another five hundred pounds of wheat. When mixed with the binder from Naitë, it should make the soldiers confused, dizzy and desperately loose in the bowels ... susceptible too. Both batches should be added to tons of good wheat as evenly as possible. 

Inside Naitë was harder. Before he left the last time, he asked his new friends of the Aelius Company to ‘borrow’ drover uniforms from the local Naitë militia. They got him one that fit. He and Harthorn took the two-horse team the long way around to the granary depot and arrived just late enough the next afternoon to catch the militia hungry for dinner. 

Harthorn did the talking since he was of these folk. "Sarn't, got another shipment for you. Where does it go?”

“What is it?”

Harthorn drawled, “Wheat, this year’s crop.”

“Put it with the rest.”

They didn’t know where the rest was but no one was to be asked more than one question if possible. A trooper with his boots off was trying to make sense of what used to be a pair of socks. Harthorn called again, “Where is the wheat storage?”

The ohtar pointed at two block silos before attending his foot-sores. 

Harthorn smiled and thanked him as his gut twisted. This was the Castle-Turn Militia and ohtars’ socks were rags! Everyone knew Meliath was a miser but this was the army! What Nag Kath would tell him on the way home, provided they made it, was that the barefoot lad was two or three steps closer to being an orc than he was before the hated mountain-lords of Middle-earth blighted these Undying Lands. Naitë people had slowly stopped living like Elves. The low gave and the high kept. Thousands of farmers were forced to hope someone harvested their crops while they practiced stabbing people none of them disliked. They were closer to the start of the dark road than the end, but it only went one way.

That was all to the good for the Aelius sabotage team slowly clopping towards the depot. Naitë used the sort of silos that were built into a hill with the exit doors at various heights in front and the loading chute up an easy grade behind them. They backed-up the rise to shovel their wheat into the top of the first silo. 

In a healthy Elvish community, a half-dozen hearty folk would help them unload the wagon. No one was there. This was too good to be true. Against an opportunity like this, Nag Kath mixed a secondary taint in a pair of ale barrels tied to the wagon rails. It was just water and salmoë extract which would mildew everything it touched within days. With no one even watching, they poured the drums in, threw dry wheat over the surface and replaced the silo cover. Then they backed the team to the other silo and shoveled in their palmath-tainted wheat. It took two hours, alone and in silence with wet gauze around their faces. Hartharn closed the lid and they rode home. Nobody paid them any more attention on the way out than in.

Another team of the Aelius had spiked the secret granary with instructions to wear wet swaddling around their mouths and noses and bathe afterwards. The rats would know better than to eat that wheat. His work done, Nag Kath tapped a third barrel he brought with more popular contents. 

______________------_____________

High Lords were less successful. King Olwë was deeply concerned but would not start a war over Meliath. The involvement of Morgoth was inconclusive. Even if he was slowly leaking into Valinor, he had yet to appear. His Highness did agree to let Felaour build his forces, which he was already doing, and gave Cirdan complete autonomy for his conduct, which he always had. Meliath’s ambassador in Alqualondë resigned when he heard Talifür was chancellor and stayed there with distant family. That should have told all.

All this scotched the Ñoldorin embassy to Valmar. Neither Finarfin nor Galadriel had been involved in the Kinslaying but they were blood of those who had, which limited their influence among the Golden Elves. It was a four-hundred mile ride each way to sip tea and likely hear the same sympathy they got from Olwë.

High King Finarfin searched his soul. Most of the Ñoldorin, apart from Lindareth’s lot, either lived near Tirion or along the coast. His people never truly recovered from the tragedy of the Silmarils and the War of Wrath. Even as commander of a successful host in the war, he returned to the bitter legacy of his family, further sundered when Lindareth led those opposed to his brothers' treachery south. 

Upon hearing of Olwë’s refusal, Finarfin sat in his garden and looked at the same stars his great, great grandson-in-law pondered with the astrologers of Arnost. Queen Eärwen joined him in silence. Knowing he wanted to think, she left him a mug of cold tea, kissing him gently. Was the changeling right that Melkor was behind this madness? Was this a call to restore his people or complete their extinction? There were so few left.

The King asked Galadriel, Elrond, Elrohir and Elladan to join him and his Queen after breakfast. The four trooped in not knowing what to expect. His Highness made his own formidable Elf-Lord face saying, “I will raise an army of three thousand and cross the Valaduin by the end of May. If I can persuade any on my way, I will bring more. Galadriel, your mother will remain here and govern in my stead in hopes of victory and an end to the sundering. I prepare in secret. Look to my coming in June. May the Valar bless our noble cause.”

There was absolute silence in the room. The Queen broke the spell, “We would be helped if one of our great grandsons could stay and acquaint us with your methods Lord Elrond.” He bowed. “We suggest you return home by way of Lord Felaour’s lands where may be found support and good counsel.” He bowed even deeper thinking that to mean ground had already been plowed to ask for troops. 

They stayed another three days, some because they were family and some for the grinding detail it takes to organize a great host of winning soldiers. They did not get what they wanted, not even half, but it gave them a fighting chance. 

______________------_____________

The embassy returned to Harvién in the first week of November. Celeborn rode with his top army advisors and a stout escort to meet them. Nag Kath and Inariel remained in Thornost. They were used to not being in the highest councils by now and did not begrudge their exclusion. 

Nag Kath had a sizeable troop of slow-sword ohtars for dawn practice. Some of them were poetry in motion, better than the changeling. His movements were a compromise of being slow yet retaining the memory of speed. They were flawless at any speed and he learned from them. Nag Kath also kept an eye on the tainted Lieutenant Aurthil who did not join in swordplay. The changeling was very careful not to show any magic to him or anyone else here. In his absence, Celeborn gave Chief-of-Staff Lord Odalimrin command of the army. The civil administration was unchanged. With Nag Kath’s talents in deep reserve, Odalimrin considered him just another junior officer who married above his station and left him alone.

Inariel kept busy with several babies due shortly. Somehow the world creates more children when war is in the wind. All were perfectly healthy. The children of men had the difficulties. She enjoyed the company of women preparing for birth. In that role they saw her as more adult than precocious child and were glad of her. 

Well north, Elrond, Galadriel and Celeborn visited the realm of Formenhobas, long home of Lord Felaour. Declared neutral since the Ring War Elves arrived, he was slowly allying with his newer neighbors. It was not so much a shared bond as the growing threat of Meliath. His close friend Cirdan sent emissaries to tell him of the darkness. As far as he was concerned, Morgoth's involvement vitiated the strained Teleri chords of the past. His northern lands on the Valaduin River already had a great many Sindar and Ñoldorin Elves, none of whom seemed determined to re-steal Silmarils.

Felaour agreed to send a thousand infantry across the bridge into Penethornost to join the host when King Finarfin’s troops arrived. He would raise militias on his side of the river in the event Meliath crossed to reach Harvién. The mountain Lords said they thought they knew the attack route but that was no guarantee any of Naitë’s troops would take it, much less all of them. The allies returned to Harvién pleased with the outcome. There had still been no word from Thranduil or his neutral neighbor Benamtilith along the southern coast. Gandalf was still unearthed. 

Celeborn and Galadriel were home in March with senior staff from both Elrond and King Finarfin. Preparations were satisfactory here. They had arms, armor and kit. Most of their time was spent inspecting troops and fittings for a push eastward. They did not want to reinforce their eastern border too soon. Galadriel went secretly to the contested lands for a look herself. Nag Kath’s new ears along Naitë reported no heavy troop concentrations but the camps a hundred miles southeast had not released their militias.

After the flush of her Ladyship’s return, Nag Kath asked Galadriel for a private conversation. She readily agreed. They were the magical Elves. He started, “My lady, do you know confusion spells?”

“I know of them, but they were ken of the mannish witches.”

He explained the Doureg compounds witches used as binders to anchor spells in attempted coups in Dale and Dol Amroth. With a grin he added, “I dosed Morgoth’s man in Farnëmar with a massive amount of Lostorin. That is a binder to condition or retain other spells. You are stronger than the one who controls Vantieth. If I teach you the spell, can you use your ósanwe (far-speaking -- entering of another's mind) to confuse him?”

She was silent. He continued, “I used the unbound spell on a general of Mordor to countermand his lord’s order. He sat in camp and they lost the battle.”

Her eyes sliced into him before commanding, “I would know this spell!”

It took her only minutes to learn, summoning far beyond his incipient talent. Even with Nenya reduced to jewelry, her experience and residual drawing was superior. A wary volunteer was deeply confused. Just as quickly, Nag Kath showed her the clarity spell which also fascinated her.

“My Lady, if you, or we together, can convince Vantieth to sit or attack trees or do anything but drive over the bridges for even two weeks, it will be of the greatest moment. He is already under dark control, so he is susceptible, and likely easy to find. Please, Lady Galadriel, give me your hand.” She did without hesitation. He showed her the pulse Selvas sent before the massive response by Melkor. “If you feel that, you know where to find him. Morgoth too.”

She gave him her wry smile knowing he had been underestimated again. Unknown to the spy in camp, her engineers and artillery troops were already at the middle for of the southern foothill bridges, ready to destroy it at need. That could not be done to the bridge further east in the lordless-lands, but that seemed a less likely place for Lindareth to cross since his strategic purpose was to hug the foothills rather than cross over rougher terrain in the barrier hills. Much depended on the angry Lords taking the easy path.

Arnost was busy as well. There would be no more foolishness with diamonds or possessions. Meliath was brought in full service of the dark ones. Selvas had a stronger body. His powers were greater. He could instruct Vantieth, not in words, but intentions were clear. In April, Vantieth rode with his black escort to Arnost for consultation. Farnëmar would settle with Cirdan after Thornost was burned. Their soldiery was incited to blood-hate. That was not a natural Elvish view. As Selvas infused his darkness into heralds and selected officers, they preached to the public. Those who disagreed were taught the error of their ways. Two lesser drawing healers were slain but they never found Daelor. 

More to the moment, regular army and militias in mostly northern Naitë were raised and started moving west along their northern border, near enough for Lord Felaour's pickets to watch. No merchant traffic was allowed to leave. They had adequate grain to mass before the strike but not enough horses to pull supply wagons across the badlands if they wanted cavalry for skirmishing. Ohtars would have to carry what they needed to the contested lands. Planners counted on two full silos near the border to get them well inside the lordless territory before they needed to forage. 

Similar, if more merciful, arrangements were underway with the allies. By the first of May, resident armies were nearly assembled but kept well clear of the borders. There were no raids or probes-in-force. Everyone tried to look like nothing was happening. 

As promised, King Finarfin crossed the Valaduin with three thousand troops and three hundred non-combatants on June first. Felaour’s thousand cavalry would trickle into their southern forest above the Naitë bridge for further instruction. As solemn as his progress was, Finarfin allowed himself a short stay in Harvién to visit his only grandchild Celebrían. He met her in her madness when she was first escorted back from Middle-earth and could not bear to see her again until now. After all those terrible years, she was restored and gradually adjusting. It gave him hope for the future. Two weeks later, his host arrived in the capital of Thornost. For several days, even the orderly Elves were rushing about trying to shelter, feed and provision three thousand more soldiers preparing for the march east.

______________------_____________

A larger council was called that included Nag Kath and Inariel. They were presented to the King and his advisors. His Lordship was delighted to see his great, great grandchild, a baby in so many ways. He was polite to her husband who he thought did not resemble him. After introductions, the Kaths were kept to the background. 

Late in the meeting, the changeling gathered his predicted path to the valley of the mirror had lost sway among the highborn after Felaour’s scouts’ assessment of northern Naitë troop movements. Since Meliath's troops were concentrated in the north, experts didn’t see the value of a mere child’s strategy and thought the original battlefield of the Ring War veterans was the more likely place for Naitë to strike. Galadriel’s troops had won there by guile and experience but would have lost if Naitë knew its business. Felaour’s forces would hover conveniently above the first battlefield just over their doorstep. 

The changeling did not jump up to remonstrate. Only Galadriel saw his concern. Later in the day, the Lady of Lorien found him sitting by one of the little streams. She sat next to him without him rising first. Staring at the water he said, “They do not understand, do they?”

“Where the enemy will come?”

He shook his head, “No, why.”

She asked softly, “Tell me.”

“Meliath could take these gardhs anytime he wants. It wasn’t until the darkness that he found the will. He has no reason to include Lindareth in the spoils.”

His blood came up, “That is because there are no spoils! Morgoth does not want land. He wants Eldamar in flames so he can escape his dungeon! Something in the rage will rip the fabric, like the mithril band of Numenor. Who knows what other monsters he will bring with him? I can feel theses holes.”

Nag Kath looked at the shocked Lady and said in his full Elf-Lord visage, “The battle is a diversion. Think like your old enemy. You plan in ways that Elves always have, find honor and purpose in the nobility of fair combat. Be cautious, Lady Galadriel. If he is set loose, he doesn’t need a single survivor on either side.” 

He continued in a soft voice at once powerful and frightening, "We have both fooled them. They think me a child, but I have been fighting since the moment I was spawned, always a weapon, always waiting. You ... you wear your ring as if a memento of past power gracefully lost, lulling them with your acceptance ... but you had long ago learned how to summon earth and air to your purpose without it. Listen for my call." 

Nag Kath rose and bowed. The next words came harder, "My greatest test is coming. Be strong for her." 

There was something else these chivalrous people did not understand. It was unconventional. So was he. Inariel tried to comfort him. Her sensibilities were becoming Elvish, seeking accommodation and concord. His were not. She was his love and he wanted to be with her always. First he had work to do.

______________------_____________

Planting was early this year for the first crop and the harvest would be early too, if not very good. With the general staff busy, Nag Kath took a moment to consult astronomer Kelbine. The crescent moon of July would be nearly at the end of the month on the twenty-sixth. Would that be when Orlo could rise? He may just be a stalk of gureeq. It was too faint a prayer to hope, but that was also when the wheat of the lordless lands would be edible. 

On the eighth of July, allied armies started towards the Naitë border forty leagues due east. Their grain stores were long established and defended. Felaour’s general Ülon would move in stealth to join them. Two days out, runners on spent horses reached them to say Vantieth was leading three thousand troops with three hundred cavalry west to the Foothills road and would cross the bridges into Penethornost within the week. Galadriel far-spoke her southern Captain to destroy the middle bridge over the strongest flow to make backtracking to the eastern bridge that much further. Naitë wanted them to hug the mountains closing on Galadriel from the south. 

That was when folk noticed Nag Kath was gone. He was a curious creature but quite reliable. The Lady of Lorien seemed concerned but she knew. Galadriel wished he could help her with the spell but had to use it on her own. In hopes that the border bridge was in ruins, she tried her own confusion spell on General Vantieth, honing on a signal he received from Arnost weeks before. She transmitted that he was terrified of water, that crossing the river would be the death of his troops. Barges and ferries would sink beneath them and they would be carried to the sea as bloated corpses. He would also deny all further far-speaking as treason.

There was no telling if it would work. Scouts on the river would report if they cut timber for transports. She closed her eyes and prayed that the changeling had not returned to his original masters, that this had not been in Morgoth’s or Sauron’s or even Saruman’s design.

The changeling himself was in the contested lands. He admitted he could be wrong and that Meliath would avenge at the sight of his humiliation. If the high allied lords were correct, conditions were as good as they would get. If not, they would need to force-march their noble backsides down here because once Naitë took this vale, there was nothing between them and the allied capitals. 

In the village of Attëa Sule he spoke with leaders of the thirty-eight. Their ears in Naitë heard forces were massing just where expected. The eastern trap was baited with no guarantee that Meliath would not bring all the food he needed. In the allies’ favor; even if Morgoth now truly made the decisions in Naitë, the flesh-and-blood soldiery was lashed to Meliath’s long, parsimonious history of poor provisions and lax discipline. Most of the grain in one silo was a solid lump of black mold so they must rely on the tainted store next to it. That would get them here. The easily found cache on this side would be a welcome discovery, for a few days.

It was time to burn the fields. The dry spell that hurt the crops helped their destruction. Elves with torches lit them from upwind and retreated. Many who were not aware protested, some with weapons, but when they learned Meliath was coming, they gathered what possessions they could and were shown hidden places behind the hills. Hopefully their stout stone homes would survive. Nag Kath and the Aelius Company watched the fields burn and smoke. If Meliath did not come, they had barely a year’s rations in the small, safe caches. It was still a terrible risk. 

When the Aelius returned home, Nag Kath stayed along a stream bed holding his long legs. He considered his powers. They were greater still. Ever since he arrived, every little bit of magic left something inside him, adding to what he brought from Middle-earth. He was accumulating it from air and water and earth. That did not frighten him; though he worried it would not be enough. For an hour he sat and considered his course. Inariel agreed, thought it may cost her everything she had gained from joining her new people. She was a very conventional girl in many ways but she loved him and trusted him. The Princess waited in Thornost with unwavering faith.

The changeling felt it, something he had not felt since Orthanc. He considered his choices, knowing he was being watched. Finally, he raised his hand and gestured for his observer to join.

“Why aren’t you with the others, dear boy?”

"They will need me here if they are wrong.”

Orórin sat next to him. “Are they wrong?”

Nag Kath smiled, “Perhaps not, but Elves are not good at being wrong. Me; I have long experience. We had given up on you, old friend.”

The wizard took out a pipe. Nag Kath had not seen him use it in these lands. Did some secret village of Elves grow passable pipe-weed? As always, the wizard said nothing while he prepared the bowl, a ritual with him. He lit something that actually smelled like Longbottom and puffed a curlicue into the faint breeze. 

Gandalf replied, “I was lobbying Galadriel’s plight among the Eldar and the Valar. They were unconvinced. I have come here on my own. Tell me everything, and I mean; everything.”

It was nearing dark. That called for another bowl. Once burning, the wizard said, “They are wrong about the battle site?”

The changeling shook his head, “That is salvageable. They are wrong about the strategy. They see this as a battle of flesh and blood. They hope Morgoth will not come. That is the error. They wait until he is strong for the battle of prophesy. He needs to be brought forth before he is ready.”

That was a bold claim. Orórin said as he might have to the changeling in Orthanc, “Do not be hasty. You do not know the power he possesses.”

The youngster countered, “I do. You will see. I think Galadriel does. I confess; my lessons are no clearer than your efforts, but in their day, both of the dark lords commanded vast influence. They could fashion great beasts and armies of those like me. The best he has managed is the shape-changer.”

Nag Kath showed his lord face to this old friend, the first time since cracking the Uruk code, “Gandalf, his ambitions now exceed his power and his patience. Every day he chips at a pinhole in his confinement. If it is not that one, another seam will weaken. He is coming. Let it be where he will lose.”

The young Elf had received grudging compliments on tactics but the wizard realized for the first time he was a strategist. He had orchestrated the demise of hard men of the east, deflecting accolades when he could. There was merit to the idea. If what Gandalf thought was convincing evidence of the evil Ainu creeping into the world did not persuade those with the inherent power to end this, Morgoth would get stronger. Like King Olwë, the ancients would only act when they could not ignore. Gandalf had played a sore, sleepy old man for two thousand years. That is how old men behave if they can get away with it.

They spent some time on the creature Talifür. Nag Kath could not get close after the change, but he knew Meliath’s primary sorcerer was dead the day his astrologer assumed great power, the same day as the evil surge from the south, the same day the feckless Lord lost all interest in his obsessions. Orórin knew the faithful Maiar but not all of the dark ones, now mostly dead in Middle-earth. This spirit had that feel. 

In the darkness, Gandalf said, “I will help you. If the host attacks in the north, you must fly there. If they come here, you will need more than the thirty-eight.” 

His former pupil said, “If Meliath’s hosts from north and south combine and move on this position, I can far-speak to her, well enough to let her know. She will be listening.” 

Two days later, Meliath turned west. They would cut the corner of the lordless lands and drive into Thornost. That night, the Elf called to the great witch. He could not understand the response, but he got one. They had two days to get here, maybe three. Nag Kath embraced his dear mentor, donned his Naitë teamster uniform and rode Shultö like the wind to the camp of darkness.

______________------_____________

Selvas, in his new body, was fuming with the same problem. He delivered the attack orders to Vantieth. He could not tell if they had been received. They had not been acknowledged. The Chancellor expected Galadriel’s forces to defend the bridge else the ohtars must detour east and then return to the foothills road, an extra two weeks marching … if they were marching at all.

He stomped into Meliath’s tent and groused, “We must hope they are doing as told.” 

Meliath, now completely Selvas’ creature, was still of weak stock. He quailed, “Scouts coming off the Raniduin reported an enemy host above us.”

Selvas growled, “Nothing takes us from our lord’s bidding.”

Meliath gained in strength to say, “The peasants have burned their fields. We only have the one silo.”

“We will find more. They will not have burned their secret stores. After we cross, have foragers fan wide for granaries. If not, we arrive hungry and grind their bones to meal. Issue the order. We march with the dawn.

One hundred miles north, allied Lords were called to the King’s tent. Galadriel asserted, “I received the signal that Meliath has turned towards the lordless lands. We march hard to meet them or they will consolidate for the push into our capitals.”

King Finarfin asked grimly, “How much time do we have?”

Elrond had discussed the contingency with Galadriel and Celeborn and delivered the tidings, “Two days at worst, perhaps more if Nag Kath’s sorcery can delay them. We will arrive tired and wet but we can get there.”

Finarfin said simply, “Leave the tents. Gather what we need. We start walking in an hour.”

Nag Kath slapped Shultö across the rump after tossing the saddle and tack in the bushes. He hoped the fine horse would survive. Then he relieved himself in view of other drovers as if having wandered off to do so and joined them by a fire. No one said anything. Battle was coming. They guarded their own thoughts. Dinner was a piece of Lembas since he would not touch bread from the silo.

In the morning the order was given to move at best speed due west. Meliath's tent attendant could not be found so a tall, scarred teamster replaced him. He was told to tear it down and bring up the rear. With single-horse wagons carrying more than they should, going was slow. Sometimes men had to push or clear rocks in the rutted, lordless roads. Trees had been felled across the path. Meliath and Selvas/Talifür’s attendants helped erect the large tent when the drover brought it up with the last of the column. As expected, the new drover stood by to assist if called. That amounted to emptying the privy bucket. 

The next morning they reached the burned fields. This time Meliath was seething. Selvas was less concerned. Foragers were already scouring the countryside for hidden villagers and their hidden stores. Since they were also the advance scouts, progress slowed for them to poke through burned gullies and farmhouses. They found no farmers and no silos. There was enough food for three days. Selvas would drive them to starvation but they would fight better fed. 

That evening brought them to two abandoned villages. How had these people known to leave? It did not matter. They were gone and their wheat had finally quit smoldering. The forests encroached but there was no food for soldiers there. Towards the end of the day, forward scouts discovered a large granary built into the side of a hill. Two farmers standing guard saw the cavalry and ran into the trees. It was fully four tons of wheat, a year old, but not infested. A thousand foot ohtars were sent with buckets and bags to distribute it to their companies for grinding into a week’s bread. Had anyone noticed, the taciturn teamster did not share in that either.

______________------_____________

The next morning was a goat’s breakfast of ill-coordination. Four in ten soldiers consumed the binding grain at the first depot. Combined with the wheat here, they were witless and quickly lost everything they ate the night before. The rest were less than their best. Meliath tried to act nobly but was revolted by his troopers scurrying to the latrine ditches or drooling while their eyes tried to focus. The tall teamster looked ill but was strong enough to take down the tent with only one other and load it into his wagon. 

Selvas stalked among the troops in disgust. The grain must have had rats. Nag Kath could not fathom how he didn’t see the sorcery but it might be that common Middle-earth witch’s brews were not of his ken. The chancellor stepped in something unpleasant and unleashed a fury of dark language that no one noticed. They only marched far enough that day to dig new latrines. If Nag Kath’s calendar held true, they would reach the valley tomorrow at mid-day, the last day of Gelansor. 

Allied Elves were footsore and weary but they converged on the valley from the higher, northern side. Scouts reported the enemy was in a sprawling, undefended camp to their southeast. If the allies had artillery, they would have had the ideal place to mount it, pointed down at where Meliath’s corps would pass the last line of low hills to their south. 

The dark forces now stood at eleven thousand, more than thought but at less than full competence. Almost eight thousand were under King Finarfin’s banner with twice the enemy’s horse for flanking and harrying skirmishers. Celeborn and Galadriel’s two thousand foot and half of the cavalry were positioned at the bottom of the valley in plain sight along with most of the King’s ohtars. Elrond’s fifteen hundred and his cavalry were hidden in the northern forest. Felaour’s ohtars and the rest of the King’s host were also in the forest a quarter mile further west. 

One of the pieces of luck the allies counted on held. Neither Selvas nor Meliath were generals, despite the ribbons on their tunics. Seeing a host of five thousand waiting for them slightly downhill seemed a perfect opportunity for brute force. Naitë flankers were sent to take the south slope of the valley followed by their left column. Allied forces in view sounded the charge and the bulk of Finarfin’s cavalry in plain view swept into the flankers, driving them towards allied pike-men. Celeborn’s archers rained arrows down on the tightly-packed infantry.

Selvas saw his troops were stalled and commanded the remaining corps to relieve them, less the reserves still working up the last low hill. Among them was the slow-coach carrying the commanders’ tent. By then, foot soldiers were exchanging blows on the southern slope with casualties on both sides. As dark forces reinforced the initial wave, they began to push the allies back. 

That changed when from somewhere in the forest behind Meliath issued the most horrible cry of tsitsi warags howling their fell songs. Immediately, a quarter of the Naitë troopers began retching and dropping their weapons in confusion. They did not want to be here. Persuasive heralds had urged them from their farms and cities in this noble quest to vanquish those who had skulked back from the ruins of Middle-earth. Now they questioned their decisions. 

Selvas saw the tide change again and ordered his reserves down the rivulet. That was when Elrond commanded the last of the cavalry and foot down from the forest to slice the reserves in two. It would be a terrible battle, probably decided for the allies. Nag Kath needed it to be as horrible as possible for an entirely different reason. He needed the combat to tear the fabric of the void just a little wider.

Meliath rode north to oversee his main force with his personal guard. Selvas remained behind and watched both bodyguards suddenly freeze as if statues. That spell would not work on a wizard but a bringing spell did as the black Elf flew fifty feet to the grip of his tent-bearer standing by the little creek. Nag Kath tore into Selvas’ brain and ordered, “Call your Lord. Victory is his. He must claim it now.”

Selvas tried to resist but the Quendu was too strong. The tall Elf also had a link to the darkness, amplifying the signal. Was this another of Melkor’s servants here to see his will done? Selvas recognized the scarred face and resisted again until a blast of Melkor’s own power surged through his body and he sent the call.

Message delivered, Nag Kath crushed the Umaiar’s throat and watched him crumple at his feet. Then he yanked a steel wire hidden in his tunic collar. Attached was a small gold coin buried in the flesh of his neck under the ‘Kath’ tattoo. He 'borrowed' the cursed nipper in Thornost before he left. Selvas was not strong enough to send the signal himself from here. Combined with the resurgent power of the embedded-spy Celebrían, the dark lord knew victory against her family was finally at hand. 

______________-------______________

Nag Kath dropped the coin on the dead servant and walked unsteadily upstream, needing to confuse several of his own troops attacking him in the Naitë uniform. A cloud began forming over Selvas' body. The smoke became heat, distorted like images on the other side of a fire. It took shape becoming darker and less transparent. Fighting slowed everywhere and stopped entirely near the apparition. A minute later, the vaporous form of Morgoth took shape, thirty feet tall and terrible beyond comprehension. He growled at the battle field.

Appearing from nowhere, a skinny little Khandian stood downstream where the seed was planted, not twenty paces from the spirit of the darkest lord. The old fellow raised his hand and a thin beam of pale light struck Morgoth. The ancient evil turned to laugh in disdain before counterattacking with a more powerful beam of his own. Gandalf, standing in the allied host with a new staff, directed his power to the little man whose strength grew to be matched by the dark lord’s. For a minute, they exchanged their force until both waned. 

The little Khandian was losing and faded into mist just as a flash of fire ran down the rivulet and inflamed the dark lord from behind. Before he could become flesh, Morgoth turned and howled in fury. The intensity of the flame grew, turning anger to pain. Nag Kath maintained his spell standing ankle deep in the creek, sending all power towards the inferno. With a turn of his hand, the flaming apparition began to slowly spin. Morgoth’s screams turned from anger to pain to fear as the inferno burned hotter.

After a few moments, the cry became a whimper and then stopped. The mass was now spinning faster than eyes could tell, whining from the velocity as it grew thinner and higher in fire borne of water. Nag Kath staggered towards the dark lord before dropping to his knees and pounding the heel of his fist into the creek-bed, the last image of the mirror.

The spinning blaze froze for a moment and then shot into the sky like one of Gandalf’s rockets, except it did not explode. It kept climbing straight into the blue until it was not visible even to Elf eyes. From where it had flown, a blast like the death of the One Ring spread across the field. All fighting stopped. Two dozen Elves suddenly collapsed as their hearts burst. Morgoth’s dying took his servants with him, including several on the allied side. 

Nag Kath opened his fist, palm punctured by squeezing the remains of Saruman’s staff crown too tightly. It was completely spent. He dragged himself from the stream and said in a voice that could be heard for miles, “Ohtars of Naitë, your dark lord Morgoth is destroyed. Lay down your weapons and accept such mercy as your good sense will gain you.”

The vast majority of them did, but Meliath’s personal guard, who had suffered heavy casualties and then saw their lord throw blood from his mouth, nocked arrows and fired a volley at the traitorous teamster. As if he was holding an umbrella, the arrows slid to the side. He grimaced at them and sent another stream of fire up the hill, incinerating thirty ohtars in a flash.

______________-------______________

Remaining weapons fell with a collective clank. The changeling called in the same rumble audible everywhere, “In one hour, send your new leaders to where I am standing to hear terms.” Then he trudged twenty feet up the hill and flopped on his bottom with his head between his knees. 

Enemies gathered among themselves to discuss how to deal with this. Very few of them had any idea there was sorcery involved, much less from the blackest ever villain. With what seemed a gentleman’s accord, the wounded were immediately tended by their comrades. Allied commanders sent aides running to Nag Kath. When they arrived he groaned, “We must talk first. Please bring our Captains.” The Lords agreed and followed their personal guards to the creek-bank. None were killed, although Celeborn took an arrow in the shoulder. Elrond had already healed it. 

King Finarfin said, “We thought you betrayed us when you emerged from the enemy host. Forgive us.”

On another day Nag Kath might have grinned. 

Galadriel had her hands on her hips surveying the carnage and the witless soldiers still walking as if in their sleep. “What do we make of this?”

Elrond almost answered but kept his eyes on Nag Kath who was fighting to focus. Meanwhile, Gandalf slowly made his way where to the little man attacked the specter and vanished, tapping the ground with his new staff crowned with an old crystal.

Belatedly responding to the Lady, the changeling rasped, “We send them home to make this land what it should have been.” No one gainsaid him. The allied lords sat in the grass waiting for those who would be coming shortly. They spoke among themselves. Nag Kath just looked at the little creek that had all the answers. 

Elladan called in victory, “Nag, who was the big Easterling fighting Morgoth?”

One of Celeborn’s staff countered, “What Easterling? I saw Gandalf as he looked of old.”

Another disputed, “Nay, it was a Variag.”

Gandalf answered, “He was of my order, one I had quite forgotten. Fear not, he will be waiting in the great halls for us.” The wizard looked at Nag Kath; “Won’t he?”

A troop of twelve came from the surviving host. Meliath was dead as well as nearly half of the noble officers or their aides whose hearts burst. Many of those arriving were hastily elected to their office. They bowed and were equally bowed by the allies and invited to sit. Nag Kath stayed where he collapsed in the grass away from both.

A young Lord from the Fantiel district of central Naitë, nephew of Meliath, was chosen as their Sayer. He spoke clearly and without fear, “We have come, though we know not what terrible power you unleashed here today. Say what you will.”

Elrond was designated as the allied Sayer, “The terrible power you saw destroyed was Morgoth who controlled your lords and incited you to war.”

Meliath had not designated an heir. Those who fancied themselves dark lords seldom did. The succession was even muddier now. Lord Xevandor, continued, “Then we are not to blame for this tragedy the Valar fomented.”

Elrond was pitiless. “No, you are entirely to blame for your petty and cruel hatred. The dark one could never have put one toe on this land without shameful support from the lot of you.” 

Allied forces were gathering weapons and herding enemy ohtars into surrounded groups. There was no leaving with their heads held high. They should consider themselves lucky to still have them. Preliminary accounts were that four hundred allies were killed and that many wounded. Enemy dead stood at eighteen hundred, many of whom staggered unarmed into a wall of spears. Cavalry losses on both sides were heavy.

A Naitë commanders who carried a bleeding arm limply at his side said, “You have the advantage of us. What is your judgment? I have soldiers a-dying and I would send them to Mandos with a prayer on their brow.”

Another field officer followed, “You, who sits in the grass silent, you are the true lord of this host. What are your terms?”

Nag Kath looked up to the group and said gravely, “I have two conditions. The first is that you go home and behave like you deserve to live in these lands. Being an Elf is an honor you have sullied. You will spend the rest of your lives regaining it. Bury your dead, care for your injured and give succor to the families of both in penance. 

"My other condition is that I be allowed to walk among your wounded as a healer. There may be some I can save. If there is to be rapprochement, let it start this moment.”

The enemy host looked at each other. Xevandor nodded. It was done. Nag Kath rose in his teamster tunic slowly, creaking like a bowstring. When he reached his full height, the Colonel with the injured arm cried, “And what happens to you? You have taken all power unto yourself. I do not want to live in a world where the free-will you told us to embrace is tainted by equal terror.”

Nag Kath appeared to consider that for a moment and said, “I will go to Valmar and present myself.”

Another very new Lord who had watched his beloved father’s lungs explode spat in vehemence, “Think you to demand your place among them?!”

As if it had just occurred to him, the Elf smiled grimly and muttered, “No, like a good neighbor, I will return those tools I have been lent. You will not see me again such as I am.”

Gandalf was recovered enough to put his hand on the changeling’s shoulder, “I will show you the way.”

______________------_____________

With that, the peace conference divided. Nag Kath was escorted to several field hospitals lending what little power he had left to those who could be saved. It would have been worse among men but many of these were already healing. He, Elrond, Galadriel and two of the enemy host with healing skills did what they could for those whose own regenerative powers were not enough. Quite a few died just the same. New or repentant leaders of Naitë spoke with their counterparts about the way of things. There were fences to mend. Having the King of the Ñoldorin presiding made this an opportunity they would never get again. 

It took three days to tend the wounded, bury the dead and gather that worth saving before the food was gone. Each morning, Nag Kath walked into the rivulet and immersed himself in a bath of silver light. Ohtars of both sides walked widely around him. He stood looking at the valley of the mirror. Perhaps someday it would be beautiful again. 

Nag Kath hoped so.


	71. Waters of the Garden

** _Chapter 71_ **

** _Waters of the Garden_ **

In addition to Valinor Topo there is a map of Valinor in the IMGUR page: <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8>

As the armies of the west trudged home, the Quendu of shamed Attëa Sule watched from the forest. Their own Naitë were defeated trying to conquer them. It was a bitter victory but they were saluted by the mountain fighters nonetheless. One hundred-fifty miles back to Thornost seemed much longer than coming. No one on his side found Shultö so Nag Kath walked home with the ohtars. Three nights on the field let him sleep enough to keep-up.

It did not turn their battle, but upon reaching Penethornost, tidings arrived that Galadriel’s far-speaking spell was effective enough to have Vantieth dither while her artillery destroyed the central bridge across the Athradduin. In the mayhem, Legolas led four thousand of Thranduil’s best troops across the Panduin below Vantieth’s army. The Chancellor of Farnëmar dug in for defense and did not cut a single tree to make barges or ferries. Trapped between the tributaries, they never engaged Thranduil’s army either, effectively removing them from the war. Vantieth and his worm-tongue Rohier dropped dead when Morgoth was launched into the stars. Lindareth survived until his army returned home enraged at being manipulated by the dark lord. Nag Kath grieved for the little boy and Celeborn’s Lieutenant among the many who suffered for this madness. He was generally quiet so not everyone noticed.

On the road, Nag Kath spent considerable time with Gandalf and Galadriel. Since he was the only one who knew what he did, he explained it many times. His initiative was not officially condoned, but, considering the outcome, forgiven. Nag Kath had a belated private meeting with the King. That went well except when he left the borrowed Naitë tent, the King’s own guards instinctively saluted until they realized it was the sorcerer. 

In a quiet moment, Galadriel reassured him, "There, you see, you were strong and will return to her."

"The risk wasn't death. Many died, finding their way to the great halls. The risk was that in taking the coin unto myself I would fall to it. I am a creature of constant memory, no childhood forgotten. The beast is still there." He finally offered a faint smile, "I have learned to ignore him."

Lord Felaour’s forces parted with them three days after the battle since home for them was due north. They were no longer neutral. Ten days after that, the main force arrived in Thornost tired and filthy. A week was dedicated to rest and as much celebrating as is proper among Elves. The Princess gave her victorious husband a more personal greeting. They mostly stayed out of sight except when King Finarfin spent time with his new Princess granddaughter.

As the week ended, the Kaths and Gandalf spoke alone. The wizard told them, “Now it is time to pay for your crimes, dear boy.”

“Yes, I brought that on myself rather neatly, didn’t I?”

Inariel blanched, “What crimes?! My husband is a hero!”

They all had to wait while Orórin filled the perfect bowl. It wasn’t as much fun without a beard to catch the ashes, but Nag Kath enjoyed the ritual just the same. Her Highness would be attended, “What crimes you old villain?!”

When the pipe was lit, the wizard said, “For taking the life of the greatest of the Ainur. Your husband slew one of Ilúvatar’s creations.”

She was nearing tears, “But he was the soul of evil and a great murderer! I do not understand!”

Nag Kath comforted her, “Inara, my love. It does not matter how terrible he was. He was above my station to destroy. The Valar, Gandalf correct me if I am wrong, imprisoned him because they did not have the authority to slay him either. They thought they could imprison him forever. One time they let him go. This time he scratched out.”

She was crying now. How could these revered beings be so cruel? More infuriating; why was her husband amused watching the feckless wizard blow smoke rings?! As tears ran down her face she pleaded, “Why?”

Gandalf had a last, unsatisfying puff and answered, “Your husband has been accumulating little gifts his whole life, some from me. How he came by them is of great moment. They made him a powerful sorcerer, though he denies it. Those gifts destroyed Melkor, Eru’s greatest being. It took someone like your husband; servant to no one. Now that labor is done and the gods will have their reckoning.”

Inariel was a creature of feeling. This was a terrible feeling and not deserved at all! The Princess began thinking of her husband, always thoughtful and caring, but no; not always. Once he was a monster made to murder the innocent. He destroyed three rulers of men and now several Elf Lords, just the sort of assassin no one would miss after token platitudes.

Oh no! She would fight for him. They would leave here and go home, away from these ungrateful godlings!

Nag Kath held her gently and wiped her cheeks with his sleeve. “My darling, do you remember me telling you of the great Rohirrim who gave me the sword?”

“Of course. You earned it slaying the wargs.” He did not correct that to a single warg since it hadn't worked yet.

“I earned it because I helped his men, the very men I was created to kill. I had changed enough to be worthy. But there is another story to Lord Altheras. One of the Mûmikil crushed his knee on the Pelennor. The surgeon said the leg must be removed. Before he swooned, Altheras ordered his men to kill anyone who tried.

“When he was unconscious, his men knew the leg would rot and told the doctor to do what he must. The good Lord lived. Upon discovering he was a cripple, he cursed his men, called them disloyal and many worse names until his wrath was spent. The next day, he summoned them to his bed and forgave each and every one because their love was so great they would not be parted from him. He worked hard. He learned to ride again and went home in the saddle, a proud Marshal of the Mark. It was from him that I knew I would find my place in the world.”

Fighting through his own tears he continued, “I am the men who disobeyed their Lord to do the right thing. If an Uruk-hai can be forgiven by a Rohirrim, a well-meaning changeling might be forgiven by those he served so many times, just like your granda Eärendil of the star.

He held her delicate chin, “Do not fear, my love. I cannot continue like this anymore than I could have stayed in Middle-earth. We will see what the future brings. Promise only that you will stay by my side.”

She was inconsolable. What would they do to him? Come to that; who were ‘they’? These were the greatest of beings, possessed of unfathomable powers in the imagining. She worried about her husband in her secret heart. The grin was gone. He took the casualties very hard. There were fewer than if he hadn’t done what he did, but he was the architect of the battle. Two thousand Elves were killed in the greatest slaying of this continent. Rather than let his beloved wife fret, he held her and gradually applied a spell that let her sleep dreamlessly, resting for the long road ahead.

Gandalf, the King and the northern Lords and Lady met privately about that. Just as they had not influenced any but Lord Felaour to marshal armies against Morgoth’s servants, they might not sway the judgment of the Valar. Gandalf would have to answer for aiding the lad. The wizard accepted the lords’ written declaration of character and said the young Kaths would go to his home in Valmar where he was sure the Valar would like a word with the changeling. 

Galadriel and Celeborn bowed deeply to the King's ohtars as they formed ranks for the progress north with Nag Kath and Inariel, the latter still fuming about the unfairness of the summons and her husband’s seeming unconcern. Both had horses for this leg of the journey. They still moved at the speed of foot soldiers. From tradition in peace or war, Finarfin dug lightly-fortified camps every night because it was a good habit to secure the edges. His progress was still quicker than the trudge to Celeborn’s capital after the battle and they made Harvien in nine days. 

Celebrían had grown stronger since the Kath’s saw her last. Nag Kath wondered if the end of Morgoth helped. She would have died with the rest if the coin was still inside her. There was nearly another week of eating too much, mostly so King Finarfin could get to know his granddaughter. She and Elrond promised to visit soon. The Lady had no memory of having been to Tirion. It was even rumored that Elladan had formed an attachment with a young Quenda of the Ñoldorin capital. A whirlwind romance here could take fifty years so they had time to write the invitations. 

King Finarfin and his company made straight up the foothill road. His Archal spear brigade took heavy casualties but the bulk of his forces had only just engaged when Morgoth’s appearance scuttled the battle. With over three thousand fighters and non-combatants, he wanted to get them home safely and soon. It was another five hundred miles to reach Tirion. Word was out and they were cheered along the route. The returning army was held in a certain awe that went far past victory. These were the Ñoldorin. Finarfin was the last son of Finwë and half-brother of Fëanor who created the Silmarils that spawned untold horrors. He brought his ohtars home having finally put Morgoth to legend, Morgoth who had slain so many of his kin. It balanced the family’s debt to Elvendom. Finarfin rode to his duty and it wasn’t until he was nearly home that he realized why his people were so inspired. The King, Gandalf and the Kaths could have ridden much faster but Finarfin stayed with his troops so they did too.

The city of Tirion was decked in splendor. Banners flew from every window. The army was not under orders to remain together and dissipated upon reaching their homes. Three days later they would be honored with a parade along the Avenue of Light. After proper cleaning and Elvish elements, the Kaths were introduced to Queen Eärwen. She smiled her radiant smile at her husband because the youngster did indeed have more than a passing similarity to her King. Eärwen was enraptured by baby Inariel. She would keep her forever if she could. After an eternity of having none of their children near them, daughter Galadriel returned only a hundred fifty years ago and the twins not long after. Now their granddaughter had her mind restored and there was this lovely child who still had eye-rings! The family she thought lost was in her bosom just as the stain of the Ñoldorin was cleansed. 

Gandalf left for his home in Valmar shortly after arriving. The Kaths stayed two weeks in Tirion until the festivities died-down preparing for the trip west. Tirion was the gateway to Valinor. It guarded the only low pass along the treacherous spine of mountains running the entire length of the crescent continent. Like everywhere else here, there as an excellent road directly to Valmar. The King of the Valar, Manwë and his Queen Varda were said to live just across the mountain chain on the high peak of Taniquetil. Nag Kath still thought it looked bloody cold. 

______________------_____________

They did not all live together; these Valar. Ulmo, who had spared him more than once, reigned the seas. Oromë was said to hunt in vast forests as far down the mountains on the west side as Thranduil was on the eastern slopes. Many lived within a few hundred miles of Valmar along with half of the Vanyar Elves, most beloved of the Valar, either there or with with their King on Taniquetil.

Making their way west, vast tracts of land looked like they could grow any seed that fell from your pocket supporting farmers, villages, towns and even cities of white splendor. Folk took them in and gave them food and rest. Few had heard details of the battle on the quarrelsome coast. That part of Aman was not considered Valinor, much like Gondor thought of the Easterlings. 

From Tirion to Valmar took eighteen leisurely days. Approaching in the late afternoon, gleams of silver and gold reflected off the spires and towers. Inariel was enchanted, the perfect kingdom for a fairy princess. Nag Kath saw it as beauty and art but also as a building project. He considered the defenses and, as always, why people would put so many stairs where they weren’t needed. When he asked in Tirion, people looked at him as if he was quite daft. In Valmar there were no inns or signs or anything to suggest there was commerce of any kind.

They arrived at a spacious home with a handman and maid. Food with no meat was brought. Their suite was too beautiful not to enjoy one of their favorite pastimes, even if done quietly so as not to disturb.

The next morning, December first, Gandalf, known here only as Orórin, broke his fast with them. This was his home, which was rather grander than anyone in Middle-earth suspected. He was a Maia, one of the most senior left since only a few had been created and many were lost in the east on both sides of uncounted wars. Today he wore robes of silver with blue trim. As he put honey on his bread, Orórin asked, “Nag Kath, what do you know of the Maia you killed?”

“Maia? I thought Morgoth was one of the Valar.”

“No, dear boy, the servant Selvas.”

Nag Kath blinked and answered, “Not much. That could have been the name of the poor Elf he enslaved before Talifür. Not strong, as your sort goes.”

“No, not strong. The dark ones kept that side quiet. I don’t suppose he mentioned any others?”

“Must have slipped his mind.”

Orórin said cursorily, “You will need your Quenya. Sindarin is for Sindars and we left them on the coast.” The retired wizard began to rise and remembered, “Oh, Inariel, it is better you don’t mention the book you gave your grand-da. That stays between us.”

She was recovered from her worry and asked cheerfully, “The failed language?”

He chortled, “The Nuralth. The Holy Ones don’t want their secrets divulged. Let us hope Elrond never translates it.”

The Maia showed them through his district of the city near the Golden eastern gates. They were right that Inariel was a child. A passionate and wise woman of Middle-earth, she was wide-eyed in wonder at the splendor of colors and scents. Even her practical husband was in awe but still wondered how they kept it so clean. A Princess expects that.

Flushed with her tour, Inariel asked Orórin, “What is next?”

“Next we wait. Your husband is known to be here and now we see if the Holy Ones want him to answer for his war.” He turned to Nag Kath, “Do not use any of your powers here, even for so much as peeling an apple. You are the humblest changeling ever to walk the gardens of the High. Amuse yourselves in the city. You will be easy to find if wanted.”

With that, Gandalf repaired to his room and lay down. Unlike his wizard sleep in Middle-earth, a faint spirit rose above him as if looking down on the peaceful body. The true essence of the Maia was unencumbered. After months in the field, he was restored a few days after he arrived.

Nag Kath never had a handman. He chose his own trousers and put them on. There seemed to be no way to spend any of the money he brought. With the rest of the afternoon at ease, the young couple strolled the wide streets gazing at the ancient architecture. It was all older than old but looked like it was made only centuries ago. They sat and watched the elegant, mostly blonde, people taking their ease by countless fountains and nooks with meeting benches. These were not the Elves who fought, except for returning to Middle-earth for the War of Wrath that imprisoned Morgoth the last time. They would not have to do that again. 

The Kaths kept to the south of the city circle where there was more green and water. Future adventures would include the more elaborate northern quadrants. There were also vast gardens outside of the city, but they would wait for permission first. He was here in questionable odor. Of course, it might be years before the Valar worried about such as Orc Six. 

After several more days, they had toured much of the southern city. There were guards, of a sort, on the parapets, but none minded the tall Quendu loping up the steps for a look at the surrounds. Again; he saw no modern siege defenses. Timalen once drew him a picture of the big Mûmikils storming the Pelennor. Another sketch showed the Uruk trolls and great beasts hauling engines of destruction hurling pieces of the Rammas Wall as large as market stalls. It was a while before Nag Kath realized that these walls were mostly for show. Some of the residents here need only snap their fingers to destroy hosts of rabble storming the gates. It was all a matter of the force one could bring to bear. 

Now, what did he bring to bear? He could draw poisons and spells. He could throw fire, finally, and summon modest breezes. He could confuse and clear. He had ‘the fast’. It was a mishmash of adaptive skills but never honed for a great purpose, fair or foul. Nag Kath was more like a traveling peddler who scrounged what he thought he could sell. Most curious was the gift of color from the Wild Huntsman. It had returned him from death; not an everyday healer talent. Orlo found it deep within him while he was frozen from hundreds of leagues away. 

Then there were all the powers he had ‘borrowed’ like; ósanwe far-speaking or knocking loose rocks down on mithril devil-harps. Nag Kath had never written them down. They changed too often. If asked, he would say what he could.

Orórin joined them after a day's rest. He moved more quickly. Inariel wondered if he would be more comfortable disembodied but was too polite to ask. Her lady’s maid was not sure what to do with the pretty Quenda, especially since Inariel had not traveled with much clothing. New garments of the city were found very quickly and cut as if every stitch was done with her in it. They draped rather more closely than the lordly garb of eastern Elvish capitals. Nag Kath thought her fetching and took them off.

Their host showed them the northern city arc which included meeting friends both firstborn and a few Maiar. They caught a glimpse of Nessa, Vala of speed. Nag Kath would dearly like to talk to her about that. 

One of the Maia Gandalf met was Fonë, occasionally servant to the more powerful Maia Orestë who helped the great smith Aulë. By now the Kaths were accustomed to seeing grand lords of power and grace. Fonë did not fit the mold. He was misshapen and no taller than a Dwarf. The Maia had been burned several times, not to cripple, but scars on his hands and face had not healed smoothly. One expected that of a smith’s helper in Middle-earth. Here, they thought those marks would vanish. No, Fonë bore them with more than a bit of good humor. 

Fonë was a gossip. He knew everything about everyone after ten thousand years of listening. There were things he would never tell and some he would only tell those with tighter lips than his, but he could carry-on like a fifth-level doyen with a dozen grandchildren.

The gnome-like Maia invited them into his modest home for tea. He and Gandalf spoke while the young couple sipped and smiled to suggest they were paying attention. When he realized he was not the perfect host, Fonë asked Nag Kath, “However did you meet this old spirit?”

“I was his student when I was very young in Isengard, sir.”

“Never been there. I understand it is a terrible place.”

The changeling smiled vaguely and said, “That was the consensus when I was a lad.”

Turning to the Quenda, “And you, fair Lady. What misfortune brought him to your door?”

Inariel answered, “He came to visit my great grandmother in Eldamar.”

“And who would that be?”

“The Lady Galadriel, sir.”

Finally, someone genuinely new! Fonë was charming, “Never met her either, but I have never left Valinor. I suppose that is limiting but, as you can see, I am not built for travel.” He smiled broadly with very good teeth and sipped more tea.

Inariel continued, “My grandfather is Lord Elrond, on my mother’s side.”

The diminutive Maia slapped his knee and cried, “Now that is curious! You must be of the Half-Elven line. My master and his master crafted great things for Thingol in his time. Pity they are all lost.”

She said deferentially, “Yes, I came into the world much later, sir.”

The rest of the visit devolved into talk of old deeds. It seemed the highest only called on Fonë occasionally. He lived well among many friends and would do so until the end of days. Fonë asked cautiously, “Orórin, when are you to see the Valar about this, this, uhm, upset in the Melamar?”

Nag Kath looked at Gandalf and wondered the same. The wizard groused, “As your advocate, I haven’t the foggiest. No one consults my calendar.”

______________------_____________

After another two weeks of seeing every fountain in Valmar, Inariel and Nag Kath were ready to feel the wind in their faces. While they were planning their day, a messenger the wizard knew from the Circle of Doom in Máhanaxar came to the door. 

“Good morning, Orórin.”

“Hello Betanzaes. Please come in. I hope you are well.”

“I am, thank you. I came to tell you that the supreme council will hear from your guest on March fourteenth at the rising sun. You are welcome to attend but may not be called at the same time.”

The wizard was gracious, “Thank you, my friend.” Inariel turned the corner on her way to the kitchen and was introduced as wife to the respondent. Gandalf added, “May she come in support of her husband?”

“Of course, thought she may or may not be called to give testimony.” Betanzaes gave the slightest head tilt as if to say that the highest beings would do exactly what they wanted. 

Orórin knew that as well as any and showed the messenger out for a few words on the porch.

______________------_____________

Almost three months! That would let Inariel follow a fantasy she had imagined since she was a little girl, and a trip would help relieve the tension of waiting.

As soon as they could understand, Arwen taught all of her children about their family. It was a convoluted road of life, love and loss stretching across every bloodline of Elfkind and then some. In her mortal life, it was lore to be told Inariel's children for remembrance. Here; it mattered.

Inariel was a direct heir of the Ñoldorin through Finarfin. She was well back in the immortal succession but she was the most recent generation. Finarfin’s mother was Indis, niece of High King Ingwë of the Vanyar Elves. Ingwë stayed with his small family on Mount Taniquetil with Lord Manwë and Lady Varda along with many of his subjects. Even more of them lived in this fair city. That made Inara not far off the succession there too. The third direct lineage was that through Celeborn, she was nobility of the Sindar Elves. Through Finarfin and Eärwen she was also in the direct succession of King Olwë.

It was a fifth, nearly extinct line that fascinated her. Lord Elrond's heritage was as august as anyone's. He and his mortal brother were sons of the great Man-turned-Elf Eärendil, hero and bearer of the beloved star and his wife Elwing. Eärendil returned from the heavens every so often to see his wife who because a beautiful swan for their reunions. Elrond asked grace to keep those details quiet until the upset on the east coast was resolved. He had his reasons. 

Following that line back led to Lúthien and Beren of the story. Her parents were the Maia Melian and her great love King Elu Thingol of Doriath. Aragorn had her blood as well. Melian was a powerful sorceress, servant of the the Valier (female Vala) Estë and Vána. Much in Middle-earth, she fell in love with the great Elf-Lord. For thousands of years, her magic girded the realm against Morgoth, his servants and dark Dwarves, but it could not save her daughter Lúthien. When the King was slain, largely through his own arrogance, Melian returned to Valinor as Doriath was beset by enemies. It was said the Lady visited the Halls of Mandos in sorrow for her lost husband and those killed in the fall of their realm. 

Gandalf knew her well before he was a wizard and reported she sometimes stayed at her former home in the Gardens of Lórien, realm of the Vala Irmo (Lórien) and his wife, the Valier Estë. The Gardens were four hundred miles southwest on a good road. When she felt the time was right, Inariel asked her husband, “My dear, I would very much like to visit my granna Melian.”

Nag Kath generally paid very little attention to ancient Elvish history but he answered without hesitation, “That would be splendid. Where is she?”

“My best chance is to visit the great gardens of Irmo and Estë. Orórin said she may not be there, but I would like to take the chance.”

He considered, “Should I be there for this?”

“Of course, silly. You are my protector. Many Elves and even the Valar go to the exquisite gardens to refresh and heal. We shall join them. Orórin said she may be in the Halls of Mandos, but if we are to live forever, we should see what is said to be the most beautiful place in the world.”

Her husband held her close. He was not sure how long forever would be in his case, but was ever dutiful, “Then we shall go. The Lady Estë is the greatest of all healers. Perhaps I can make myself useful.”

The couple conferred with Gandalf who served Irmo and his sister Nienna for long years. The wizard planted a thought in Inariel’s mind to share with them when they arrived. Orórin was also servant to Manwë and Varda so he cautioned the Kaths to return here in good time. Kissing the fair Princess’ brow, he sent them south.

Visiting the gardens was popular year-round. Groups from two to forty made pilgrimages, in many ways like Nag Kath’s retreats of post-Sauronic lands. Most folk were on foot so the mounted couple passed them during the day but shared inns or camps in the evenings. They also shared stories since many pilgrims had been there before or were on their way home. The Kaths told a few of their less magical or royal tales too. His name was infamous in Eldamar but not widely known on this side of the Pelóri Mountains.

On their third night they camped with a Quendu who fought for Felaour, ally to Elrond. The ohtar was deeply troubled by what he had done and hoped to repair his dreams. Toulour and Nag Kath spent much of the night talking quietly. Knowing why he had to fight might help the soldier take his rest.

At a good pace with good horses they made it almost to the entrance of the massive gardens in just over two weeks. That night they stayed with a company of pilgrims on their way in led by Anthreil. The seasoned journeyer looked askance at the sword poking out of Nag Kath’s bedroll but welcomed the courtly couple. They, in turn, did their chores and provided a few fish for the supper.

What the Kaths were to learn was that people came to this place to relieve stresses much like the ohtar burdened by the memory of killing defenseless soldiers. A hard-bitten man of Middle-earth could not imagine feeling sorry for the fair immortals of this safe land, but living indefinitely can stress the mind. For all Nag Kath’s joking about losing his wits making Lembas everyday, that was a definite affliction when life became so monotonous that spirit fades. If untended, the soul could become disoriented and even die when Elves no longer had the will to eat, like the farmer Selvas subsumed. That was very rare, but it was also why pilgrims came to this place of restoration.

One such lady was Helica. She was on the household staff of a Vanyar official in Valmar. Her mistress was a kind soul, but doing the exact same thing with no beginning or end disordered Helica's thoughts. She came here fourteen hundred years ago and was relieved. Her mistress told her to take as much time as she needed to restore herself again. Traveling with her was her niece Jens and Jen's husband Gelandanó. They watched her aunt while praying for their own dreams of fertility after long waiting.

_____________------_____________

Calling it a garden did not do the marvel justice. The home of the Lord and Lady was fully two hundred miles long by almost that wide. It had been created by many of the Valar and had an almost unnatural perfection. There were streams and fountains and meadows with every kind of flower. Trees flowered too and the air was heavy with scent said to aid resting with sweet dreams. Some places were dense forest that opened onto small bowers for privacy and meditation.

Their company formed smaller groups in a campground Anthriel found on his last trip. Helica was organizing the family meal while Gelandanó and Jens spoke with friends close by. Helica prayed she had enough time to refresh but did not disclose the full extent of her distress. When her niece returned to the site, the Quenda was laying against a log unresponsive to the touch. 

Jens cried, “Anthriel, Anthriel! Please come quickly. My aunt is failing.” Anthriel had taken the largest of the sites where the company would gather later. He dashed over to attend the woman along with a number of their group. The Kaths ran over too as Anthriel looked in Jen’s eyes to ask, “How long has she been like this?”

Jens rang her hands, “Not long, but this has happened before. Please, sir, can you help her?!”

The Elf shook his head and said, “This is serious.”

Nag Kath asked, “Sir, what ails this lady?”

Anthriel was a kindly soul, but of no mood to educate greenbottoms. He said tersely, “The Atalantëa, it is a confusion of the mind. She is far gone now.”

One prayer Helica had not considered was Kath of the Arse Arrow cooking a fat trout in his Trum Dreng frying pan not eighty feet away. He knelt beside the stricken woman putting one hand along her face and holding her wrist with the other. Applying his clarity spell, both hands began to glow silver, now visible in the fading light. The color crept up his bare arms and brightened until it seemed to seep into the patient. Unbidden, some of his life-spirit transferred as well.

The flash backed everyone up several paces which gave Inariel room to kneel for the woman’s pulses and timing her breath. Both of the Kaths rose and the brunette child told the group, “She should wake tomorrow morning.” Turning to the shocked niece, “A strong tea of yarris and silver elm bark will help.” With that the healers went back to their site and put the frying pan back on the fire. 

Usually the company would gather to sing songs and recite poetry. Tonight they left the youngsters alone. In the morning, Helica was already up making porridge. She remembered nothing of the care and seemed fine so the two travelers rode further into the gardens after saying goodbye.

______________------_____________

Irmo, Master of Dreams and Desires was curious, “Did you find the source of the surge?”

“Easily, My Lord. A Quendu pilgrim administered a spell to a woman afflicted with Atalantaë. It was powerful and inefficient but effective. The lady was healed.”

“Healed, not merely calmed?”

“Healed, My Lord.”

“A spell? What became of the sorcerer?”

“He and a girl-child are on their way deeper into the garden on horse. I passed them there and back.”

It was uncommon for pilgrims to venture very far inside the garden realm, even more so mounted. Lord Irmo considered and said, “Invite them here for the high meal.”

Nag Kath and Inariel took their time along the trail. There was so much to see in the marvelous place. No one in their party knew where Melian lived so they followed pulses of energy flowing northwest. Making an early camp near a small lake, Inariel unpacked while her husband took his fishing line to the shore. 

She felt him before she heard him and turned to face the tallest Elf she had ever seen, easily seven feet high and very fair. He bowed and said, “I hope I did not alarm you, child.”

Inariel curtsied and replied, “A pleasant surprise, sir.”

Nag Kath heard them and returned to the camp saying, “Good afternoon, sir. I can catch an extra trout if you would join us for dinner.”

Such curious accents! The Maia was in his Fana (appearance) of Elvish form so as not to shock. He said gently, “Thank you. I am Handril and have come to invite you to the Lord and Lady’s table tonight.”

There could be no refusal. Inariel replied, “That is most gracious and accepted gladly. I am Inariel and this is Nag Kath. If you will give us grace to gather our things, we will be ready shortly.”

They followed Handril through a dense hedge that parted like wheat in the wind. It closed behind them as they walked on a pristine path, covering twelve leagues in only half a bell, not a trail for pilgrims. The forest opened onto a magnificent mansion of white and silver set in a riot of colored flowers surrounded by every possible shade of green. A groom only slightly shorter than their guide took the mounts and the three climbed a broad staircase into the entryway of a grand reception hall. Handril said, “Please excuse me for a moment” and bounded up another flight of stairs. It was not much longer than a moment when the creature returned and asked them to follow him back up. 

Somehow Nag Kath was expecting his hosts to be seated in thrones looking down from on high. What he got was an extraordinary couple standing at the far end of the room talking. He was easily eight-feet tall, with long, pale hair held with a circlet of silver, vines and leaves. His gown was blue-black with silver trim. Lord Irmo reminded Nag Kath of Thranduil; pretty, almost feminine, but with great presence and grace.

She was perhaps seven feet tall, crowned with golden hair reaching below her waist, clad in a shimmering gray dress with no adornments. Estë’s face was a vision, but capable of more emotion than the same face on an Elf, a bit like Goldberry that way.

The Valar turned to their guests and received deep bows before approaching. Irmo said in a gentle but resonant voice, “Thank you for coming after your long journey. I am Lórien and this is Lady Estë.”

“I am Nag Kath and this is Inariel Telcontar, My Lord and Lady.”

Estë said in a soft, flowing tone, “We felt your healing. You cared for someone in distress?”

Nag Kath answered, “I did, ma’am. It was probably not the best remedy, but one I know.”

Lórien asked Inariel, “And you, child, have you come here to be made well?”

“No, My Lord. My husband and I came seeking an audience with the Lady Melian.”

If the Lord and Lady were not expecting that, one could never tell from their faces. They thought the girl looked a lot like Melian, but she was impossibly young to be married to the strapping lad. Inariel was about to offer the thought Orórin had placed in her mind when the Lord waved his hand towards a magnificent table, “Please, join us for nourishment.”

Despite being the destination for so many Elves, the Holy couple seldom entertained other than their own kind. Both were in their most familiar Fana, the physical aspect to put guests at ease. In this form they could eat and enjoy. The greater spirits took their places at the head and gestured for the youngsters to sit close by. For an instant Inariel felt like a child at the adult table but within moments her chair seemed raised to a comfortable height. Servants brought wine. Irmo offered a toast to Eru Ilúvatar and all sipped.

Neither Kath was about to start a conversation so they waited until Estë asked of the changeling, “Tell me more of your healing, young Quendu. It seemed very strong.”

“It is a witch’s spell of Middle-earth to clarify sorcerous confusion, My Lady. It healed the symptoms. I cannot speak to the cause. The woman seemed well this morning.”

Estë considered that and asked, “Is your being here to do with the upset in the Eldamar?”

There would be no secrets at this table. Nag Kath replied, “After a fashion, ma’am. I was called before your council and must return at the ides of March.”

All that would be tended in its own time. Irmo asked of Inariel, “You said you seek Melian. Is she expecting you?” He knew Melian wasn’t. She did not entertain at all, though she was here now coaxing colors from her flowering trees.

Inariel had never met gods before but she was used to the highest company in every life she had led. “The Lady is my great grandmother several times back. I have long dreamt of meeting her. Since we had leisure before attending the council in Máhanaxar, we hoped she might be here, My Lord.”

Nag Kath thought he caught the mosquito buzz of thoughts exchanged without speaking, not something everyday Elves can hear. The Valar returned to their guests and chose Inariel's baffling family as the evening topic. Dinner was good but Nag Kath did not remember what he ate. Before they were excused, Inariel said, “Oh dear, I almost forgot. My Lord, Orórin is our friend. He gave me a thought for you.”

Irmo extracted it from her mind in the blink of an eye with no change of expression before bidding them goodnight.

______________------_____________

The Valar couple had several hours in the morning and several at twilight before their respective labors. Irmo was master of night, bringing dreams and imaginings to the minds of sleeping or resting folk so his Elf-like Fana was only for guests. Estë stayed mostly in her Elvish form and slept on an island in her special lake, taking hurts and weariness from the same people during the day. In the time they had she said in thought-speaking, “Something for both of us my dear.”

“Yes, I will visit them shortly. How were you affected by his healing?”

“I felt it. He took more than he released to me. She has the touch too. How can she be so fair and so young both? Let me ponder that. I will also tell Melian that her granddaughter has come to call. Perhaps that will help. She is too long away from the energy of life.” Irmo kissed her. The Lord and Lady were very much in love. Other married Valar seldom saw each other. He wished her a pleasant night and left to tend his flock.

A servant showed the Kaths to their suite. It was magnificent too. Nag Kath had never drawn anything so perfectly proportioned. Their meager belongings were already unpacked with Nag Kath’s sword placed on a rack of honor in a sitting room. Tea was steaming on a low table and they both had a cup. In addition to resting chairs there was a full-sized bed. After two weeks among pilgrims, they both gazed longingly but thought to wait until they knew the Valars’ purpose.

Hanvil arrived after they dressed to give them a tour of the palace and grounds. It took several hours along astonishing paths that sometimes even confused the trail-savvy changeling. They also understood it to define their boundaries while here, for however long that might be. The tall Elf took them back to their quarters and said they could take their ease until the Lord and Lady wanted them.

That turned-out to be some time. For a week they explored within their confines and marveled at the flowers and fountains. Smaller lakes had an assortment of witless trout but he did not take them. He did allow himself liberty to climb a small hill inside their allowed area. It gave some perspective of the palace including a smaller mansion on the grounds off to one side. In Middle-earth it would be the grandest of mother-in-law’s quarters. Here it could be anyone exiled against time. In a different direction he saw a small blue lake with an island near the center. 

______________------_____________

Time went by quickly. When it seemed lunchtime it was almost dinner which was served in their rooms by smiling but silent servants. One night, they were visited by great dreams. As a rule, Nag Kath had mannish dreams; fragments of fantasy unmoored in time or experience. Inariel’s were closer to Elvish which could be shaped but held human thoughts woven through the skein. Both woke fresh without remembering and looked forward to revisiting a garden that had many of the floating spirits who lived here. A very small spirit stayed close to the Princess, floating near her as if enjoying physical presence. They could both sense the invisible folk, lowest of the spirit chain that culminated in the Valar themselves. 

“Good morning my dear.”

“Good morning, husband. How was your evening?”

“Queer, my love. I attended our guests. The changeling’s dreams are thin and unformed. The night offers him no clarity. He does not seem to need it. She, on the other hand, has the dreams of a man-child. I watched her as a girl with her sister trying-on apparel for a celebration. I think it is time to ask her about that. What news of Lady Melian?”

“I let her know, husband. It is up to her now.”

He thought it unlikely the Maia of Sorrows would respond but held hope. Irmo did say, “Hanvil showed them some of the garden. The male remembered both the true and magical trails." After a pause, “Orórin spoke well of our guests. He is deep in this business with Melkor.”

“Good. The Kath will need counsel.”

The youngsters were to attend their hosts for dinner again. It had been two weeks since the first yet seemed only a few days. They followed the successful pattern of answering rather than asking. One of those answers was explaining how Nag Kath infused the Princess with his life essence to overcome the blood disorder. That was power considerably above healing. Irmo saw in his mind other powers; some kindly, some terrible. Still more were untested. So; the young Quenda was a changeling too, albeit from more wholesome stock. 

That night the guests' dreams were strong again. Both were taken from their waking rest and looked at each other in the moonlight. It reminded them of another moonlit night not so long ago. If Irmo was the master of desire, he would understand. 

Nestled like spoons, Inariel murmured, "Perhaps we will be created spirits of intimacy." 

"Mmmmmm."

"Mother wouldn't care for that."

Nag Kath rose on his elbow, "Now there's a thought." Leave it to his passionate She-Elf to mention it. In Aman, from the fireflies to the Valar, joining was always in service of new life. There could be great joy in it, but they were probably the only two creatures on the continent who loved recreationally. Irmo noticed and was fascinated. As lord of dreams and desires, he had seen this in all of his sentient races. Some needed more encouragement than others. The Great Vala smiled. Dreams the world-round were interesting that night. 

More time passed. Nag Kath found a stick in the forest and whittled it into a beater for slow-swords. He wondered about the martial appearance, but this was for deep rest. Inariel and her spirits watched. She spoke to them and began to understand them. Many spirits were messengers of thought for the pilgrims, taking and returning dreams to their waking rest. After the second day of swords, they received an invitation to visit the Lady Melian two days hence. Nag Kath took it upon himself to started sketching. 

For the first time, Inariel wore the Elfstone or Elessar broach in public. It was the fabled jewel of her great grandfather Eärendil, given by Gandalf to Galadriel and later through Arwen to Aragorn, adding Elessar to his name at his coronation. Milli and Eldarion gave it to their pretty Elf sister before they sailed. As the couple prepared, Inariel became quiet and asked, “Did I do the right thing Nag? She is alone and bears the weight of so many sorrows.”

Her insensitive orc husband replied, “Seven thousand years? Time to get over it.”

Inara would have liked a little support herself for her courage. She looked at him with pleading eyes as the weak candle of recognition lit in his mind. Her handsome Elf kissed her gently and said, “This might be a form of healing too, my love. It hurts on both sides. Perhaps this helps her become whole again.”

It was the right comeback and the two were escorted to the guest mansion through a section of the palace they hadn’t seen before. It was no more than a quarter-bell walk. The doors were opened by an attendant and the couple were shown to what had to be the most uncomfortable couch ever built, the sort of furniture made for rooms people never sat in. They waited quite some time before a tall, gloomy Quenda collected them to walk up three flights of stairs. The lady, who reminded the Kaths of Miss Told without the occasional smile, knocked on a stout door before opening it and showing the guests inside. 

Melian was sitting at an embroidery stand. She looked up and rose, accepting her guests’ bows. As she came closer, she froze a moment looking at Inariel’s face. It was much like her own. If the former Queen of Doriath wasn’t taller than Nag Kath the two women could be sisters. The Lady adopted a reliable smile, the sort one can conjure to disguise any mood, “How nice to meet you, great granddaughter.”

“It is my pleasure, Your Highness.” Melian was both a queen of Elves and a ranking Maiar of the immortals, nobility in either camp. She showed them to a much more comfortable couch and took the chair nearest Inariel. The Lady of Sorrows had only imagined her heirs, having left Middle-earth before Elrond was born. 

Tea was served. Melian said graciously, “You are staying with the Lord and Lady. I am grateful they told me you were here. Tell me child, you are daughter to Elrond?”

“No ma’am, granddaughter. My mother was Arwen Undómiel.”

“Yes, that is right. You have two uncles.”

“I do, My Lady. I just met them two years ago.”

Melian looked at the quiet husband and said more sternly, “And you are the warrior of Middle-earth, are you not?”

Nag Kath admitted, “At need, ma’am, and recently too.”

“What is your part in this?”

“I married Inariel after healing her from a malady of mixed Elvish and mannish blood,” Melian's direct legacy.

Melian’s face softened to say, “And now you are here. Will you stay long, child?”

Her grandchild replied, “Not much longer, My Lady. Nag Kath must answer to Máhanaxar in a months’ time, though we hope to return and see more of this place.” There was a great deal unspoken in that wish.

They spoke for perhaps ten minutes about this and that. Then the Lady’s face changed again to a mask of graciousness, the sort of expression practiced by women who do not want their thoughts known. The Maia said softly but finally, “Then I hope we will see each other again.”

She started to rise, which should have been the signal for better-bred company to take their leave. It was not effective with Orc Six who blurted, “Before we go, I hoped to give you a gift of my own hands.”

Melian sat down and smoothed an imperceptible crease from her gown. Nag Kath opened a small tube, unrolling the sheets as he said, “This sketch is your great, great grandson Lord Elrond as I drew him last year.” Sliding it under the stack he added, “This is of my own Inariel. Now these two likely lads are Inariel’s uncles Elrohir and Elladan.”

Melian watched with mild interest until the changeling got to the final drawing, “These are King Elessar and Inariel’s mother Queen Arwen.”

He let the last sentence hang in the air as Melian’s concentration was drawn to the page. Arwen was Melian's daughter Lúthien reborn, the most beautiful women of any age, then or since, the perfect blending of Melian and her beloved King Thingol. The face was inspiration since the dawn of Nag Kath's awakening, and no one had ever captured her better. The Kaths could tell a tear was waiting behind those blue eyes. The child before the Maia Queen today was very much of her blood, now relegated to memory even while the newest generations lived only as far as the other side of the mountains. Nag Kath handed her the sheets and left the tube on the couch. Displayed emotion lasted only that long. Melian composed her face then rose to thank them for coming.

On the way back to their quarters Inariel was uneasily silent. The meeting had gone as she expected but not as she had hoped. Perhaps they would meet again. Nag Kath held her closely in the bed, like he had when she transferred her father’s essence to baby Inara. 

______________------_____________

Nag Kath thought it was time to stretch their bounds and investigate the little lake he saw from the knoll before they had to go. He hadn’t improved his healing and that idyllic place was drawing him. Usually he wouldn’t take Inariel on one of his questionable adventures but she was restless and asked to come when he told her his plan.

They walked up a thin but well-trodden path for about half a bell. The youngsters stood and watched for a while before taking off their shoes and hose to dip their feet in the cool water. It was not the refreshment they expected. Nag Kath could feel great pulses of energy surging towards the island with lesser humors returning along the same paths. There were thousands of them. Inariel felt something too and said almost inaudibly, “Nag, this was the place I saw in granna’s mirror.” 

He felt incoming pulses flow through him and back out towards the island, slightly diminished in the transfer. Curious. Was this the water that healers sent here from the sick and injured? Was inefficiency over the long, dry distance why it took so much from them? Most importantly; did proximity to the Lady of Healing matter? He wondered if the draw of Valinor was being closer to these streams of power that converted Elvish pain and woe into eternal life. His direct connection to this lake might be why Kath of the Water never felt he had to leave Middle-earth. 

Inariel gently took his hand. Both of them slowly glowed a pale silver, further reducing the pulses of hurt sent further into the lake. Holding that condition for several minutes, eyes closed, they did not notice Lady Estë had woken from her rest just out of view and peered over her bower at the youngsters. She had the slightest sleepy smile before laying her head back on her arm. 


	72. Returning That Which was Borrowed

** _Chapter 72_ **

** _Returning That Which Was Borrowed_ **

Inariel was an experienced healer, though she had never shown inductive capacity. This time she felt it pass through her husband. The silver did not bother her and she smiled hoping the brave Vala Lady’s burdens were lessened. They stepped back on shore and watched her vision of the mirror before putting their shoes on and walking back hand-in-hand.

That evening when their meal was usually brought, Hanvil came to ask them to join the Lord and Lady. They hadn’t seen Hanvil since they arrived. They might have been frightened after this afternoon’s adventure but Nag Kath reasoned if he hadn’t been killed for incinerating Lord Manwë’s brother, stealing a little pain wouldn’t tip the scale.

Irmo and Estë were already seated. The Kaths bowed and took their usual places. The Lady of Healing and Hurts asked gently, “You felt the waters?”

Inariel answered, “We did, My Lady. I am sorry we could not reduce your toil.”

Estë laughed. They did not know Valar laughed. Then the graceful lady smiled and said, “Oh, my dear, that is why I am here. I sleep soundly and awake refreshed. I still thank you for your care.” 

Irmo wove that into a thread about this curious couple, "Young lady, was it healing that brought you from Middle-earth to these shores?"

The Princess considered that carefully. She was unsure of the question but gave it her best, "My own sir. I was ill near to death as a woman. My husband saved me by giving me Elvish essence, but we think the call of the Undying Lands then overwhelmed me, as if my transformation was brought to a head. Nag Kath's gift of color helped greatly and I have kept growing stronger since we arrived, finally able to rest."

The Lord continued in the same voice, "Color?"

The changeling took that question, "Yes, Lord Irmo. The Wild Huntsman blessed me with the ability to see races and darkness through healing waters. I cannot claim to fully understand it, but it has saved many I love ... me too." 

The Lady of Healing knew her Lord's mind and asked of the male, "And did you come for the same reason as your bride, Nag Kath?"

"Oh no, ma'am. I have never felt drawn to this place, fair though it is. I wondered that it might be because so many generations of dark servants interrupted the call. Inariel needed to come here and I came because she is my wife."

The Lord of Dreams and Desires smiled, "Then we are the better for it. Inariel, you have made new friends in our garden."

“Indeed I have, My Lord. I read and rest and play with the spirits who follow me among the plants and waters. They are each unique, though very shy, Lietul especially.”

The child could feel them, communicate with them! Irmo agreed, “Yes, each its own. Not everyone can sense them." Time was growing short, "I asked you both here because we are called to Valmar, something to do with your exploits, Nag Kath.”

Both Inariel and Nag Kath knew that despite what seemed a cordial relationship, it could not compete with the need to rebalance Eä (the universe) after losing Melkor. It might be nothing. In the months since the battle, the sun came up. It rained and was fair in turn. Irmo wanted to keep these two close; both so he knew they would be at the council and for further study. “I grant you permission to leave when you like or you can travel with us when we go.” The Vala remembered their situation and added, “In that case, your horses must stay.”

The adventurous young couple knew their horses would live as well here as anywhere else and readily agreed to wait. The rest of the meal was spent talking about healers of Middle-earth and Tom Bombadil’s home of dreams. 

Back in their quarters, they wondered if they would go back to Valmar with the Eagles of Bilbo and Frodo’s tales. Might they be carried aloft to the stars and be set on far soil? While Nag Kath speculated, Inariel wondered if she really wanted to fly on the back of a large bird. For the next three weeks they did what they had for the last month. Since the Valar had not asked them to return to the lake, they didn’t. There was no word from Melian either. That bothered Inariel. She missed her family. Melian was family.

Handril found them in their favorite garden picking strawberries and talking to spirits. Quieter than an Elf, he cleared his throat and they both looked up before he announced, “The Lord and Lady are ready.”

The Kaths followed him back to the house where their meager bags were packed. Bedrolls, extra clothes and travel gear would stay. Nag Kath had his sword and got special dispensation for his lucky frying pan. Handril walked them to a hallway where the Lord and Lady were waiting. Estë, a head taller than Inariel, put her arm around her shoulder as they walked further along. The Lady told her young charge, “Fear not child. I am with you.”

As she said that, Irmo opened a door and walked into a windowless room lit by unseen lamps. The ladies were close behind, leaving Nag Kath to bring up the rear carrying the bags and shutting the door behind him. Irmo opened a door on the other side of the room while the Elf followed a few moments later into a small hall with tall windows along one side. 

When Nag Kath reached them, Inariel’s eyes were as big as Florin. Her husband set the bags down saying, “My dear, you look unwell.”

Estë said gently, “She will be fit shortly.” To her she added, “You are safe and sound my dear.”

The Princess exhaled like she had been holding her breath and turned to Nag Kath, “I am fine. I … yes, fine.”

Estë just smiled at her. Inariel collected her wits and said to Nag Kath in a loud whisper, “How can you be so calm?”

He looked at her in puzzlement but had not answered when Lord Irmo instructed, “You should go to your home now. Expect to be called at the pleasure of the council.”

Both Kaths walked to the closest window and saw they were in Valmar. A servant they did not recognize bowed to them and showed them to an exterior door leading to a northern street of the city. The changeling held his lady’s hand down the stairs against her being unsteady. At the bottom of the steps they saw they had arrived at the Dome of Varda. Inariel turned to him and babbled, “We passed through time and light and space in a blur. How are you not … I mean … oh, never mind.”

Until he looked out the window, Nag Kath thought he was still in the Gardens of Lórien. He hadn’t felt a thing. That explained how Gandalf could get down the stairs of Orthanc with no one noticing. He said helpfully, “That was convenient.” On the twenty minute walk to Gandalf’s she looked like she was about to blurt something but did not make a peep. Now that he assessed the trip, he thought of telling Inariel; ‘that was the fast’ but held his tongue as well.

Maid Tilidelia let them in, looking behind them for the horses before shutting the door. She reported that the master was out but should be back by dinner time. They thanked her and went to their room. Inariel sat on the bed, knees together, staring at the opposite wall. He thought the transport must have horrified her. His lovely Quenda had some healing powers and the blood of the greatest firstborn in her veins, but she was a very conventional girl. He sometimes forgot just how unusual he was, mostly because he had tried so hard to be of the people he loved.

She started to cry. He asked her what he could do but she just shook her head and wrung her hands. There was nothing else he could say and he couldn’t leave her like this so he sat in his resting chair and waited. Like on the walk over, she looked at him as if to say something several times but shook her head again and sobbed. 

When he least expected it, the dam burst, “Must I lose you, my love? Must you go where I cannot?”

There was no answering that. He knew more must be coming. She struggled, “I have been so happy. You took my pain away and gave me hope. We traveled. You took me to see mother. You held me and loved me and made me … oh, oh …” That was as much as she could bear and she started sobbing again.

______________------_____________

Another of the unending realizations fell from the heavens with same crushing weight of those before. As usual, he had not seen it. Since they arrived, she had become an Elf, the illness and imbalance of her heritage finally repaired. He had become a wizard. She watched his powers swell, praying they would not drive a wedge between them. He saw the skills as both a distraction and a necessary evil against the greater evil, to be eventually discarded. Now the woman who loved him unreservedly feared the distance between them was growing, that or he would be reduced to the same gray ash as the unloved Morgoth. 

He sat next to her as she watched her lap. He was not a dark lord or a light one. He was Kath of many things. When Inariel’s crying became sniffles, he said quietly, “The day of your parents’ drawing, I was on trial for my life. An Elf joined them since I looked more Elf than orc. He asked me what I wanted. I did not remember that. I only know now from reading Mr. Tallazh’s notes. I knew I liked living and marveled at that which surrounded me. Until then, I only wanted enough sawdust bread to live and not be beaten by the bigger Uruks. I wanted the pain in my gaol to stop. Amiedes wrote I answered I would art and music … and if I lived longer than my six-year doom, I would sing my own songs.”

He paused to make sure she was listening. She looked up; one of the few women he had ever met who was still beautiful when crying. “I did art. I sang my songs. I married and loved. And I know what I want. When I am called, I will say as much and see what the great ones decide. You must not worry, dear Inara.”

Gandalf’s arrival ended the conversation for the moment. He was told they were in their room and he attended his own business knowing he would see them when they were ready. Dinner was an hour later and they both came. The Kaths told the wizard of their adventures among spirits and Vala and their coming to Valmar quite rapidly. Long pauses went unfilled. Afterwards, they went to Gandalf’s small sitting room where he spent most of his time. The lack of cubbies suggested the old Maia needed a new project. He might tell you the Kath’s were his new project. 

Their host had only finished his first pipe when there was a knock on the door. Tilidelia answered and admitted Betanzaes from the Council of Máhanaxar. Nag Kath was to attend them at dawn. His lady wife and Orórin should come with him and might be called. That night her Elf held her chastely in bed. Neither spoke. Talking would take from the time they had to embrace and think of only good things. Neither slept or took rest. The dawn would be here too soon. 

Nag Kath had inventoried his gifts. How many of those were deserved? By one counting; none. He should have died in training, twice on the Mering Stream with an arrow in his breast and when the trooper nearly plunged a spear through his heart. He survived the army of the dead and the destruction of the One Ring. Nag Kath tried to count all the times he should have breathed his last, but there were just too many. Once, at least, he did die. 

By a more charitable counting he had been given many of his gifts; some deserved, others unexplained. He had earned many of them the hard way. If he was allowed to live and was asked which of his gifts he would keep, he would answer that he liked being an Elf. He found deep joy in healing. He loved his wife and hoped to be with her.

That was it. They could have the rest. It seemed impossible, though. Even if he was stripped of magic, he still knew how. As Miss Quessan told him long ago, that alone would attract powers like cats to the cream. Nag Kath banished further meaningless speculation. He was holding his Inariel. That was enough. 

In the residence of Irmo and Estë was a last conversation about the pending council. Estë had not originally been a Valier. She was a strong Maia to other ladies of the court. That changed when the Elves started fighting each other. There was more pain and weariness than imagined by creator Eru Ilúvatar. War and destruction by Melkor and Sauron at their worst overwhelmed the Lady of Mercy. Twice the creator granted her greater ability to absorb the hurts and wear on free-peoples stretched to the brink. Stress decreased with the ending of the cursed rings, but she still labored long from the growing population of Middle-earth and, recently, the war in Eldamar.

Irmo spoke gently in his thoughts, “Are you sure, my dear?”

“Oh yes, husband, more every moment. They both survived the crossing, he holding iron. That was a risk.”

“This is a time of risk. We had to be sure. Let us tell the others, but the timing must be flawless. Much will depend on Lord Manwë’s view of the imbalance. I hope our friends will see this through.”

______________------_____________

Orórin was ready by the time the horizon started to glow. Nag Kath and Inariel joined him a few minutes later and they strode to the western gate. Elves went about their business. No one stared. This was a very private assembly. The sun was almost up when they presented themselves to the door wardens of the Circle of Doom.

While the respondents waited in the entry hall amid dozens of servants bustling to and fro, the Lords of Arda discussed matters in the main chamber. They seldom met, but far-speaking only worked well individually and this was an issue that required all ears. They also wanted to know each other’s unique wisdom since each Vala had such different roles. This was not a council in the manner of men or even Elves. Even the fair and understanding court of Telcontar was limited by time and resources. In this realm, those were vast. 

Manwë presided with his wife Varda as counselor. His primary concern was the balance. In the creation of the Ainur, Eru Ilúvatar imagined a pantheon of beings to administer the world according to their special talents. Their paths often crossed but core needs were separate responsibilities. Melkor was immediately hostile, disrupting the music of creation. He was given too much too soon, the ultimate spoiled child. Even with the great wars he caused and lack of any useful skill, he was a presence in the pressure of power. With him gone, strength was spread thin, unguided. The other Valar, Maiar and spirits down the scale had not fundamentally changed in potency since the music, adapting to Melkor’s imprisonment and to the great loss of Maiar in conflict.

Manwë long struggled first with understanding the nature of his brother’s betrayal and then with his punishment. No one of the council was sorry Melkor was dead. The problem was the reckoning. The gaps Manwë and his Valar had effectively covered were laid bare. Only Eru Ilúvatar could replace Ainur. Others could reshape them, yes, but not create them. Mandos prophesied Melkor would eventually escape to foment a terrible battle ending all things to start anew. But the battle that destroyed him was not as foreseen. The world remained as it was. Perhaps that was for the best. Manwë did not know. Suddenly, unimagined, a former orc had taken powers and betrayed his creator by secreting him out of his confinement and slaying him. How was that possible? Was Melkor truly dead or was the prophesy simply held in abeyance? What was done was done, but there were more black souls floating in the Void and they should stay there.

The Elder King now considered his counselors. Some had opposed releasing Melkor the first time after so much damage. Then he did far worse. There were hard feelings about that decision. Ending the exile of the Ñoldorin fell largely along the same lines with those opposed insisting on removing Aman from grasping mortals. To the matter at hand, there were gods of the council who knew more than others about this and related concerns. They had been strangely quiet on their purpose. Manwë would have them share their thoughts today. Irmo and Estë asked for a moment towards the end of the conference. Curious; that. The Master of Desires usually spoke to his peers quietly.

Manwë nodded to his chief Maia Eönwë to bring the respondent before them. Highest of the servants, the noble warrior stood immensely tall and proud, clad in bright armor and armed with steel. He walked forward to Orórin in the antechamber and bowed, receiving bows of the three in return. The herald announced, “Nag Kath, your presence is required. Orórin, please remain here. Your counsel may be asked shortly.” 

Nag Kath kissed the Princess on the forehead and followed the imposing warrior to the proceedings. As they disappeared behind the doors, a shorter version of the wizard, robed in blue, emerged from the shadows to join his fellow Istari and a stunned Quenda for an overdue reunion.

The meeting hall of the Valar was shaped like a huge barrel; round, and for those standing small on the floor, a long way to the top. There were skylights illuminating equally spaced chairs ringing three quarters of the room. Those were different sizes because of their unique Lords and Ladies. Some were massive. Some were normal. Quite a few of the occupants shone their own light as well but it was still hard to see faces. Gandalf gave the Kaths a quick lesson on who sat where.

Directly in front were Manwë and Varda, she a woman of surpassing beauty and grace. Eönwë showed the changeling to a small circle in the middle of the barrel where Nag Kath bowed deeply and stood in attendance. The herald announced, “My Lords and Ladies, before us stands Nag Kath, come to answer your questions. Please proceed, My Lord Manwë.”

As the Maia withdrew, the King of the Valar spoke in a voice that seemed all things at once. Powerful yet soothing, it resonated without the confusing echoes of a cave. “Nag Kath, you are here to answer for the slaying of the Ainu Melkor. Did you do so?”

“I did, My Lord.”

“Why?”

“He was long my enemy and threatened my friends, sir.” No one had explained addressing these beings so he used royal protocol.

The Elder King added, “It is further said that you spirited him from his detention to accomplish this.”

“That is also true, My Lord. I saw the opportunity to attack when he was weak and took it, as I would every time, lo, he was already leaking from pinholes in the fabric. I destroyed one of them in Middle-earth fifty-four years ago.”

If any of the great ones had been hoping for denial or requests for clemency, they would have to adjust their approach. Vairë, weaver of that fabric, spoke sternly from the right, “By what authority did you slay a great Ainu, changeling?”

The Elf expected this, long before having decided he would be absolutely honest but not fawning. If they couldn’t keep their prisoners in gaol, he wouldn't apologize for catching them. “Not authority, My Lady, responsibility. I was there for the farmers and their families. The two thousand slain weigh on me far more than Morgoth.”

Morgoth, Black Foe, was an insulting Elvish slur. Tulkas, who despised Melkor, enjoyed hearing it. The Lord of Strength and War should be a powerful ally to the changeling general. He called in a booming, jovial voice, “Did you challenge him from his confinement for combat, Elfling?”

The Holy Ones got their first look at the infamous Nag Kath grin, “In a manner of speaking, Lord Tulkas. I tricked him by forcing his servant to call him forth saying the battle they incited was won. He had but to claim his prize. Then, with help, I bound him in flame and sent his ashes beyond the sky. He turned to Queen Varda, “For which I apologize, My Lady.”

The fairest of all creatures gave him a lilting smile and asked of a woman on her right, “I did not see him in my stars, dear Vána. Has Arien encountered upset in the day?”

Vána, Ever-young, nodded to her Queen and replied, “Yes, she said a fire-bolt passed far by her and then dissipated in the ether winds.”

Vairë had no great interest in what became of the changeling but was of those concerned with Manwë’s dilemma about the balance of humors. She continued, “Nag Kath, well-intentioned as you may be, it is still a grave matter of upsetting the order of things.”

The Elf considered that and offered, “Yes, ma’am, though, I am not sure that I got the entirety of him. I have returned bits of Melkor to the Void before. This may have only been a larger piece to be easily replaced.”

Nag Kath seemed to catch them off guard. In what sounded like mosquitos buzzing; Manwë far-spoke a question of the Ruler of the Dead. Mandos was the husband of Vairë and keeper of the halls of souls. A lesser charge was confining evil powers. He was of the faction that did not want the Ñoldorin back. A man might be defensive since it was his gaol the dark lord tunneled through, but these beings were not that fragile. 

The Doomsman said in a voice almost too low to understand, “Nay, My Lord. Your brother is entirely destroyed. I went myself. Others confined there remain. They do not have the power or energy to constantly claw the walls of their confinement. A smaller breach has also been sealed.” 

Aulë the Smith was of two minds. He created the Dwarves. Nag Kath was a Dwarf-friend, apart from destroying one of their rings. But Sauron and Saruman were his Maia. The changeling possessed some unexplained essence of the corrupted servants. Aulë would not release them on an unsuspecting world, just as Arwen worried in Nag Kath's first trial. Stating the council's concerns for the future, the Lord of Craft demanded, “And now that he is no more, do you, with your Maiar powers, think to petition this august assembly for entry?”

Nag Kath was surprised. The Elf quickly considered their point-of-view. It was impossibly rare, from the stable-boy to the gods, that one would destroy someone of power without intending to usurp them. In the absence of knowing the unique changeling, a scholar of his life could easily claim it was a ruthless exercise in the accumulation of power. He did his sums too. Each of these great ones, Those Who Are Named, would have rejoiced that Melkor was conveniently removed by an insignificant Uruk-hai Templagk. How could they conceive Nag Kath's ambitions were honorable?

Ulmo, the Sea King, built on Aulë’s thread. “Indeed, you summon all powers to yourself!”

If any one or a combination of them had been slipping Nag Kath powers under the table, they had ample opportunity to mention that privately. Perhaps it was better to finally smash the expendable orc’s face over the pod pit. All was idle supposition, and Nag Kath would be the first to tell you he was a poor dukks player. His final royal card still face-down was that two, possibly three Maiar would be lobbying for his survival. If Orlo returned here after helping slay good ole’ Morgoth, Oromë at least would have heard the tale. 

The changeling cleared his throat to say, “I only willingly took powers I needed.”

There is no quiet so deep as when gods are stunned to silence. After a few moments, Manwë asked calmly, “Why did you not gather greater strength? You could have easily.”

Nag Kath said softly and slowly, “For three reasons, best of sirs; one was that after the war, men would have feared the last dark servant learning fell sorceries. The second was that through much of my life, people were trying to kill me. The only powers I sought were healing and self-defense.”

He composed himself for the most important thing he ever had to say, “The last is that accumulating power for its own sake is necessarily evil. It drives away love until all that remains is cruel ambition. The giving of power soothes. I gave mine to heal. Radagast taught me to never accept power I did not need or could not accept responsibility for.”

A woman to the Elf's left had been silent throughout. She was Yavanna, mistress of living things, Radagast’s Vala. Nag Kath hoped by now she would have learned of his fate and their friendship. She asked in a voice that issued from throughout the room, “Young Quendu, what result do you seek?”

“Only to live with my wife in healing and peace, ma’am.”

Yavanna nodded to Manwë who spoke with gravity, “Nag Kath, you will wait outside while we consider your future. Herald Eönwë, please take him to the entry and return with his wife Inariel.”

______________------_____________

The changeling had not considered that Inariel might be in jeopardy, but he had tempted the fates for a great many in his gamble. Why would she be any different? The Valar’s will be done and there was nothing for it. Nag Kath was returned to his Inara and the two wizards. He kissed her on the lips very tenderly and bowed to the herald as she was shown into the Circle of Doom. Nag Kath smiled at Orlo but then turned to watch his Lady disappear behind the doors.

Princess Inariel walked to the circle and bowed unafraid. She thought she saw the slightest smile from Estë. Vána, Lady of Youth and Beauty, had asked to speak to the youngest being ever brought before the council. “Do you have powers as well, child?”

She answered confidently, “I have healing ability inherited from both sides of my family, ma’am.”

Vána considered that and continued, “Tell us of your husband.”

The Princess answered softly, “I loved him in silence when I was a girl. Later, he healed me from a dread illness and I fell in love with him again.”

“So this union was of your own free-will?”

Inariel bloomed, “Oh yes. Together we have traveled wide with many adventures.”

Vána’s husband Oromë, who knew more than most here about goings-on in the Fourth Age of Middle-earth, asked, “What are your husband’s greatest gifts?”

“There are many, My Lord. If I must choose; patience and optimism. He was born into slavery and endured unspeakable agony in his changing. He was attacked and shunned, driven from the places of Elves and men. Nag Kath has given of himself healing and against the enemy as our friend Orórin taught him, near to death many times.

“My Lords and Ladies, I was born of the highest station in my world. Folk like me thought him cursed. But if you ask him, he would tell you he is the most fortunate creature on the face of Arda.”

Manwë said in the gentlest voice imaginable, “Thank you. You many join your husband outside to await our decision. Herald, please return with Orórin”

______________------_____________

She bowed and was gone, leaving the Valar to consider their responsibilities. Melkor’s demise neatly avoided a wealth of prophesy suggesting a much more dire reckoning. No one would mourn him. There were only two important concerns; one was Manwë’s need to counterweight the loss of so powerful a force. The second was the fate of creatures and events for the battle that would not come. Eärendil was still bound to the sky as the Evening Star in waiting to attack Morgoth. Would the cursed Silmarils finally be destroyed and return the Light of Trees? Melkor's foretold rage became an ignominious whimper, but it was an ending nonetheless. 

A much lesser consideration was what to do with the curious changeling. He had Maiar-like powers, not all bestowed by reputable sources. Had Saruman created spirit powers in his fell creatures like the greater dark ones had? Those humors were increasing while the rest of the world’s were fading. Vairë the weaver was most alarmed. “My Lord, this changeling cannot continue to gain strength without your blessing. We are only just rid of one troublemaker.”

Manwë believed the Kath had come by his powers earnestly. At need he could strip them away. Orórin was shown to the circle and the King asked, “Are you still committed to your counsel, old friend?”

Gandalf said in his strong, low voice, “I am, Sire.”

“Then let us hear from Lord Irmo and Lady Estë.” 

With a nod from Manwë, Irmo spoke in his clear, resonant voice, “My friends, for two months a being of power was our guest, someone capable of relieving my Estë of her burdens for a time. We respectfully ask for a long period of apprenticeship to help heal the many hurts My Lady now bears alone.”

Ulmo, who came to council only at great need like this, said in his deep baritone, “My Lady Estë, long have you taken the brunt of pain in this world. Are you in accord?”

“Oh yes, Lord Ulmo. This was my idea. I have confidence, but may need all of your support to teach what I do not know.”

Nessa, swift and most junior of the Valier, glanced at her brother Oromë before asking, “And what of the other?”

Irmo answered thoughtfully, “Her husband has powers as well, with more experience controlling them. It may be some time before the young Quenda can assume her duties. We need both changelings working together in the healing. Then they can shoulder the burdens at times for Estë to rest, or when there is great need. As my beloved wife said; we hope we can count on your support in preparing them both.”

Vána wondered, “How came she by these gifts?

The Master of Desires was prepared for that, “Nag Kath received his power from Curomo (Saruman) and she from him when he made her immortal.” He looked at his wife, “We are not sure how either occurred. Through her mother and her father she is the sole undying female descendant of Melian. Both are the only known transfers of power from the Maiar, converging in her. She was almost lost to us three times and is only now healthy enough to realize her calling."

Estë added, “The lass is also descended from Galadriel who has unexplained gifts even after her ring is but ornamentation. And her father Aragorn was a healer in their fashion.”

Nessa had one more question about the male, "And why was the Quendu not called to us like his wife?"

Irmo was less sure of this reply, "He is not truly Elfkind. All his life he has thought he was an Elf living like a man. He was really a Maia, living as a man. There is a fair measure of Elf and Maiar in him, but the Maia grows stronger. He begins to suspect that."

Manwë gazed around the room. In ósanwe mind-speak he called the vote. The council agreed that the youngsters would be trained to use their gifts in the service of the Lady Estë. The King said in true voice, “Let it be done. Lord and Lady of the Garden, you have my blessing.”

The King turned to Lord Oromë, “I call upon you to assist in practical aspects of their tutelage.” 

To borrow a phrase from the world of men, Oromë the Great Huntsman had ‘pulled a few strings’ to help Nag Kath succeed with hints of power here and there since the changeling crossed the Belegaer. His hunting forests were just on the other side of the Pelóri Mountains from the rend in the fabric Selvas used for his indiscreet, desperate plea and Melkor’s powerful response. He also felt the seed of his servant Pallando as it grew in the soil of Aman. This was as close as Oromë’s assistance would ever come to acknowledgment in the council. If not universally appreciated, it was effective. The two changelings could not balance the loss of the most powerful Ainu Melkor, but their contribution might be enough that Eru Ilúvatar did not need to reorder the way of things. In a mere thousand years or so, the children's training should be complete. 

It would be time well spent.


	73. Epilog

** **

** _Epilog_ **

Inariel was half of him, inheriting everything Nag Kath possessed except the gift of color, which was his alone. She more than made up for that by being the only female heir of Melian who, after convincing by the Lord and Lady of the Garden, agreed to help develop the pretty child. It was Melian's blood force driving Inariel into Elvish crisis, not Aragorn's. As had happened before, the changeling’s instincts were right in redrawing Arwen, reminding Melian that good things came of her legacy in Middle-earth. Nag Kath had a hand in preserving four extraordinary lines of women. The image of Queen Nepthat returned again and again. In the east were women descended from Chûran. No less beautiful were Orlo's healers of Nurad and Viersh. A much more powerful legacy was made immortal through his beloved Inariel. 

Details are difficult to find about Nag Kath and Inariel after the council. We can assume Nag Kath and Orlo shared their experience in the east, long enough neglected by the Valar that men of those lands reordered local pantheons to fit the pall of Sauron’s dominion. We do know that men of the east clung to their notions of heavenly rule but those of Thân zîrân readily adopted the western view. 

Since their presence was only occasionally needed in the Gardens of Lórien, the couple traveled everywhere in Aman and often stayed with Lord Cirdan in his cities on the sea. Fonë gossiped to friends that the apprentice Maiar couple may have even visited their families in Middle-earth. It is known that healers across the Belegaer became more numerous and skilled in passing hurts through Ulmo’s waters. From recorded lore we learned Nag Kath and Inariel’s elder daughter married Heliman, a Prince of the Teleri in Alqualondë. Her younger sister wed Kelambor, a very respectable young Ñoldorin. 

All else is left to the imagination of those whose paths they crossed in their extraordinary journey. One cannot help but hope Miss Told was right and they lived happily to the end of their days. 


	74. Alphabetical Character List

** _Alphabetical Character List_ **

** **

Not everyone is included, especially the Valar. The near column is the chapter they are introduced. The far column shows people who are in the books.

**Intro**

| 

**Name**

| 

**Location**

| 

**Role**

| 

**Canon**  
  
---|---|---|---|---  
  
6

| 

Aleg

| 

Orthanc

| 

scratcher

|   
  
10

| 

Aleurn

| 

Dale

| 

Brenan's mother

|   
  
26

| 

Alphros

| 

Belfalas

| 

Prince of Dol Amroth

| 

x  
  
5

| 

Altheras, Lady

| 

Rohan

| 

wife of Marshal

|   
  
4

| 

Altheras, Reland

| 

Rohan

| 

Marshal of the Mark

|   
  
11

| 

Aule

| 

Dale

| 

Swordsmith

|   
  
55

| 

Amalie

| 

Alas Forten

| 

chambermaid

|   
  
44

| 

Anairë

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Daughter of Eldarion 93

|   
  
24

| 

Anandogh

| 

Mordor

| 

Visitor Cavalry officer

|   
  
9

| 

Andros

| 

Tharbad

| 

trooper

|   
  
43

| 

Angalica

| 

Emyn Arnen

| 

Elboron's 2nd wife, Barahir's mother

|   
  
6

| 

Annas

| 

Orthanc

| 

Head Housekeeper

|   
  
56

| 

Anthrala

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Millicend's daughter

|   
  
70

| 

Anthreil

| 

Lorien

| 

pilgrim leader

|   
  
24

| 

Aômul

| 

Nûrn

| 

Hurm of upper Nurn

|   
  
1

| 

Aragorn

| 

Gondor

| 

King CA TA 3018

| 

x  
  
43

| 

Aranthal

| 

Arnor

| 

Queen, wife of Eldarion

|   
  
54

| 

Arathorn

| 

Emyn Arnen

| 

Grandson of Barahir

|   
  
42

| 

Ar-Balkumagân

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

Witch-King's original name

| 

x  
  
9

| 

Arcadlan

| 

Dunland

| 

Barge Chief

|   
  
11

| 

Ardatha

| 

Dale

| 

Eniece's daughter

|   
  
19

| 

Ardathlin

| 

Dale

| 

Brenen's younger daughter

|   
  
42

| 

Ar-Gimilzôr

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

ruler 

|   
  
54

| 

Armandor

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Prince ca 122

|   
  
1

| 

Arwen Undómiel

| 

Rivendell

| 

Queen of the Reunited Kingdom

| 

x  
  
39

| 

Athmandal

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

junior sailor

|   
  
21

| 

Bain II of Dale

| 

Dale

| 

King after Bard II

|   
  
43

| 

Barandor

| 

Dale

| 

King ca 94

|   
  
10

| 

Bard cousin of Brenen

| 

Dale

| 

businessman

|   
  
10

| 

Bard II

| 

Dale

| 

King

| 

x  
  
19

| 

Barthanid

| 

Dale

| 

Bard's son

|   
  
1

| 

Bathralas, Anthram

| 

Gondor

| 

Minister of the Purse

|   
  
44

| 

Bathralas, Gervaith

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Officer of the Purse, Millicend's husband

|   
  
47

| 

Bengarath

| 

Pashir

| 

young Ghur

|   
  
42

| 

Benigrautha

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

Harbormaster

|   
  
32

| 

Beshugya

| 

Pelargir

| 

physical healer of Nurad

|   
  
15

| 

Bessandal

| 

Gondor

| 

Cavalry Captain of Aragorn's escort

|   
  
44

| 

Bettes

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Shurran's daughter

|   
  
7

| 

Blayne, Meaglie

| 

Dunland

| 

farmer's daughter

|   
  
7

| 

Blayne, Meaglith

| 

Dunland

| 

farmer's wife

|   
  
7

| 

Blayne, Torrold

| 

Dunland

| 

farmer 

|   
  
18

| 

Bombadil, Tom

| 

Old Forest

| 

Maia?

| 

x  
  
36

| 

Boradul

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Chief Guardi

|   
  
12

| 

Borenne, Mrs.

| 

Esgaroth

| 

businesswoman, Eniece's mother

|   
  
15

| 

Borndal, Penula

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Florice's Lady's Maid

|   
  
1

| 

Borothar, Tyras

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

merchant

|   
  
20

| 

Bregan

| 

Iron Hills

| 

Dwarf Lord 

|   
  
10

| 

Brenen

| 

Dale

| 

adopted son

|   
  
58

| 

Briel, Junior

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Rooming house owner

|   
  
58

| 

Briel, Senior

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Junior's mother-in-law

|   
  
10

| 

Brightens, Lorens

| 

Dale

| 

Hobbit

|   
  
10

| 

Brightens, Lotold

| 

Dale

| 

Hobbit

|   
  
55

| 

Brittanal, Stepick

| 

Alas Forten

| 

trooper, cousin of Tolanger

|   
  
55

| 

Brittanal, Tolanger

| 

Alas Forten

| 

Sergeant of the house

|   
  
11

| 

Bruigin

| 

Dale

| 

Dwarf Toymaker

|   
  
14

| 

Brushta, Marie

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Tim's wife

|   
  
1

| 

Brushta, Timalen

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

artist and sculptor

|   
  
11

| 

Burry

| 

Dale

| 

Master Archer

|   
  
15

| 

Caladrion (Ivandred)

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

son of Durnalath

|   
  
22

| 

Caoulish

| 

Rhun

| 

advisor to Bror

|   
  
10

| 

Carstors, Devoren

| 

Dale

| 

Count, grandson of Brand

|   
  
10

| 

Carstors, Lillith 

| 

Dale

| 

wife of Devoren Carstors

|   
  
8

| 

Cathad, Delve

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

mayor

|   
  
8

| 

Cathad, Laster

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

mayor's arrogant son

|   
  
63

| 

Celebrían

| 

Harvién

| 

Elf Lady, Inariel's grandmother

| 

x  
  
45

| 

Chanbhough

| 

Lhug

| 

connected businessman

|   
  
23

| 

Chigurn

| 

Khand

| 

informer

|   
  
23

| 

Chûran

| 

Khand

| 

Concubine of Nulvanash

|   
  
64

| 

Cirdan

| 

Aman

| 

Great Mariner Elf

| 

x  
  
50

| 

Commündith

| 

Annúminas

| 

Regional Governor

|   
  
57

| 

Conath, Annalien

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Lasthlo's wife

|   
  
44

| 

Conath, Delandreth

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Reyaldar's daughter

|   
  
20

| 

Conath, Eniecia

| 

Dale

| 

daughter of Ardatha

|   
  
20

| 

Conath, Erig

| 

Buhr Austar

| 

Ardatha's grandson, later Thain

|   
  
12

| 

Conath, Field

| 

Buhr Austar

| 

Thain 

|   
  
44

| 

Conath, Fieldar

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Reyaldar's son

|   
  
11

| 

Conath, Hadista

| 

Buhr Austar

| 

Field Conath's wife

|   
  
13

| 

Conath, Haldiera

| 

Buhr Austar

| 

first daughter of Ardatha

|   
  
44

| 

Conath, Heuris

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Reyaldar's wife

|   
  
57

| 

Conath, Lasthlo

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Fieldar's son

|   
  
52

| 

Conath, Mazienne

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Fieldar's wife

|   
  
11

| 

Conath, Reyald

| 

Dale

| 

Ardatha's husband

|   
  
44

| 

Conath, Reyaldar

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Shurran's son

|   
  
20

| 

Conath, Shurran

| 

Dale

| 

son of Ardatha

|   
  
12

| 

Conath, Torrold

| 

Dale

| 

oldest son of Thain Conath

|   
  
6

| 

Coran

| 

Orthanc

| 

Annas and Eomaner's son

|   
  
64

| 

Corindelam

| 

Farnëmar

| 

Healer of Farnëmar

|   
  
30

| 

Cristigir

| 

Emyn Vierald

| 

Elvish Engineer

|   
  
41

| 

Curisau

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Swan Breeze sailor

|   
  
64

| 

Daelor

| 

Eldamar

| 

Healer of Naitë Mélamar 

|   
  
44

| 

Dalrothel

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Prince ca 108

|   
  
9

| 

Danethiur

| 

Woodland Realm

| 

Elf Artist

|   
  
58

| 

Danzail

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Guardi quiet man

|   
  
|  |  |  |   
  
8

| 

Dathan

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

town elder

|   
  
11

| 

Dedlan, Alfus

| 

Dale

| 

Master Archer

|   
  
10

| 

Delatha

| 

Dale

| 

Queen of Dale

|   
  
23

| 

Delemantesh

| 

Ûbésêsh

| 

undercover Righter

|   
  
48

| 

Derenbar

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Chancellor ca FO 100

|   
  
53

| 

Deriandrie

| 

Emyn Arnen

| 

wife of Tyaldran of Ithilien

|   
  
50

| 

Diervunn

| 

Annúminas

| 

Guardi chief FO 100

|   
  
22

| 

Distral, Amedies

| 

Yhammâs Fruhir

| 

Ghur

|   
  
11

| 

Dol-Evath, Fergus

| 

Dale

| 

Scholar

|   
  
6

| 

Dolthanan, Edomar

| 

Gondor

| 

Orthanc Provost

|   
  
5

| 

Dornlas 

| 

Rohan

| 

trooper of wounded

|   
  
14

| 

Dornlas, Annlie

| 

Edoras

| 

wife of Dornlas

|   
  
5

| 

Dornlee

| 

Rohan

| 

Dornlas' sister

|   
  
46

| 

Dourdhan, Lefrun

| 

Nennurad

| 

Eastern Righter

|   
  
20

| 

Druhamel, Hillilea

| 

Riavod

| 

Vegad's sister

|   
  
20

| 

Druhamel, Vegad

| 

Riavod

| 

entrepreneur

|   
  
20

| 

Dulgov

| 

Rhun

| 

Bror

|   
  
14

| 

Duluthar, Finad

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Estate Agent

|   
  
41

| 

Dur Ouranda

| 

Ûrêzáyan

| 

second in command

|   
  
13

| 

Durambyn, Alad

| 

Ithilien

| 

Engineer

|   
  
58

| 

Duramhir

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Guardi Chief 131

|   
  
7

| 

Durgan, Lebel

| 

Dunland

| 

salt merchant

|   
  
7

| 

Durgan, Tyron

| 

Dunland

| 

salt merchant

|   
  
12

| 

Durnalath

| 

Dale

| 

sister of Thain Durnaldar II

|   
  
10

| 

Durnaldar

| 

Dale

| 

Thain of Nauthauja

|   
  
10

| 

Durnaldar, Auntulie

| 

Dale

| 

Wife of thain

|   
  
20

| 

Durnaldar, Tilli

| 

Dale

| 

daughter of thain, later Queen of Rohan

|   
  
20

| 

Durnalid

| 

Nauthauja

| 

Durnaldar's son

|   
  
68

| 

Eämiul

| 

Attëa Súlë

| 

shamed ohtar

|   
  
10

| 

Earkinford

| 

Dale

| 

King's minister

|   
  
68

| 

Eärwin

| 

Tirion

| 

Queen of the Ñoldorin

| 

x  
  
20

| 

Edelbras

| 

Dale

| 

Officer

|   
  
50

| 

Edenthread

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Minister of War ca F.O. 100

|   
  
39

| 

Elboron

| 

Ithilien

| 

Prince after Faramir

| 

x  
  
35

| 

Eldarion

| 

Gondor

| 

Prince/King

| 

x  
  
1

| 

Elendrie

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Elf Ambassador

|   
  
26

| 

Elfwine

| 

Rohan

| 

Prince and King of Rohan

| 

x  
  
54

| 

Elhidron

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Prince Heir ca F.O. 127

|   
  
63

| 

Elladan

| 

Harvién

| 

Elrond's son, Arwen's brother

| 

x  
  
26

| 

Elphir

| 

Belfalas

| 

Prince of Dol Amroth

| 

x  
  
63

| 

Elrohir

| 

Harvién

| 

Elrond's son, Arwen's brother

| 

x  
  
63

| 

Elrond

| 

Harvién

| 

Elf Lord, Inariel's grandfather

| 

x  
  
64

| 

Elurín

| 

Vílënost

| 

Cirdan's Spymaster AKA Festular

|   
  
6

| 

Eomander

| 

Orthanc

| 

head of security

|   
  
6

| 

Eomander, Coran

| 

Orthanc

| 

lad

|   
  
4

| 

Eomath

| 

Rohan

| 

Corporal of wounded train

|   
  
5

| 

Éomer

| 

Rohan

| 

King

| 

x  
  
14

| 

Éowyn

| 

Rohan

| 

Princess of Ithilien

| 

x  
  
26

| 

Ethoralad

| 

Rohan

| 

Ambassador Fo.A 36

|   
  
10

| 

Eusta, Bernetta

| 

Dale

| 

Matron of the Arts

|   
  
8

| 

Fandelving

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

older drinker

|   
  
14

| 

Faramir

| 

Ithilien

| 

Prince 

| 

x  
  
14

| 

Farantie, Enoch

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Wealthy Farmer

|   
  
1

| 

Farkass, Tallonier

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Minister of Public Works

|   
  
14

| 

Fearnold

| 

Woodland Realm

| 

Sylvan Lord

|   
  
46

| 

Feddigh-Hoh III

| 

Pashir

| 

Khan

|   
  
47

| 

Felishda

| 

Pashir

| 

Ghur, woman

|   
  
18

| 

Fellens, Lembert

| 

Bree

| 

River people

|   
  
18

| 

Fellens, Wenbert

| 

Bree

| 

River people

|   
  
9

| 

Fellis

| 

Tharbad

| 

trooper

|   
  
20

| 

Fendülas

| 

Dowrinion

| 

Lieutenant of Cavalry

|   
  
33

| 

Fennel, Mrs

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

lady's maid to Phylless

|   
  
26

| 

Feurgil

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Muralist

|   
  
44

| 

Féuril

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Shurran's younger daughter unhappy

|   
  
68

| 

Finarfin

| 

Tirion

| 

High King of the Ñoldorin

| 

x  
  
13

| 

Finenbrad

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

architect

|   
  
10

| 

Finrales, Dural

| 

Dale

| 

treacherous minister

|   
  
14

| 

Florice

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

second wife

|   
  
15

| 

Fobe

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Event Planner

|   
  
31

| 

Fondiscar, Ellerd

| 

Pelargir

| 

City Works Manager

|   
  
70

| 

Fonë

| 

Valmar

| 

lesser Maia to the smiths

|   
  
14

| 

Fordosh

| 

Gllittering Caves

| 

Asst Engineer

|   
  
14

| 

Forshbrand

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Short-end Engineer

|   
  
20

| 

Frunzar

| 

Rhun

| 

rebel prince

|   
  
10

| 

Galoxyn, Fredar

| 

Dale

| 

Quartermaster

|   
  
6

| 

Gandalf

| 

Orthanc

| 

wizard

| 

x  
  
8

| 

Gangmir, Olan

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

Bandit leader

|   
  
1

| 

Gantellus, Amarr

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Handman

|   
  
41

| 

Garhvies

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

tough Swan Breeze seaman

|   
  
33

| 

Gerrulith

| 

Buhr Austar

| 

Ardatha's granddaughter of Haldiera

|   
  
20

| 

Gerrulth

| 

Dale

| 

Brenen's second son

|   
  
14

| 

Gespath, Tumlen

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Gofer, later partner

|   
  
|  |  |  |   
  
50

| 

Gheras-lithend

| 

Annúminas

| 

haughty Staff officer

|   
  
41

| 

Gherindûl

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

brother of ruler

|   
  
16

| 

Ghoodis, Elber

| 

Osgiliath

| 

gravedigger

|   
  
35

| 

Ghougash

| 

Mordor

| 

orc who became a man

|   
  
37

| 

Ghournalis

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Minister of Defense F.O. 47

|   
  
45

| 

Ghuldieg

| 

Hanvas Tûr

| 

Righter Head of "Eyes"

|   
  
21

| 

Gilfrandos

| 

Caras Galadhon

| 

Lord of Sylvan Elves

|   
  
14

| 

Gimli

| 

Glittering Caves

| 

Dwarf

| 

x  
  
39

| 

Glynnys

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

cook F.O. 94 

|   
  
18

| 

Goldberry

| 

Old Forest

| 

water spirit

| 

x  
  
19

| 

Gorandar

| 

Dale

| 

Burry's 2nd son

|   
  
54

| 

Gregith

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Jeweler 

|   
  
12

| 

Gurrath

| 

Dale

| 

Sergeant on Dwarf Road

|   
  
56

| 

Gwendothol

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Palisenne's daughter

|   
  
|  |  |  |   
  
43

| 

Haleth

| 

Edoras

| 

Prince/King of ca 95

|   
  
58

| 

Hallistrad, Temvarid

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

dark agitator

|   
  
58

| 

Hanieru

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

refugee corporal from Korb Chelkar

|   
  
|  |  |  |   
  
68

| 

Harthorn

| 

Attëa Súlë

| 

shamed ohtar

|   
  
14

| 

Heinieth, Turbun

| 

Ithilien

| 

Engineer

|   
  
70

| 

Helica

| 

Lorien

| 

distressed pilgrim

|   
  
48

| 

Helvadis

| 

Nennurad

| 

daughter of Zhurrag-Ledj

|   
  
22

| 

Hennipas, Doruk

| 

Kelepar

| 

Righter, government expert

|   
  
14

| 

Herolda

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Scholar on ancient men

|   
  
15

| 

Heronburn

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Source Engineer

|   
  
48

| 

Heubrandz

| 

Pashir

| 

Righter builder on loan to Nennurad

|   
  
42

| 

Heuldarn

| 

Bozisha-Kantu

| 

Melkor consultant to King

|   
  
64

| 

Heziathar

| 

Cantalori

| 

husband of Loniel the healer

|   
  
13

| 

Hienieth, Turbun

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Chief Aqueduct Engineer

|   
  
14

| 

Higgenboth, Rembyl

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Hobbit Ambassador

|   
  
16

| 

Hondrus

| 

Anduin

| 

Sailor

|   
  
10

| 

Hortencia

| 

Dale

| 

first Queen of Brand

|   
  
31

| 

Houlmanath

| 

Pelargir

| 

Subaltern, aide to NK

|   
  
41

| 

Hu-Cirandal

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

scheming merchant lord

|   
  
48

| 

Hulviesh

| 

Nennurad

| 

Majordomo of the retreat

|   
  
42

| 

Hurandûth

| 

Bozisha-Kantu

| 

Ambassador's aide

|   
  
16

| 

Hurna, Tsita

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Witch healer

|   
  
41

| 

Iberníeg

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Bosun on Swan Breeze

|   
  
24

| 

Idgshtok

| 

Mordor

| 

Nargil trooper/scholar

|   
  
21

| 

Ignoldon

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

FO 37 City Manager

|   
  
16

| 

Ilburlnith, Dierdreth

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Witch 

|   
  
58

| 

Ilvest, Gred

| 

Osgiliath

| 

head of Ilvest Kathen

|   
  
16

| 

Imrahil

| 

Belfalas

| 

Prince of Dol Amroth

| 

x  
  
41

| 

Imrothil

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Prince c 96

|   
  
55

| 

Inara

| 

Belfalas

| 

Dunedain

|   
  
55

| 

Inariel

| 

Gondor

| 

Woman/Elf

|   
  
16

| 

Ingralls

| 

Osgiliath

| 

witch of Dale and later Osgiliath

|   
  
64

| 

Inhura

| 

Cantalori

| 

wife of Danethiur

|   
  
37

| 

Inoldus

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Head Guardi FO 47

|   
  
27

| 

Iömendel, Graciel

| 

Dale

| 

NK love interest

|   
  
27

| 

Iömendel, Lilac

| 

Dale

| 

younger daughter of Carstors

|   
  
49

| 

Ionthand

| 

Fornost

| 

Arnoran Colonel

|   
  
24

| 

Îonzuld

| 

Lhug

| 

Scholar

|   
  
54

| 

Irviniel

| 

Emyn Arnen

| 

daughter of Barahir

|   
  
35

| 

Ivandred, Field

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Eniecia's son

|   
  
39

| 

Ivandred, Grenda

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Eniecia's daughter in law

|   
  
26

| 

Ivandred, Legorn

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Father of Caladrion

|   
  
40

| 

Ivandred, Raniece

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Eniecia's grandaughter older

|   
  
40

| 

Ivandred, Talienne

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Eniecia's granddaughter Nephtat

|   
  
41

| 

Jerugans

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Swan Breeze First Mate

|   
  
26

| 

Jourwyn

| 

Rohan

| 

Ambassador's wife Fo.A 36

|   
  
23

| 

Juegesh

| 

Khand

| 

Vishtuun/Chamberlain

|   
  
8

| 

Juegesh

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

Khandian tailor

|   
  
2

| 

Kataleese

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

first lover

|   
  
5

| 

Kateen

| 

Rohan

| 

young woman in bar

|   
  
23

| 

Keldan

| 

Rhun

| 

right-living operative

|   
  
58

| 

Keprand

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

dark counselor

|   
  
41

| 

Kevland

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Swan Breeze Second Mate

|   
  
40

| 

Khandrash, Ubier

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Harad Scholar

|   
  
21

| 

Khellandar, Kurd

| 

Dale

| 

master swordsman

|   
  
24

| 

Khilestu

| 

Hanvas Tûr

| 

Head Ghur Mr. Brown

|   
  
55

| 

Khouphal

| 

Alas Forten

| 

Lieutanant and Majordomo to Alas Forten

|   
  
|  |  |  |   
  
43

| 

Kolland, Dorthans

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Late husband of Inariel, son of Quentir

|   
  
1

| 

Koos, Fidelar

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

palace security operative

|   
  
55

| 

Leaven, Beksa

| 

Belfalas

| 

wife, mother of Inara

|   
  
55

| 

Leaven, Delthander

| 

Belfalas

| 

farmer, father of Inara

|   
  
10

| 

Leddifur, Turn

| 

Dale

| 

Chamberlain

|   
  
6

| 

Legatorn

| 

Orthanc

| 

Gandalf Arnor Guard

|   
  
30

| 

Legolas

| 

Emyn Vierald

| 

Prince of Woodland Realm

| 

x  
  
6

| 

Lemas

| 

Orthanc

| 

Gandalf Rohirrim Guard

|   
  
14

| 

Lemdarin, Certand

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Chief Surveyor

|   
  
1

| 

Lentillar

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

famous artist of late Third Age

|   
  
1

| 

Levantos

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Minister of Security 

|   
  
19

| 

Librath, Field

| 

Buhr Austar

| 

son of Haldiera

|   
  
19

| 

Librath, Gerruld

| 

Buhr Austar

| 

Conath's grandson in law

|   
  
12

| 

Librath, Haldiera

| 

Dale

| 

elder daughter of Ardatha

|   
  
39

| 

Libron, Callistra

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Eniecia's daughter

|   
  
39

| 

Libron, Derissa

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Eniecia's granddaughter of Callistra

|   
  
44

| 

Libron, Halita

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

wife of Menalgir

|   
  
39

| 

Libron, Menalgir

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Eniecia's grandson 

|   
  
39

| 

Libron, Phaeron

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Eniecia's son in law

|   
  
8

| 

Lieff

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

lanplighter

|   
  
63

| 

Lindareth

| 

Farnëmar

| 

Lord of Farnëmar

|   
  
63

| 

Lindir

| 

Eldamar

| 

Steward of Elrond's house

|   
  
40

| 

Listracht, Umbard

| 

Rhun

| 

Righter operative

|   
  
13

| 

Logass

| 

Rivendell

| 

Chief Elf-Keeper

|   
  
1

| 

Londigal, Evard

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

security officer

|   
  
30

| 

Loniel

| 

Emyn Vierald

| 

Quenda healer

|   
  
21

| 

Loral

| 

Dale

| 

Ardatha's servant CA FO 37

|   
  
44

| 

Lorandris

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Bettes' daughter

|   
  
56

| 

Lorilan

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Elhidron's wife

|   
  
18

| 

Lothiriel

| 

Belfalas Rohan

| 

Queen of Rohan

| 

x  
  
9

| 

Lotho

| 

Tharbad

| 

trooper

|   
  
21

| 

Lupa

| 

Dale

| 

housekeeper FO 34

|   
  
24

| 

Lurgsh/ Scholar Tsitreq

| 

Hanvas Tûr

| 

Scholar infiltrator

|   
  
8

| 

Lustical, Temid

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

older drinker

|   
  
1

| 

Maedegon, Lentaraes

| 

Gondor

| 

Artist

|   
  
8

| 

Maedos, Boronos

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

Shurat (Thain) of Southeastern Dunland

|   
  
8

| 

Maedos, Davit

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

third clan son

|   
  
27

| 

Manzanard, Xondra

| 

Dale

| 

Queen of Dale, wife of Bain II

|   
  
8

| 

Marchand, Tenneth

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

militia captain

|   
  
2

| 

Marletta

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Lentaraes' lover

|   
  
4

| 

Matelars, Laur

| 

Rohan

| 

Master Sergeant

|   
  
63

| 

Meliath

| 

Naitë Mélamar

| 

Lord of Naitë Mélamar

|   
  
1

| 

Mendies

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

scholar

|   
  
58

| 

Mentier

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

guardi operative

|   
  
37

| 

Millicend

| 

Gondor

| 

Princess

|   
  
21

| 

Miranad

| 

Dale/Minas Tirigh

| 

Dalean ambassador FO 34

|   
  
9

| 

Morannen, Franden

| 

Tharbad

| 

militia general

|   
  
14

| 

Multo, Broughtur

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Landlord

|   
  
1

| 

Nag Kath

| 

Isengard

| 

Uruk/Elf AKA Solvanth

|   
  
13

| 

Nedille

| 

Dale

| 

Brenen's wife

|   
  
25

| 

Nen

| 

Khand

| 

Lieutenant and Visitor spy

|   
  
45

| 

Nenambuul, Artur

| 

Lhug

| 

Nuradi scholar

|   
  
56

| 

Nendalron

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Princess Anthrala's husband

|   
  
24

| 

Nenwula of the Viersh

| 

Khand

| 

Healer

|   
  
8

| 

Neth Falamn, Tem

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

Revanthar

|   
  
51

| 

Nhat-Khiel

| 

Nennurad

| 

assistant director of retreat

|   
  
64

| 

Nomaral

| 

Teleri

| 

ancient Elf stock of Uruk-hai

|   
  
25

| 

Nulvanash

| 

Mordor

| 

ruler of Visitors

|   
  
11

| 

Nurelle

| 

Woodland Realm

| 

Elvish Ambassador

|   
  
60

| 

Olberon

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Heir CA 138

|   
  
63

| 

Olwë

| 

Alqualonde

| 

King of the Teleri

| 

x  
  
39

| 

Opher

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Private right-living Scholar

|   
  
41

| 

Oram, Heraldin

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

right-living operative

|   
  
41

| 

Oram, Sophiel

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

right-living operative

|   
  
65

| 

Ordonir

| 

Arnost

| 

astrologer

|   
  
22

| 

Orlo

| 

Rhun

| 

sorceror of the east

| 

x  
  
31

| 

Orvous

| 

Mordor

| 

Captain of Nargil

|   
  
56

| 

Palisenne

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

daughter of Eldarion 

|   
  
47

| 

Pedrigs

| 

Pashir

| 

Stamoe Righter

|   
  
60

| 

Pelandarith, Paevon

| 

Belfalas

| 

Colonel of Militia

|   
  
39

| 

Penandoth, Ronalt

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Ship Captain

|   
  
12

| 

Penlief, Asquiith

| 

Nauthauja

| 

Thain's counselor

|   
  
58

| 

Perandorn

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

disgraced army colonel

|   
  
40

| 

Peristonig, Ubier

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Harad sailor

|   
  
40

| 

Peristonig, Udan

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Harad sailor

|   
  
39

| 

Pfennick, Earmina

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Lovely widow

|   
  
31

| 

Phylless

| 

Pelargir

| 

Nag Kath's third wife

|   
  
13

| 

Portrous

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Estate Agent

|   
  
6

| 

Proytas

| 

Orthanc

| 

scratcher, dirk in foot

|   
  
45

| 

Puluogh

| 

Lhug

| 

cook/housekeeper

|   
  
41

| 

Qhuerisj

| 

Ûrêzáyan

| 

official and interpreter

|   
  
39

| 

Quaille

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

private ship captain

|   
  
1

| 

Quastille

| 

Gondor

| 

Artist

|   
  
1

| 

Quastille, Sylveth

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

art daughter

|   
  
52

| 

Quenthorn

| 

Tulan Nimrais

| 

Arnoran project manager

|   
  
50

| 

Querishoul

| 

Annúminas

| 

Angmar spy

|   
  
11

| 

Quessan, Moaan

| 

Dale

| 

Healer

|   
  
6

| 

Radagast

| 

Orthanc

| 

wizard

| 

x  
  
19

| 

Rancasth, Tella

| 

Dale

| 

amorous cook/housekeeper

|   
  
1

| 

Randanold

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

gaoler

|   
  
58

| 

Rellugh-Tur

| 

Osgiliath

| 

chief visitor in the west

|   
  
19

| 

Renelda

| 

Dale

| 

Brenen's daughter

|   
  
58

| 

Renthiew, Eried

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Landlord and old soldier

|   
  
11

| 

Revan, Corianul

| 

Dale

| 

businessman, Aluern's husband

|   
  
58

| 

Rhellig-tur

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Southron business front

|   
  
25

| 

Rhorzah

| 

Mordor

| 

Hurm of the southeast

|   
  
8

| 

Rogad, Geman

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

Guardi

|   
  
64

| 

Rohier

| 

Farnëmar

| 

dark operative for Farnemar

|   
  
19

| 

Rosalin

| 

Dale

| 

Bard's wife

|   
  
6

| 

Rosas

| 

Orthanc

| 

cook

|   
  
11

| 

Rosscranith, Davit

| 

Dale

| 

King's minister

|   
  
24

| 

Ryduvosh

| 

Mordor

| 

Hurm of Nargil

|   
  
20

| 

Santaviig, Gerda

| 

Buhr Austar

| 

Torrold's wife

|   
  
16

| 

Saucerze

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Healer

|   
  
58

| 

Selbroune

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

guardi operative

|   
  
64

| 

Selvas

| 

Naitë Mélamar

| 

Morgoth's wraith

|   
  
14

| 

Sepulvath

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Water Manager

|   
  
24

| 

Shelturn/ Levas Quastille

| 

Hanvas Tûr

| 

Soldier infiltrator

|   
  
8

| 

Skilleth, Rosaldi

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

Healer

|   
  
41

| 

Soldient

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

woodwright sailor on Swan

|   
  
60

| 

Stelhorn

| 

Dale

| 

King CA 138

|   
  
56

| 

Stephandir

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Millicend's son

|   
  
37

| 

Stewant

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Kathen office clerk

|   
  
39

| 

Stieffild

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

shipwright

|   
  
10

| 

Stikeleather, Stifo

| 

Dale

| 

Hobbit

|   
  
23

| 

Suhl

| 

Khand

| 

old beard Ghur

|   
  
24

| 

Sulath

| 

Ûbésêsh

| 

undercover right

|   
  
35

| 

Sulvarn

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Haradrim vendor

|   
  
45

| 

Sumen-Doth

| 

Lhug

| 

Khan

|   
  
7

| 

Syles, Moli

| 

Dunland

| 

retired farmer's wife

|   
  
7

| 

Syles, Tiller

| 

Dunland

| 

retired farmer

|   
  
42

| 

Taj-Velindir

| 

Bozisha-Kantu

| 

Ambassador to the west

|   
  
8

| 

Talareth

| 

Dunland

| 

first love

|   
  
20

| 

Talfurmir, Lenos

| 

Dorwinion

| 

Captain of Regular Army

|   
  
65

| 

Talifür

| 

Naitë Mélamar

| 

Dark counselor of Naitë Mélamar

|   
  
1

| 

Tallazh, Amiedes

| 

Gondor

| 

businessman

|   
  
10

| 

Tallazh, Nouri

| 

Gondor

| 

Tallazh's daughter

|   
  
55

| 

Tan-Kolvas, Philothor

| 

Alas Forten

| 

physician

|   
  
5

| 

Tanlath

| 

Rohan

| 

Hostelier

|   
  
10

| 

Tannisditter

| 

Dale

| 

Guardi

|   
  
42

| 

Tanûerv

| 

Bozisha-Kantu

| 

Tarquin's mad wife

|   
  
36

| 

Tarnbohl

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Minister of Security FO 43

|   
  
41

| 

Tarquin

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

Black Prince

|   
  
20

| 

Telantish

| 

Rhun

| 

deceased Bror

|   
  
14

| 

Teldamir, Granthor

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Project Manager

|   
  
20

| 

Tellig, Bernas

| 

Dale

| 

Cavalry Sergeant

|   
  
58

| 

Templeblan

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Minister of Security 131

|   
  
49

| 

Tevshguul

| 

Angmar

| 

Orc ruler

|   
  
9

| 

The Wild Huntsman

| 

Dunland

| 

Maia

|   
  
60

| 

Theodred

| 

Edoras

| 

Heir CA 138

|   
  
12

| 

Theondul

| 

Nauthauja

| 

Lieutenant

|   
  
50

| 

Thomald, Mynard

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Asst War Minister FO 100

|   
  
19

| 

Thorin III Stonehelm

| 

Erebor

| 

High Dwarf King

| 

x  
  
9

| 

Thranduill

| 

Woodland Realm

| 

Elf King

| 

x  
  
14

| 

Thurgin

| 

Gllittering Caves

| 

Master Engineer

|   
  
10

| 

Thurne, Eniece

| 

Dale

| 

Nag Kath's first wife

|   
  
11

| 

Thursen

| 

Dale

| 

Scholar

|   
  
70

| 

Tilidelia

| 

Valmar

| 

Gandalf's maid

|   
  
58

| 

Todl

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

General, Chief of Staff FO 131

|   
  
6

| 

Tolander

| 

Orthanc

| 

Gandalf Rohirrim

|   
  
55

| 

Told, Maril

| 

Alas Forten

| 

Lady's Maid to Inariel

|   
  
23

| 

Tolvern, Richas

| 

Khand

| 

Northman right

|   
  
14

| 

Took, Lemuel

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Hobbit dignitary

|   
  
7

| 

Toombs, Geras

| 

Dunland

| 

injured merchant

|   
  
47

| 

Torlurn, Hemid

| 

Nennurad

| 

Stamoe Righter

|   
  
14

| 

Toroldinar, Ecthialladrin

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Tal's son

|   
  
14

| 

Toroldinar, Ectilla

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Tal's daughter

|   
  
14

| 

Toroldinar, Ectilliad

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Businessman, husband of Tal

|   
  
41

| 

Tourgsh, Uncle

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

city administrator

|   
  
41

| 

Tsial-dra

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

Black Princess

|   
  
58

| 

Tulbar

| 

Gizar

| 

Hûk or Chieftain

|   
  
9

| 

Tulferath

| 

Woodland Realm

| 

Elf Archivist

|   
  
14

| 

Tulinn

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Dwarf Ambassador from Erebor

|   
  
19

| 

Turenon

| 

Dale

| 

Brenen's oldest son

|   
  
15

| 

Turnlie

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

cook

|   
  
53

| 

Tyaldran

| 

Emyn Arnen

| 

son of Barahir

|   
  
50

| 

Ulig

| 

Angmar

| 

child sorcerer

|   
  
1

| 

Ulmo

| 

Valinor

| 

Vala of Oceans

| 

x  
  
33

| 

Unthold, Raynar

| 

Ithilien

| 

Faramir's Chief of Staff

|   
  
34

| 

Untorish, Narvous

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

threadshop right-living son

|   
  
44

| 

Urandict

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Bettes' son

|   
  
26

| 

Urban, Blessed

| 

South Lake, Dale

| 

Mrs. Urban

|   
  
26

| 

Urban, Felim

| 

South Lake, Dale

| 

retired Captain

|   
  
24

| 

Ureano

| 

Khand

| 

merchant spy

|   
  
25

| 

Uvuo

| 

Mordor

| 

High Visitor

|   
  
59

| 

Vanteg Chievon

| 

Lhug

| 

grand of Chur

|   
  
35

| 

Vanteg Chur

| 

Mordor

| 

son of Nulvanash

|   
  
45

| 

Vanteg Chûreth

| 

Lhug

| 

daughter of Chur

|   
  
45

| 

Vanteg Denaldura

| 

Lhug

| 

grand of Chur

|   
  
45

| 

Vanteg Shaindre

| 

Lhug

| 

wife of Chur

|   
  
64

| 

Vantieth

| 

Farnëmar

| 

Corrupted brother of Lindareth

|   
  
50

| 

Varsiig

| 

Angmar

| 

The Seer sorcerer

|   
  
8

| 

Vellend

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

town elder

|   
  
35

| 

Venaris

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Sulvarn's granddaughter

|   
  
45

| 

Ventuub

| 

Hanvas Tûr

| 

physical healer of Nurad

|   
  
23

| 

Verdracht

| 

Yhammâs Fruhir

| 

Ghurate Liaison

|   
  
31

| 

Vergere

| 

Pelargir

| 

Phylless' butler

|   
  
19

| 

Vertandigir, Anandos

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Ambassador

|   
  
19

| 

Vertandigir, Hornice

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Ambassador's wife

|   
  
28

| 

Vientis

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Scholar of ancient eastern lore

|   
  
9

| 

Vikkanold

| 

Tharbad

| 

militia sergeant

|   
  
19

| 

Vontris, Lillith

| 

South Lake, Dale

| 

Carstor's elder daughter

|   
  
19

| 

Vontris, Maurid

| 

South Lake, Dale

| 

Carstor's son-in-law

|   
  
19

| 

Voranush

| 

Rhun

| 

second son of Dulgov

|   
  
41

| 

Voulshuh

| 

Ajesfa

| 

seaman

|   
  
22

| 

Vrenstides

| 

Yhammâs Fruhir

| 

Head Ghur

|   
  
58

| 

Wennig-Dûk

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Southron spy for Tulbar

|   
  
58

| 

Wheymier

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Infantry Captain on the quiet side

|   
  
9

| 

Whilmina

| 

Eregion

| 

Innkeeper

|   
  
11

| 

Woralth

| 

Dale

| 

architect

|   
  
14

| 

Xangorand, Vensin

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Central Engineer

|   
  
1

| 

Yavanna

| 

Valinor

| 

Vala of growth

| 

x  
  
23

| 

Yigresh

| 

Khand

| 

Khagan of the North

|   
  
49

| 

Zhandosh

| 

Angmar

| 

Infantry General

|   
  
47

| 

Zhurrag-Ledj

| 

Nennurad

| 

Righter Ghur

|   
  
23

| 

Zielthir, Choran

| 

Hanvas Tûr

| 

Mr. Tan

|   
  
22

| 

Zoldan, Grandol

| 

Yhammâs Fruhir

| 

Ghur

|   
  
24

| 

Zrev

| 

Khand

| 

Visitor head spy Khand

|   
  
44

| 

Zurowen, Borond

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Raniece's husband

| 


	75. Character List by Introduction

** _Character List by Introduction_ **

** **

Not everyone is included, especially the Valar. The far column is for people who are in the books.

**Intro**

| 

**Name**

| 

**Location**

| 

**Role**

| 

**Canon**  
  
---|---|---|---|---  
  
1

| 

Aragorn

| 

Gondor

| 

King

| 

x  
  
1

| 

Arwen Undómiel

| 

Rivendell

| 

Queen of the Reunited Kingdom

| 

x  
  
1

| 

Bathralas, Anthram

| 

Gondor

| 

Minister of the Purse

|   
  
1

| 

Borothar, Tyrys

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

merchant

|   
  
1

| 

Brushta, Timalen

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

artist and sculptor

|   
  
1

| 

Elendrie

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Elf Ambassador

|   
  
1

| 

Farkass, Tallonier

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Minister of Public Works

|   
  
1

| 

Gantellus, Amarr

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Handman

|   
  
1

| 

Koos, Fidelar

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

palace security operative+D35

|   
  
1

| 

Lentillar

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

famous artist of late Third Age

|   
  
1

| 

Levantos

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Minister of Security 

|   
  
1

| 

Londigal, Evard

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

security officer

|   
  
1

| 

Maedegon, Lentaraes

| 

Gondor

| 

Artist

|   
  
1

| 

Mendies

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

scholar

|   
  
1

| 

Nag Kath

| 

Isengard

| 

Uruk/Elf AKA Solvanth

|   
  
1

| 

Quastille

| 

Gondor

| 

Artist

|   
  
1

| 

Quastille, Sylveth

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

art daughter

|   
  
1

| 

Randanold

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

gaoler

|   
  
1

| 

Tallazh, Amiedes

| 

Gondor

| 

businessman

|   
  
1

| 

Ulmo

| 

Valinor

| 

Vala of Oceans

| 

x  
  
1

| 

Yavanna

| 

Valinor

| 

Vala of growth

| 

x  
  
2

| 

Kataleese

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

first lover

|   
  
2

| 

Marletta

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Lentaraes lover

|   
  
4

| 

Altheras, Reland

| 

Rohan

| 

Marshal of the Mark

|   
  
4

| 

Eomath

| 

Rohan

| 

Corporal of wounded train

|   
  
4

| 

Matelars, Laur

| 

Rohan

| 

Master Sergeant

|   
  
5

| 

Altheras, Lady

| 

Rohan

| 

wife of Marshal

|   
  
5

| 

Dornlas 

| 

Rohan

| 

trooper of wounded

|   
  
5

| 

Dornlee

| 

Rohan

| 

Dornlas' sister

|   
  
5

| 

Éomer

| 

Rohan

| 

King

| 

x  
  
5

| 

Kateen

| 

Rohan

| 

young woman in bar

|   
  
5

| 

Tanlath

| 

Rohan

| 

Hostelier

|   
  
6

| 

Aleg

| 

Orthanc

| 

scratcher

|   
  
6

| 

Annas

| 

Orthanc

| 

Head D273Housekeeper

|   
  
6

| 

Coran

| 

Orthanc

| 

Annas and Eomaner's son

|   
  
6

| 

Dolthanan, Edomar

| 

Gondor

| 

Orthanc Provost

|   
  
6

| 

Eomander

| 

Orthanc

| 

head of security

|   
  
6

| 

Eomander, Coran

| 

Orthanc

| 

lad

|   
  
6

| 

Gandalf

| 

Orthanc

| 

wizard

| 

x  
  
6

| 

Legatorn

| 

Orthanc

| 

Gandalf Arnor Guard

|   
  
6

| 

Lemas

| 

Orthanc

| 

Gandalf Rohirrim Guard

|   
  
6

| 

Proytas

| 

Orthanc

| 

scratcher, dirk in foot

|   
  
6

| 

Radagast

| 

Orthanc

| 

wizard

| 

x  
  
6

| 

Rosas

| 

Orthanc

| 

cook

|   
  
6

| 

Tolander

| 

Orthanc

| 

Gandalf Rohirrim

|   
  
7

| 

Blayne, Meaglie

| 

Dunland

| 

farmer's daughter

|   
  
7

| 

Blayne, Meaglith

| 

Dunland

| 

farmer's wife

|   
  
7

| 

Blayne, Torrold

| 

Dunland

| 

farmer 

|   
  
7

| 

Durgan, Lebel

| 

Dunland

| 

salt merchant

|   
  
7

| 

Durgan, Tyron

| 

Dunland

| 

salt merchant

|   
  
7

| 

Syles, Moli

| 

Dunland

| 

retired farmer's wife

|   
  
7

| 

Syles, Tiller

| 

Dunland

| 

retired farmer

|   
  
7

| 

Toombs, Geras

| 

Dunland

| 

injured merchant

|   
  
8

| 

Cathad, Delve

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

mayor

|   
  
8

| 

Cathad, Laster

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

mayor's arrogant son

|   
  
8

| 

Dathan

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

town elder

|   
  
8

| 

Fandelving

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

older drinker

|   
  
8

| 

Gangmir, Olan

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

Bandit leader

|   
  
8

| 

Juegesh

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

Khandian tailor

|   
  
8

| 

Lieff

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

lanplighter

|   
  
8

| 

Lustical, Temid

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

older drinker

|   
  
8

| 

Maedos, Boronos

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

Shurat

|   
  
8

| 

Maedos, Davit

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

third clan son

|   
  
8

| 

Marchand, Tenneth

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

militia captain

|   
  
8

| 

Neth Falamn, Tem

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

Revanthar

|   
  
8

| 

Rogad, Geman

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

Guardi

|   
  
8

| 

Skilleth, Rosaldi

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

Healer

|   
  
8

| 

Talareth

| 

Dunland

| 

first love

|   
  
8

| 

Vellend

| 

Trum Dreng

| 

town elder

|   
  
9

| 

Andros

| 

Tharbad

| 

trooper

|   
  
9

| 

Arcadlan

| 

Dunland

| 

Barge Chief

|   
  
9

| 

Danethiur

| 

Woodland Realm

| 

Elf Artist

|   
  
9

| 

Fellis

| 

Tharbad

| 

trooper

|   
  
9

| 

Lotho

| 

Tharbad

| 

trooper

|   
  
9

| 

Morannen, Franden

| 

Tharbad

| 

militia general

|   
  
9

| 

The Wild Huntsman

| 

Dunland

| 

Maia

|   
  
9

| 

Thranduill

| 

Woodland Realm

| 

Elf King

| 

x  
  
9

| 

Tulferath

| 

Woodland Realm

| 

Elf Archivist

|   
  
9

| 

Vikkanold

| 

Tharbad

| 

militia sergeant

|   
  
9

| 

Whilmina

| 

Eregion

| 

Innkeeper

|   
  
10

| 

Aleurn

| 

Dale

| 

Brenan's mother

|   
  
10

| 

Bard cousin of Brenen

| 

Dale

| 

businessman

|   
  
10

| 

Bard II

| 

Dale

| 

King

| 

x  
  
10

| 

Brenen

| 

Dale

| 

adopted son

|   
  
10

| 

Brightens, Lorens

| 

Dale

| 

Hobbit

|   
  
10

| 

Brightens, Lotold

| 

Dale

| 

Hobbit

|   
  
10

| 

Carstors, Devoren

| 

Dale

| 

Count, grandson of Brand

|   
  
10

| 

Carstors, Lillith I

| 

Dale

| 

wife of Devoren Carstors

|   
  
10

| 

Delatha

| 

Dale

| 

Queen of Dale

|   
  
10

| 

Durnaldar

| 

Dale

| 

Thain of Nauthauja

|   
  
10

| 

Durnaldar, Auntulie

| 

Dale

| 

Wife of thain

|   
  
10

| 

Earkinford

| 

Dale

| 

King's minister

|   
  
10

| 

Eusta, Bernetta

| 

Dale

| 

Matron of the Arts

|   
  
10

| 

Finrales, Dural

| 

Dale

| 

treacherous minister

|   
  
10

| 

Galoxyn, Fredar

| 

Dale

| 

Quartermaster

|   
  
10

| 

Hortencia

| 

Dale

| 

first Queen of Brand

|   
  
10

| 

Leddifur, Turn

| 

Dale

| 

Chamberlain

|   
  
10

| 

Stikeleather, Stifo

| 

Dale

| 

Hobbit

|   
  
10

| 

Tallazh, Nouri

| 

Gondor

| 

Tallazh's daughter

|   
  
10

| 

Tannisditter

| 

Dale

| 

Guardi

|   
  
10

| 

Thurne, Eniece

| 

Dale

| 

Nag Kath's first wife

|   
  
11

| 

Ardatha

| 

Dale

| 

Eniece's daughter

|   
  
11

| 

Aule

| 

Dale

| 

Swordsmith

|   
  
11

| 

Bruigin

| 

Dale

| 

Dwarf Toymaker

|   
  
11

| 

Burry

| 

Dale

| 

Master Archer

|   
  
11

| 

Conath, Hadista

| 

Buhr Austar

| 

Conath's wife

|   
  
11

| 

Conath, Reyald

| 

Dale

| 

Ardatha's husband

|   
  
11

| 

Dedlan, Alfus

| 

Dale

| 

Master Archer

|   
  
11

| 

Dol-Evath, Fergus

| 

Dale

| 

Scholar

|   
  
11

| 

Nurelle

| 

Woodland Realm

| 

Elvish Ambassador

|   
  
11

| 

Quessan, Moaan

| 

Dale

| 

Healer

|   
  
11

| 

Revan, Corianul

| 

Dale

| 

businessman, Aluern's husband

|   
  
11

| 

Rosscranith, Davit

| 

Dale

| 

King's minister

|   
  
11

| 

Thursen

| 

Dale

| 

Scholar

|   
  
11

| 

Woralth

| 

Dale

| 

architect

|   
  
12

| 

Borenne, Mrs.

| 

Esgaroth

| 

businesswoman

|   
  
12

| 

Conath, Field

| 

Buhr Austar

| 

Thain 

|   
  
12

| 

Conath, Torrold

| 

Dale

| 

oldest son of Thain Conath

|   
  
12

| 

Durnalath

| 

Dale

| 

sister of Thain Durnaldar II

|   
  
12

| 

Gurrath

| 

Dale

| 

Sergeant on Dwarf Road

|   
  
12

| 

Librath, Haldiera

| 

Dale

| 

elder daughter of Ardatha

|   
  
12

| 

Penlief, Asquiith

| 

Nauthauja

| 

Thain's counselor

|   
  
12

| 

Theondul

| 

Nauthauja

| 

Lieutenant

|   
  
13

| 

Conath, Haldiera

| 

Buhr Austar

| 

first daughter of Ardatha

|   
  
13

| 

Durambyn, Alad

| 

Ithilien

| 

Engineer

|   
  
13

| 

Finenbrad

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

architect

|   
  
13

| 

Hienieth, Turbun

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Chief Aqueduct Engineer

|   
  
13

| 

Logass

| 

Rivendell

| 

Chief Elf-Keeper

|   
  
13

| 

Nedille

| 

Dale

| 

Brenen's wife

|   
  
13

| 

Portrous

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Estate Agent

|   
  
14

| 

Brushta, Marie

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Tim's wife

|   
  
14

| 

Dornlas, Annlie

| 

Edoras

| 

wife of Dornlas

|   
  
14

| 

Duluthar, Finad

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Estate Agent

|   
  
14

| 

Eowyn

| 

Rohan

| 

Princess of Ithilien

| 

x  
  
14

| 

Faramir

| 

Ithilien

| 

Prince 

| 

x  
  
14

| 

Farantie, Enoch

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Wealthy Farmer

|   
  
14

| 

Fearnold

| 

Woodland Realm

| 

Sylvan Lord

|   
  
14

| 

Florice

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

second wife

|   
  
14

| 

Fordosh

| 

Gllittering Caves

| 

Asst Engineer

|   
  
14

| 

Forshbrand

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Short-end Engineer

|   
  
14

| 

Gespath, Tumlen

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Gofer later partner

|   
  
14

| 

Gimli

| 

Gllittering Caves

| 

Dwarf

| 

x  
  
14

| 

Heinieth, Turbun

| 

Ithilien

| 

Engineer

|   
  
14

| 

Herolda

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Scholar on ancient men

|   
  
14

| 

Higgenboth, Rembyl

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Hobbit Ambassador

|   
  
14

| 

Lemdarin, Certand

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Chief Surveyor

|   
  
14

| 

Multo, Broughtur

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Landlord

|   
  
14

| 

Sepulvath

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Water Manager

|   
  
14

| 

Teldamir, Granthor

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Project Manager

|   
  
14

| 

Thurgin

| 

Gllittering Caves

| 

Master Engineer

|   
  
14

| 

Took, Lemuel

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Hobbit dignitary

|   
  
14

| 

Toroldinar, Ecthialladrin

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Tal's son

|   
  
14

| 

Toroldinar, Ectilla

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Tal's daughter

|   
  
14

| 

Toroldinar, Ectilliad

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Businessman, husband of Tal

|   
  
14

| 

Tulinn

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Dwarf Ambassador from Erebor

|   
  
14

| 

Xangorand, Vensin

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Central Engineer

|   
  
15

| 

Bessandal

| 

Gondor

| 

Cavalry Captain of Aragorn's escort

|   
  
15

| 

Borndal, Penula

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Florice's Lady's Maid

|   
  
15

| 

Caladrion

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

son of Durnalath

|   
  
15

| 

Fobe

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Event Planner

|   
  
15

| 

Heronburn

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Source Engineer

|   
  
15

| 

Turnlie

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

cook

|   
  
16

| 

Ghoodis, Elber

| 

Osgiliath

| 

gravedigger

|   
  
16

| 

Hondrus

| 

Anduin

| 

Sailor

|   
  
16

| 

Hurna, Tsita

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Witch healer

|   
  
16

| 

Ilburlnith, Dierdreth

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Witch 

|   
  
16

| 

Imrahil

| 

Belfalas

| 

Prince of Dol Amroth

| 

x  
  
16

| 

Ingralls

| 

Osgiliath

| 

witch of Dale and later Osgiliath

|   
  
16

| 

Saucerze

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Healer

|   
  
18

| 

Bombadil, Tom

| 

Old Forest

| 

Maia?

| 

x  
  
18

| 

Fellens, Lembert

| 

Bree

| 

River people

|   
  
18

| 

Fellens, Wenbert

| 

Bree

| 

River people

|   
  
18

| 

Goldberry

| 

Old Forest

| 

water spirit

| 

x  
  
18

| 

Lothiriel

| 

Belfalas Rohan

| 

Queen of Rohan

| 

x  
  
19

| 

Ardathlin

| 

Dale

| 

Brenen's younger daughter

|   
  
19

| 

Barthanid

| 

Dale

| 

Bards son

|   
  
19

| 

Gorandar

| 

Dale

| 

Burry's 2nd son

|   
  
19

| 

Librath, Field

| 

Buhr Austar

| 

son of Haldiera

|   
  
19

| 

Librath, Gerruld

| 

Buhr Austar

| 

Conath's grandson in law

|   
  
19

| 

Rancasth, Tella

| 

Dale

| 

amorous cook/housekeeper

|   
  
19

| 

Renelda

| 

Dale

| 

Brenen's daughter

|   
  
19

| 

Rosalin

| 

Dale

| 

Bard's wife

|   
  
19

| 

Thorin III Stonehelm

| 

Erebor

| 

High Dwarf King

| 

x  
  
19

| 

Turenon

| 

Dale

| 

Brenen's oldest son

|   
  
19

| 

Vertandigir, Anandos

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Ambassador

|   
  
19

| 

Vertandigir, Hornice

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Ambassador's wife

|   
  
19

| 

Vontris, Lillith

| 

South Lake, Dale

| 

Carstor's elder daughter

|   
  
19

| 

Vontris, Maurid

| 

South Lake, Dale

| 

Carstor's son-in-law

|   
  
19

| 

Voranush

| 

Rhun

| 

second son of Dulgov

|   
  
20

| 

Bregan

| 

Iron Hills

| 

Dwarf Lord 

|   
  
20

| 

Conath, Eniecia

| 

Dale

| 

daughter of Ardatha

|   
  
20

| 

Conath, Erig

| 

Buhr Austar

| 

Ardatha's grandson, later Thain

|   
  
20

| 

Conath, Shurran

| 

Dale

| 

son of Ardatha

|   
  
20

| 

Druhamel, Hillilea

| 

Riavod

| 

Vegad's sister

|   
  
20

| 

Druhamel, Vegad

| 

Riavod

| 

entrepreneur

|   
  
20

| 

Dulgov

| 

Rhun

| 

Bror

|   
  
20

| 

Durnaldar, Tilli

| 

Dale

| 

daughter of thain

|   
  
20

| 

Durnalid

| 

Nauthauja

| 

Durnaldar's son

|   
  
20

| 

Edelbras

| 

Dale

| 

Officer

|   
  
20

| 

Fendülas

| 

Dowrinion

| 

Lieutenant of Cavalry

|   
  
20

| 

Frunzar

| 

Rhun

| 

rebel prince

|   
  
20

| 

Gerrulth

| 

Dale

| 

Brenen's second son

|   
  
20

| 

Santaviig, Gerda

| 

Buhr Austar

| 

Torrold's wife

|   
  
20

| 

Talfurmir, Lenos

| 

Dorwinion

| 

Captain of Regular Army

|   
  
20

| 

Telantish

| 

Rhun

| 

deceased Bror

|   
  
20

| 

Tellig, Bernas

| 

Dale

| 

Cavalry Sergeant

|   
  
21

| 

Bain of Dale

| 

Dale

| 

King after Bard II

|   
  
21

| 

Gilfrandos

| 

Caras Galadhon

| 

Lord of Sylvan Elves

|   
  
21

| 

Ignoldon

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

FO 37 City Manager

|   
  
21

| 

Khellandar, Kurd

| 

Dale

| 

master swordsman

|   
  
21

| 

Loral

| 

Dale

| 

Ardatha's servant CA FO 37

|   
  
21

| 

Lupa

| 

Dale

| 

housekeeper FO 34

|   
  
21

| 

Miranad

| 

Dale/Minas Tirigh

| 

Dalean ambassador FO 34

|   
  
22

| 

Caoulish

| 

Rhun

| 

advisor to Bror

|   
  
22

| 

Distral, Amedies

| 

Yhammâs Fruhir

| 

Ghur

|   
  
22

| 

Hennipas, Doruk

| 

Kelepar

| 

right government expert

|   
  
22

| 

Orlo

| 

Rhun

| 

sorceror of the east

| 

x  
  
22

| 

Vrenstides

| 

Yhammâs Fruhir

| 

Head Ghur

|   
  
22

| 

Zoldan, Grandol

| 

Yhammâs Fruhir

| 

Ghur

|   
  
23

| 

Chigurn

| 

Khand

| 

informer

|   
  
23

| 

Chûran

| 

Khand

| 

Concubine of Nulvanash

|   
  
23

| 

Delemantesh

| 

Ûbésêsh

| 

undercover right

|   
  
23

| 

Juegesh

| 

Khand

| 

Vishtuun/Chamberlain

|   
  
23

| 

Keldan

| 

Rhun

| 

right-living operative

|   
  
23

| 

Suhl

| 

Khand

| 

old beard Ghur

|   
  
23

| 

Tolvern, Richas

| 

Khand

| 

Northman right

|   
  
23

| 

Verdracht

| 

Yhammâs Fruhir

| 

Ghurate Liaison

|   
  
23

| 

Yigresh

| 

Khand

| 

Khagan of the North

|   
  
23

| 

Zielthir, Choran

| 

Hanvas Tûr

| 

Mr. Tan

|   
  
24

| 

Anandogh

| 

Mordor

| 

Visitor Cavalry officer

|   
  
24

| 

Aômul

| 

Nûrn

| 

Hurm of upper Nurn

|   
  
24

| 

Idgshtok

| 

Mordor

| 

Nargil trooper/scholar

|   
  
24

| 

Îonzuld

| 

Luhr

| 

Scholar

|   
  
24

| 

Khilestu

| 

Hanvas Tûr

| 

Head Ghur Mr. Brown

|   
  
24

| 

Lurgsh/ Scholar Tsitreq

| 

Hanvas Tûr

| 

Scholar infiltrator

|   
  
24

| 

Nenwula of the Viersh

| 

Khand

| 

Healer

|   
  
24

| 

Ryduvosh

| 

Mordor

| 

Hurm of Nargil

|   
  
24

| 

Shelturn/ Levas Quastille

| 

Hanvas Tûr

| 

Soldier infiltrator

|   
  
24

| 

Sulath

| 

Ûbésêsh

| 

undercover right

|   
  
24

| 

Ureano

| 

Khand

| 

merchant spy

|   
  
24

| 

Zrev

| 

Khand

| 

Visitor head spy Khand

|   
  
25

| 

Nen

| 

Khand

| 

Lieutenant and Visitor spy

|   
  
25

| 

Nulvanash

| 

Mordor

| 

ruler of Visitors

|   
  
25

| 

Rhorzah

| 

Mordor

| 

Hurm of the southeast

|   
  
25

| 

Uvuo

| 

Mordor

| 

High Visitor

|   
  
26

| 

Alphros

| 

Belfalas

| 

Prince of Dol Amroth

| 

x  
  
26

| 

Elfwine

| 

Rohan

| 

Prince and King of Rohan

| 

x  
  
26

| 

Elphir

| 

Belfalas

| 

Prince of Dol Amroth

| 

x  
  
26

| 

Ethoralad

| 

Rohan

| 

Ambassador Fo.A 36

|   
  
26

| 

Feurgil

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Muralist

|   
  
26

| 

Ivandred, Legorn

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Father of Caladrion

|   
  
26

| 

Jourwyn

| 

Rohan

| 

Ambassador's wife Fo.A 36

|   
  
26

| 

Urban, Blessed

| 

South Lake, Dale

| 

Mrs. Urban

|   
  
26

| 

Urban, Felim

| 

South Lake, Dale

| 

retired Captain

|   
  
27

| 

Iömendel, Graciel

| 

Dale

| 

NK love interest

|   
  
27

| 

Iömendel, Lilac

| 

Dale

| 

younger daughter of Carstors

|   
  
27

| 

Manzanard, Xondra

| 

Dale

| 

Queen of Dale wife of Bain

|   
  
28

| 

Vientis

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Scholar of ancient eastern lore

|   
  
30

| 

Cristigir

| 

Emyn Vierald

| 

Elvish Engineer

|   
  
30

| 

Legolas

| 

Emyn Vierald

| 

Prince of Woodland Realm

| 

x  
  
30

| 

Loniel

| 

Emyn Vierald

| 

Quenda healer

|   
  
31

| 

Fondiscar, Ellerd

| 

Pelargir

| 

City Works Manager

|   
  
31

| 

Houlmanath

| 

Pelargir

| 

Subaltern, aide to NK

|   
  
31

| 

Orvous

| 

Mordor

| 

Captain of Nargil

|   
  
31

| 

Phylless

| 

Pelargir

| 

Nag Kath's third wife

|   
  
31

| 

Vergere

| 

Pelargir

| 

Phylless' butler

|   
  
32

| 

Beshugya

| 

Pelargir

| 

physical healer of Nurad

|   
  
33

| 

Fennel, Mrs

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

lady's maid to Phylless

|   
  
33

| 

Gerrulith

| 

Buhr Austar

| 

Ardatha's granddaughter of Haldiera

|   
  
33

| 

Unthold, Raynar

| 

Ithilien

| 

Faramir's Chief of Staff

|   
  
34

| 

Untorish, Narvous

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

threadshop right-living son

|   
  
35

| 

Eldarion

| 

Gondor

| 

Prince/King

| 

x  
  
35

| 

Ghougash

| 

Mordor

| 

orc who became a man

|   
  
35

| 

Ivandred, Field

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Eniecia's son

|   
  
35

| 

Sulvarn

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Haradrim vendor

|   
  
35

| 

Vanteg Chur

| 

Mordor

| 

son of Nulvanash

|   
  
35

| 

Venaris

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Sulvarn's granddaughter

|   
  
36

| 

Boradul

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Chief Guardi

|   
  
36

| 

Tarnbohl

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Minister of Security FO 43

|   
  
37

| 

Ghournalis

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Minister of Defense FO 47

|   
  
37

| 

Inoldus

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Head Guardi FO 47

|   
  
37

| 

Milicend

| 

Gondor

| 

Princess

|   
  
37

| 

Stewant

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Kathen office clerk

|   
  
39

| 

Athmandal

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

junior sailor

|   
  
39

| 

Elboron

| 

Ithilien

| 

Prince after Faramir

| 

x  
  
39

| 

Glynnys

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

year 94 cook

|   
  
39

| 

Ivandred, Grenda

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Eniecia's daughter in law

|   
  
39

| 

Libron, Callistra

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Eniecia's daughter

|   
  
39

| 

Libron, Derissa

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Eniecia's granddaughter of Callistra

|   
  
39

| 

Libron, Menalgir

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Eniecia's grandson 

|   
  
39

| 

Libron, Phaeron

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Eniecia's son in law

|   
  
39

| 

Opher

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Private right-living Scholar

|   
  
39

| 

Penandoth, Ronalt

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Ship Captain

|   
  
39

| 

Pfennick, Earmina

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Lovely widow

|   
  
39

| 

Quaille

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

private ship captain

|   
  
39

| 

Stieffild

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

shipwright

|   
  
40

| 

Ivandred, Raniece

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Eniecia's grandaughter older

|   
  
40

| 

Ivandred, Talienne

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Eniecia's granddaughter Nephtat

|   
  
40

| 

Khandrash, Ubier

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Harad Scholar

|   
  
40

| 

Listracht, Umbard

| 

Rhun

| 

Righter operative

|   
  
40

| 

Peristonig, Ubier

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Harad sailor

|   
  
40

| 

Peristonig, Udan

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Harad sailor

|   
  
41

| 

Curisau

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Swan Breeze sailor

|   
  
41

| 

Dur Ouranda

| 

Ûrêzáyan

| 

second in command

|   
  
41

| 

Garhvies

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

tough Swan Breeze seaman

|   
  
41

| 

Gharvies

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Swan Breeze sailor

|   
  
41

| 

Gherindûl

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

brother of ruler

|   
  
41

| 

Hu-Cirandal

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

scheming merchant lord

|   
  
41

| 

Iberníeg

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Bosun on Swan Breeze

|   
  
41

| 

Imrothil

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Prince c 96

|   
  
41

| 

Jerugans

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Swan Breeze First Mate

|   
  
41

| 

Kevland

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Swan Breeze Second Mate

|   
  
41

| 

Oram, Heraldin

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

right-living operative

|   
  
41

| 

Oram, Sophiel

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

right-living operative

|   
  
41

| 

Qhuerisj

| 

Ûrêzáyan

| 

official and interpreter

|   
  
41

| 

Soldient

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

woodwright sailor on Swan

|   
  
41

| 

Tarquin

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

Black Prince

|   
  
41

| 

Tourgsh, Uncle

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

city administrator

|   
  
41

| 

Tsial-dra

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

Black Princess

|   
  
41

| 

Voulshuh

| 

Ajesfa

| 

seaman

|   
  
42

| 

Ar-Balkumagân

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

Witch-King's original name

| 

x  
  
42

| 

Ar-Gimilzôr

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

ruler 

|   
  
42

| 

Benigrautha

| 

Bozisha-Dar

| 

Harbormaster

|   
  
42

| 

Heuldarn

| 

Bozisha-Kantu

| 

Melkor consultant to King

|   
  
42

| 

Hurandûth

| 

Bozisha-Kantu

| 

Ambassador's aide

|   
  
42

| 

Taj-Velindir

| 

Bozisha-Kantu

| 

Ambassador to the west

|   
  
42

| 

Tanûerv

| 

Bozisha-Kantu

| 

Tarquin's mad wife

|   
  
43

| 

Angalica

| 

Emyn Arnen

| 

Elboron's wife, Barahir's mother

|   
  
43

| 

Aranthal

| 

Arnor

| 

Queen, wife of Eldarion

|   
  
43

| 

Barandor

| 

Dale

| 

King ca 94

|   
  
43

| 

Haleth

| 

Edoras

| 

Prince/King ca 95

|   
  
43

| 

Kolland, Dorthans

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Late husband of Inariel, son of Quentir

|   
  
44

| 

Anairë

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Daughter of Eldarion 93

|   
  
44

| 

Bathralas, Gervaith

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Officer of the Purse, Millicend's husband

|   
  
44

| 

Bettes

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Shurran's daughter

|   
  
44

| 

Conath, Delandreth

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Reyaldar's daughter

|   
  
44

| 

Conath, Fieldar

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Reyaldar's son

|   
  
44

| 

Conath, Heuris

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Reyaldar's wife

|   
  
44

| 

Conath, Reyaldar

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Shurran's son

|   
  
44

| 

Dalrothel

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Prince ca 108

|   
  
44

| 

Féuril

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Shurran's younger daughter unhappy

|   
  
44

| 

Libron, Halita

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

wife of Menalgir

|   
  
44

| 

Lorandris

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Bettes' daughter

|   
  
44

| 

Urandict

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Bettes' son

|   
  
44

| 

Zurowen, Borond

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Raniece's husband

|   
  
45

| 

Chanbhough

| 

Lhug

| 

connected businessman

|   
  
45

| 

Ghuldieg

| 

Hanvas Tûr

| 

Righter Head

|   
  
45

| 

Nenambuul, Artur

| 

Lhug

| 

Nuradi scholar

|   
  
45

| 

Puluogh

| 

Lhug

| 

cook/housekeeper

|   
  
45

| 

Sumen-Doth

| 

Lhug

| 

Khan

|   
  
45

| 

Vanteg Chûreth

| 

Lhug

| 

daughter of Chur

|   
  
45

| 

Vanteg Denaldura

| 

Lhug

| 

grand of Chur

|   
  
45

| 

Vanteg Shaindre

| 

Lhug

| 

wife of Chur

|   
  
45

| 

Ventuub

| 

Hanvas Tûr

| 

physical healer of Nurad

|   
  
46

| 

Dourdhan, Lefrun

| 

Nennurad

| 

Eastern Righter

|   
  
46

| 

Feddigh-Hoh III

| 

Pashir

| 

Khan

|   
  
47

| 

Bengarath

| 

Pashir

| 

young Ghur

|   
  
47

| 

Felishda

| 

Pashir

| 

Ghur, woman

|   
  
47

| 

Pedrigs

| 

Pashir

| 

Stamoe Righter

|   
  
47

| 

Torlurn, Hemid

| 

Nennurad

| 

Stamoe Righter

|   
  
47

| 

Zhurrag-Ledj

| 

Nennurad

| 

Righter Ghur

|   
  
48

| 

Derenbar

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Chancelor CA FO 100

|   
  
48

| 

Helvadis

| 

Nennurad

| 

daughter of Zhurrag-Ledj

|   
  
48

| 

Heubrandz

| 

Pashir

| 

Righter builder on loan to Nennurad

|   
  
48

| 

Hulviesh

| 

Nennurad

| 

Majordomo of the retreat

|   
  
49

| 

Ionthand

| 

Fornost

| 

Arnoran Colonel

|   
  
49

| 

Tevshguul

| 

Angmar

| 

Orc ruler

|   
  
49

| 

Zhandosh

| 

Angmar

| 

Infantry General

|   
  
50

| 

Commündith

| 

Annúminas

| 

Regional Governor

|   
  
50

| 

Diervunn

| 

Annúminas

| 

Guardi chief FO 100

|   
  
50

| 

Edenthread

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Minister of War CA FO 100

|   
  
50

| 

Gheras-lithend

| 

Annúminas

| 

haughty Staff officer

|   
  
50

| 

Querishoul

| 

Annúminas

| 

Angmar spy

|   
  
50

| 

Thomald, Mynard

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Asst War Minister FO 100

|   
  
50

| 

Ulig

| 

Angmar

| 

child sorcerer

|   
  
50

| 

Varsiig

| 

Angmar

| 

The Seer sorcerer

|   
  
51

| 

Nhat-Khiel

| 

Nennurad

| 

assistant director of retreat

|   
  
52

| 

Conath, Mazienne

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Fieldar's wife

|   
  
52

| 

Quenthorn

| 

Tulan Nimrais

| 

Arnoran project manager

|   
  
53

| 

Deriandrie

| 

Emyn Arnen

| 

wife of Tyaldran of Ithilien

|   
  
53

| 

Tyaldran

| 

Emyn Arnen

| 

son of Barahir

|   
  
54

| 

Arathorn

| 

Emyn Arnen

| 

Grandson of Barahir

|   
  
54

| 

Armandor

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Prince ca 122

|   
  
54

| 

Elhidron

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Prince Heir ca 127

|   
  
54

| 

Gregith

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Jeweler 

|   
  
54

| 

Irviniel

| 

Emyn Arnen

| 

daughter of Barahir

|   
  
55

| 

Amalie

| 

Alas Forten

| 

chambermaid

|   
  
55

| 

Brittanal, Stepick

| 

Alas Forten

| 

trooper, cousin of Tolanger

|   
  
55

| 

Brittanal, Tolanger

| 

Alas Forten

| 

Sergeant of the house

|   
  
55

| 

Inara

| 

Belfalas

| 

Dunedain

|   
  
55

| 

Inariel

| 

Gondor

| 

Woman/Elf

|   
  
55

| 

Khouphal

| 

Alas Forten

| 

Lieutanant and Majordomo to Alas Forten

|   
  
55

| 

Khouphal

| 

Alas Forten

| 

Majordomo, ret'd lieutenant

|   
  
55

| 

Leaven, Beksa

| 

Belfalas

| 

wife, mother of Inara

|   
  
55

| 

Leaven, Delthander

| 

Belfalas

| 

farmer, father of Inara

|   
  
55

| 

Tan-Kolvas, Philothor

| 

Alas Forten

| 

physician

|   
  
55

| 

Told, Maril

| 

Alas Forten

| 

Lady's Maid to Inariel

|   
  
56

| 

Anthrala

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Millicend's daughter

|   
  
56

| 

Gwendothol

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Palisenne's daughter

|   
  
56

| 

Lorilan

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Elhidron's wife

|   
  
56

| 

Nendalron

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Princess Anthrala's husband

|   
  
56

| 

Palisenne

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

daughter of Eldarion 

|   
  
56

| 

Stephandir

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Millicend's son

|   
  
57

| 

Conath, Annalien

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Lasthlo's wife

|   
  
57

| 

Conath, Lasthlo

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Fieldar's son

|   
  
58

| 

Briel, junior

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Rooming house owner

|   
  
58

| 

Briel, Senior

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Junior's mother in law

|   
  
58

| 

Danzail

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Guardi quiet man

|   
  
58

| 

Danzail

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

guardi undercover

|   
  
58

| 

Duramhir

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Guardi Chief 131

|   
  
58

| 

Halath

| 

Edoras

| 

King of Rohan CA FO 126

|   
  
58

| 

Hallistrad, Temvarid

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

dark agitator

|   
  
58

| 

Hanieru

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

refugee corporal from Korb Chelkar

|   
  
58

| 

Ilvest, Gred

| 

Osgiliath

| 

head of Ilvest Kathen

|   
  
58

| 

Keprand

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

dark counselor

|   
  
58

| 

Mentier

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

guardi operative

|   
  
58

| 

Perandorn

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

disgraced army colonel

|   
  
58

| 

Rellugh-Tur

| 

Osgiliath

| 

chief visitor in the west

|   
  
58

| 

Renthiew, Eried

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Landlord and old soldier

|   
  
58

| 

Rhellig-tur

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Southron business front

|   
  
58

| 

Selbroune

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

guardi operative

|   
  
58

| 

Templeblan

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Minister of Security 131

|   
  
58

| 

Todl

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

General, Chief of Staff FO 131

|   
  
58

| 

Tulbar

| 

Gizar

| 

Hûk or Chieftain

|   
  
58

| 

Wennig-Dûk

| 

Osgiliath

| 

Southron spy for Tulbar

|   
  
58

| 

Wheymier

| 

Minas Tirith

| 

Infantry Captain on the quiet side

|   
  
59

| 

Vanteg Chievon

| 

Lhug

| 

grand of Chur

|   
  
60

| 

Olberon

| 

Dol Amroth

| 

Heir CA 138

|   
  
60

| 

Pelandarith, Paevon

| 

Belfalas

| 

Colonel of Militia

|   
  
60

| 

Stelhorn

| 

Dale

| 

King CA 138

|   
  
60

| 

Theodred

| 

Edoras

| 

Heir CA 138

|   
  
63

| 

Celebrían

| 

Harvién

| 

Elf Lady, Inariel's grandmother

| 

x  
  
63

| 

Elladan

| 

Harvién

| 

Elrond's son, Arwen's brother

| 

x  
  
63

| 

Elrohir

| 

Harvién

| 

Elrond's son, Arwen's brother

| 

x  
  
63

| 

Elrond

| 

Harvién

| 

Elf Lord, Inariel's grandfather

| 

x  
  
63

| 

Lindareth

| 

Farnëmar

| 

Lord of Farnëmar

|   
  
63

| 

Lindir

| 

Eldamar

| 

Steward of Elrond's house

|   
  
63

| 

Meliath

| 

Naitë Mélamar

| 

Lord of Naitë Mélamar

|   
  
63

| 

Olwë

| 

Alqualonde

| 

King of the Teleri

| 

x  
  
64

| 

Cirdan

| 

Aman

| 

Great Mariner Elf

| 

x  
  
64

| 

Corindelam

| 

Farnëmar

| 

Healer of Farnëmar

|   
  
64

| 

Daelor

| 

Eldamar

| 

Healer of Naitë Mélamar 

|   
  
64

| 

Elurín

| 

Vílënost

| 

Cirdan's Spymaster AKA Festular

|   
  
64

| 

Heziathar

| 

Cantalori

| 

husband of Loniel the healer

|   
  
64

| 

Inhura

| 

Cantalori

| 

wife of Danethiur

|   
  
64

| 

Nomaral

| 

Teleri

| 

ancient Elf stock of Uruk-hai

|   
  
64

| 

Rohier

| 

Farnëmar

| 

dark operative for Farnemar

|   
  
64

| 

Selvas

| 

Naitë Mélamar

| 

Morgoth's wraith

|   
  
64

| 

Vantieth

| 

Farnëmar

| 

Corrupted brother of Lindareth

|   
  
65

| 

Ordonir

| 

Arnost

| 

astrologer

|   
  
65

| 

Talifür

| 

Naitë Mélamar

| 

Dark counselor of Naitë Mélamar

|   
  
68

| 

Eämiul

| 

Attëa Súlë

| 

shamed ohtar

|   
  
68

| 

Eärwin

| 

Tirion

| 

Queen of the Noldorin

| 

x  
  
68

| 

Finarfin

| 

Tirion

| 

High King of the Noldorin

| 

x  
  
68

| 

Hartharn

| 

Attëa Súlë

| 

shamed ohtar

|   
  
68

| 

Harthorn

| 

Attëa Súlë

| 

shamed ohtar

|   
  
70

| 

Anthreil

| 

Lorien

| 

pilgrim leader

|   
  
70

| 

Fonë

| 

Valmar

| 

lesser Maia to the smiths

|   
  
70

| 

Helica

| 

Lorien

| 

distressed pilgrim

|   
  
70

| 

Tilidelia

| 

Valmar

| 

Gandalf's maid

| 


	76. Invented Words

Invented Words for Nag Kath

These are mostly words, places and things I created from thin air. There are some lesser-used words from the books that I threw in so we remember them. Those are shown bold in italics. sh 

**Word**

| 

**Definition**  
  
---|---  
  
**_Adûnaic_**

| 

Numenorean original language, mostly dead  
  
Alas Forten

| 

home of Princess Inariel  
  
Anglachor

| 

Orc Colonel  
  
Angmarach

| 

Servant from Angmar, the Witch-King  
  
Anualvail

| 

southern Aman community  
  
Arnost

| 

capital of Naitë Mélamar  
  
Atalantëa

| 

Elvish depression and confusion  
  
arthain

| 

green vegetable of Aman  
  
Atlier

| 

soldiers who guard away from main threat  
  
Formenhobas

| 

realm of Lord Felaour  
  
Attëa Súlë

| 

lordless village of the shamed  
  
Bozisha-Dar

| 

largest city and port of Miraz  
  
Bozisha-Kantû

| 

capital of Bozisha-Miraz Thân zîrân  
  
Brodshjur

| 

Uruk Officer  
  
Huorëlorn

| 

Naitë Mélamar's main port  
  
Bror

| 

Easterling Rhunic ruler  
  
Cantalori

| 

Thranduil's Aman capital  
  
Carnipal

| 

North star  
  
Catanaräe

| 

Catanard afficianado  
  
Catanard

| 

Melodramatic opera from southern Gondor  
  
**_Chey_**

| 

Ancient Nûrad  
  
Chôlar

| 

Rune or Tschuran of eastern choice and balance  
  
cholla

| 

thin Harad wheat patties  
  
Agar lhîw

| 

malady of Elvish and mannish bloods  
  
Deloth

| 

Rhunic satrap  
  
Depotchuul

| 

Uruk training sergeant  
  
Doureg Spells

| 

two-part spell with a chemical binder to increase power  
  
Dukks

| 

a form of poker  
  
Dunsenorn

| 

east/west river splitting Dunland  
  
duu crow

| 

crow capable of sorcerous instruction  
  
Emyn Vierald

| 

Elvish enclave in Ithilien  
  
Ered Harmal

| 

north/south range between Khand and Nurad  
  
Farnëmar

| 

realm of dissident Noldorin in southern Aman  
  
Feeruld

| 

land along the eastern Redwater for Balchoth  
  
Felshuu

| 

Northern Angmar orc band  
  
fiehl

| 

pneumonia  
  
Fïlsh

| 

Easterling rune of endurance  
  
Fûl

| 

Easterling rune of power or war  
  
Gelansor

| 

eastern Right observance 1st July crescent moon  
  
gangeos

| 

arrow-tip poison of Eregion  
  
gaol

| 

jail  
  
ghard

| 

Elvish province with independent ruler  
  
Ghorandul

| 

Visitor missionary, Gvordling in Rhunic  
  
Ghur

| 

Eastern Right-living Elder  
  
goat's breakfast

| 

cud, drawn from multiple stomachs to chew later  
  
Gramzth

| 

Easterling rune of patience  
  
gressroot

| 

sorcerous poison  
  
groat

| 

lowest coinage, copper in 1, 5, 10 groat sizes  
  
guardi

| 

local police  
  
gureeq

| 

eastern grain needing less rain  
  
halfers

| 

scholars who feel the mid 3rd age was the pinnacle  
  
handman

| 

valet  
  
Hanvas Tûr

| 

Khandian right-living retreat  
  
Harvién

| 

Elrond's community in Aman  
  
Herduik

| 

a Mordor ethnic group  
  
heurzis

| 

silk  
  
Hûk

| 

Chieftain of Harad  
  
huraugh

| 

Harad single-masted sailing ship  
  
Hurm

| 

Mordor Warlords  
  
Illast Dûn

| 

foothill town east of Pashir  
  
Intur

| 

two-man card game  
  
Joukbahn

| 

Nulvanash's predecessor  
  
Kathen Properties

| 

Nag Kath's business name  
  
Kelduash

| 

Celduin river in Rhunish  
  
Khagan

| 

ruler of Upper or Lower Khand  
  
Khalki

| 

Rhunic godling punishes the impure  
  
Khan

| 

Khand; satrap of Khagan. Ruler in other lands  
  
Khand

| 

land of southern Easterlings AKA Variag  
  
klaus staff

| 

seven-foot long-staff  
  
Kugavod

| 

Winter capital of Rhûn, northeast corner of sea  
  
Lizzurant

| 

Mordor River coming from Western Duath  
  
lordling

| 

young or minor lord  
  
Lostorin

| 

sorcerous binding compound of plant and spell  
  
Lugnash

| 

King Orc  
  
Maegond river

| 

northern Mordor River  
  
Magister

| 

Judge or civil arbitrator  
  
_**mathom**_

| 

Hobbit gift that changes hands  
  
Miquhwesta

| 

Cirdan's southern fief  
  
Mistrand

| 

city of southeastern Rhun  
  
**_Mûmikil_**

| 

elephant like creature of southern Harad  
  
Naitë Mélamar

| 

Teleri realm of dissidents from Alqualondë  
  
Nargil

| 

Mordor River  
  
Natosch

| 

command to end or release spell  
  
Neurae

| 

Syndolan Hostess  
  
Nuessan

| 

renamed Morgulduin River  
  
**_Nûrad_**

| 

wasteland east of Khand  
  
Nuralth

| 

mythic book said to be written by the Valar  
  
odar

| 

prized ocean fish similar to tuna  
  
**_ohtar_**

| 

Elvish soldier  
  
oliphaunt

| 

elephant Mûmikil  
  
Orlo

| 

Right-living prophet, symbol of right-living  
  
Penethornost

| 

Galadriel and Celeborn's capital short: Thornost  
  
Plainstongue

| 

pigeon Sauronic trading language  
  
pugas roots

| 

horse laxative  
  
Puklak

| 

Shaggy horses of the eastern Rhun  
  
Raniegal

| 

capital of Farnëmar  
  
Revanthars

| 

vigilantes of Trum Dreng  
  
Rhub tea

| 

poor tea from common leaves  
  
Rhûnish

| 

of the culture of Rhun  
  
Riavod

| 

Capital of Dorwinion  
  
Richtren

| 

Senior Visitor missionary  
  
Righter

| 

right-living operative/soldier  
  
scratcher

| 

unflattering term for salvager in Orthanc  
  
shalakiel weed

| 

rage inducing drug for Oliphaunts  
  
silver

| 

silver tenth Florin coin, 40:1 to gold Florin  
  
spor bush

| 

tumbleweed  
  
Suldath and Leotulden

| 

clothiers to the gentry in Minas Tirith  
  
Súrûbeki

| 

River into Sea of Rhûn at city of Mistrand  
  
Syndolan

| 

Winter Solstice  
  
Taur Rómen

| 

Easterling horse lands  
  
Telandren

| 

Prized Eastern Tea  
  
Telengaur

| 

South Ithilien river tainted by beast pool  
  
Templagk

| 

Uruk messenger  
  
Teüchir

| 

Khandian for scholar  
  
Thainhold

| 

lands of a Thain  
  
Thainmoot

| 

a meeting of Thains  
  
Thân zîrân

| 

Aduniac for Miraz  
  
Thourah

| 

head physical healer in Nurad  
  
toglakz

| 

Uruk medallion of rank or identification  
  
Traybor stone

| 

Blue Diamond favored by Elves  
  
Trum Dreng

| 

Dunland town  
  
Truzurn

| 

Capital of the realm of Nurn  
  
Tschurans

| 

eastern equivalent of Maiar or Valar  
  
tsitsi

| 

smaller warg, huge wolf but too small to ride  
  
tulus

| 

northern spice capable of receiving sorcery  
  
Ûbésêsh

| 

Capital of Northern Khand  
  
Ûniarra Nûrn

| 

Capital of the Visitors  
  
Ûrêzáyan

| 

port town before gulf of Harad  
  
Valaduin River

| 

northernmost east-west river of southern Melamar  
  
Vílënost

| 

capital of Miquhwesta, one or Cirdan's capitals  
  
Vishtuun

| 

Khandian chamberlain  
  
Visitors

| 

adherents of darkness  
  
**_warag_**

| 

Uruk pronunciation of warg  
  
Witch-stone

| 

Angmarach resource of power  
  
Yhammâs Fruhir

| 

Rhûnic right-living retreat  
  
vou tea

| 

herbal mixture to flush inducted sorcery and illness  
  
Yvsuldor

| 

Witch-King's organization


End file.
